Read Online The Broken (The Apostles) by Shelley Coriell - Free Book Online
Authors: Shelley Coriell
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get his head off Katrina and onto the Butcher. He picked up his phone and punched in a number.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed, or do pretty boys like you not need beauty sleep?” Lottie’s throaty voice cackled on the other end. “But I’m glad you called, Reed, ’cause I got something that’s going to knock you on your ass.”
Like sassy Katrina stretched out on a bed and inviting him to join her? He blinked away the vision, and focused on Sergeant King. “Shoot.”
“Got us a witness,” Lottie said with a note of triumph.
“What?” Witnesses had been nonexistent at all the other crime scenes, but then again, Shayna Thomas’s murder wasn’t like the others. He pictured those unbroken mirrors.
“You heard right, a witness. A fourteen-year-old kid who lives across the street saw someone on Thomas’s front porch the night she died, and I don’t think he’s shitting us. The kid snuck out of his house through his second-story bedroom window to go meet his thirteen-year-old girlfriend. He swaps spit for a while and comes home around ten fifteen. He climbs the trellis and shimmies in through the window. After he gets inside, he turns to shut the pane and sees someone on the porch across the street. Light’s on so the kid gets a pretty good look at her.”
Hayden almost dropped the phone. “Her?”
“Thought you’d pick up on that one. Yep. The witness swears that Shayna Thomas opened her door and let a woman into her house. Looked like a granny. Gray shoulder-length hair. Shapeless pink dress with flowers. He never saw a face and could only describe her build as average, not fat, not thin.”
Hayden blinked, trying to process this information. “A woman. Are you sure?”
“The kid was serious, and he was putting his ass on the line, admitting he’d snuck out.”
When Hayden hung up the phone, he slid a finger along the sharp crease of his pants.
Most serial killers were men, yet the young boy across the street swore he saw a woman. It’s possible the unsub could have entered the house in drag. Women like Shayna Thomas would be much more inclined to open the door to a woman than to a man. Or it’s possible the killer could have a female accomplice. Most serial killers worked alone. They were social deviants and craved singular power. However, he’d studied a few cases of partner serial killings, and in those cases, there was clearly a dominant/subservient dynamic. It’s possible the woman in the pink dress could gain them entry, and the Butcher would perpetuate the criminal act.
Was he looking for two people? Like Jason Erickson and his missing mother? It would explain the contradictory signals, the raging number of stab wounds but the folded, peaceful hands, the broken mirrors but the spotless crime scenes.
Had he been wrong? Searching all this time for a single offender when he should have been hunting for two?
Chapter Five
Thursday, June 11, 9 a.m.
Tucson, Arizona
Y ou’ve done gone and brung me to hell.”
“The locals call it Tucson,” Hayden said as he took the duffel from Smokey Joe’s hand and put it in the trunk of his SUV, which was parked in long-term parking at the Tucson airport.
“How hot is it?” Smokey wiped at the sweat beaded on his forehead.
“About 110 degrees. But it’s a dry heat.” Hayden shut the trunk and walked to the passenger side, where Kate reached for the rear door. He grabbed her wrist. She jumped, her pulse spiking beneath his fingertips. Quickly, he dropped her hand, refusing to contemplate at length the spike in his own pulse. “The handle,” he said. “It’s hot.” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, lined his hand, and opened her door. “Give it a minute. I’ll get the AC going.”
She hugged her bag to her chest and looked the other way.
She’d given him the silent treatment all morning. He figured part of the reason was that she was still mad at him for putting her in protective custody. The other part: she hated being out in
“Shouldn’t you be in bed, or do pretty boys like you not need beauty sleep?” Lottie’s throaty voice cackled on the other end. “But I’m glad you called, Reed, ’cause I got something that’s going to knock you on your ass.”
Like sassy Katrina stretched out on a bed and inviting him to join her? He blinked away the vision, and focused on Sergeant King. “Shoot.”
“Got us a witness,” Lottie said with a note of triumph.
“What?” Witnesses had been nonexistent at all the other crime scenes, but then again, Shayna Thomas’s murder wasn’t like the others. He pictured those unbroken mirrors.
“You heard right, a witness. A fourteen-year-old kid who lives across the street saw someone on Thomas’s front porch the night she died, and I don’t think he’s shitting us. The kid snuck out of his house through his second-story bedroom window to go meet his thirteen-year-old girlfriend. He swaps spit for a while and comes home around ten fifteen. He climbs the trellis and shimmies in through the window. After he gets inside, he turns to shut the pane and sees someone on the porch across the street. Light’s on so the kid gets a pretty good look at her.”
Hayden almost dropped the phone. “Her?”
“Thought you’d pick up on that one. Yep. The witness swears that Shayna Thomas opened her door and let a woman into her house. Looked like a granny. Gray shoulder-length hair. Shapeless pink dress with flowers. He never saw a face and could only describe her build as average, not fat, not thin.”
Hayden blinked, trying to process this information. “A woman. Are you sure?”
“The kid was serious, and he was putting his ass on the line, admitting he’d snuck out.”
When Hayden hung up the phone, he slid a finger along the sharp crease of his pants.
Most serial killers were men, yet the young boy across the street swore he saw a woman. It’s possible the unsub could have entered the house in drag. Women like Shayna Thomas would be much more inclined to open the door to a woman than to a man. Or it’s possible the killer could have a female accomplice. Most serial killers worked alone. They were social deviants and craved singular power. However, he’d studied a few cases of partner serial killings, and in those cases, there was clearly a dominant/subservient dynamic. It’s possible the woman in the pink dress could gain them entry, and the Butcher would perpetuate the criminal act.
Was he looking for two people? Like Jason Erickson and his missing mother? It would explain the contradictory signals, the raging number of stab wounds but the folded, peaceful hands, the broken mirrors but the spotless crime scenes.
Had he been wrong? Searching all this time for a single offender when he should have been hunting for two?
Chapter Five
Thursday, June 11, 9 a.m.
Tucson, Arizona
Y ou’ve done gone and brung me to hell.”
“The locals call it Tucson,” Hayden said as he took the duffel from Smokey Joe’s hand and put it in the trunk of his SUV, which was parked in long-term parking at the Tucson airport.
“How hot is it?” Smokey wiped at the sweat beaded on his forehead.
“About 110 degrees. But it’s a dry heat.” Hayden shut the trunk and walked to the passenger side, where Kate reached for the rear door. He grabbed her wrist. She jumped, her pulse spiking beneath his fingertips. Quickly, he dropped her hand, refusing to contemplate at length the spike in his own pulse. “The handle,” he said. “It’s hot.” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, lined his hand, and opened her door. “Give it a minute. I’ll get the AC going.”
She hugged her bag to her chest and looked the other way.
She’d given him the silent treatment all morning. He figured part of the reason was that she was still mad at him for putting her in protective custody. The other part: she hated being out in
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