Page 23

By the time I had thrown on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants, I was huffing and puffing from the exertion. I missed being able to work out, but it wasn’t an option for me anymore. I didn’t want to think about how skinny I would be by the time I died, but I kind of hoped I’d go before there was nothing left of me besides skin and bones. My body had fluctuated for my entire life, depending on the state of my health. Whenever I was kicking cancer’s ass, I lost muscle mass due to the chemotherapy and radiation therapy, but I always gained it back again as soon as I had enough energy to hit the gym.

I wouldn’t be getting that opportunity this time, and whilst I had made peace with that, it didn’t mean I had to like it.

I loved my muscles.

I slipped my feet into my slippers, then shuffled my way downstairs, where I was greeted by the sight of Mikey waiting with two policemen, neither of whom I recognised. One was short and stout, obviously the kind of cop of preferred hisdoughnuts, with greying hair and a thick layer of stubble lining his undefined jaw. The other was taller, skinnier. Lanky. His hair was thinning, and he tried to hide it with the world’s most obvious combover, but all it did was highlight the issue. Neither one of them sat or spoke, both choosing to stand in the doorway of the kitchen. The taller one kept glancing behind him at the expensive setup of laptops and ghost-hunting devices.

The silence was almost oppressive, and Mikey’s entire frame sagged as he breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed me approach.

‘Officers,’ I greeted, my voice croaky. I told myself it was due to my exhaustion and nothing else.

‘Rhodes Emeric?’ the shorter one asked, stepping forward with a no-nonsense expression hardening his rounded features.

‘That’s me,’ I confirmed. ‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’

‘You were the individual who called about a potential serial killer living next door, correct?’ the short one asked.

‘Yes. I’m the one who called.’

‘We would like to ask you a few questions, if you’re willing. Normally, we would prefer to take you down to the station to conduct the interview, but we were informed of concerns over your health, so we dropped by instead. I hope you don’t mind.’

I held in the sigh that begged to be released. I had a bad feeling that things were about to spiral out of control, and not to our benefit. ‘Not at all,’ I responded, gesturing to the couch before settling myself into my armchair. ‘Ask away.’

They sat down and placed a briefcase I had missed in my initial perusal on the coffee table between us. Then, they present me with an image that had my eyebrows disappearing behind my hairline. It was a photograph of a case file, the name Bianca Devlin scribbled on top. It was closed, the details of its contents hidden from my view. What caught my attention was the note that was resting on top, scribbled in a messy script that took amoment for me to decipher, but it all of a sudden became clear why these cops were in my house.

Blake Dodd killed her. Not the only victim.

‘Mr Emeric, this note was left on top of a file of a missing person. One that looks remarkably similar to another missing individual whom you have recently called the police about, who is also connected to the man accused. Are you aware of this connection?’

I leaned back into the cushions, my gaze stuck on the name of the man killing people right next door for who knew how many years. ‘I was only recently made aware that Kali was Blake’s wife. I know she went missing seven years ago, was pronounced legally deceased earlier this year, and that he remarried.’

The shorter officer hummed thoughtfully while the taller one pulled out a notepad and a pen and started jotting notes. ‘The other name you mentioned was Chance Wiess, correct? Blake Dodd’s older brother?’

‘Half-brother, but yes. He went next door to investigate a couple of days ago and never returned.’

‘You knew Mr Weiss?’

‘Not well, but yes. I knew him.’

A grunt was my only response.

‘And can you give any insight into how this note appeared on top of this file, on the desk of the detective assigned to the case, in the middle of the day, inside a bustling police station?’

I shook my head, sensing the accusation, but afraid to draw attention to it. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t.’

They didn’t look convinced. ‘Do you have any idea who wrote it?’

‘No.’

‘Are you aware that the official assigned to this case, Detective Juliette Benson, was recently declared a missing person?’

I inhaled sharply as the knowledge hit, the puzzle pieces slotting together. ‘No. Does she by any chance have blonde hair, blue eyes, and generally fair features?’

That caught their attention, though they attempted to hide their reaction. ‘Yes. She does.’

‘Then she must be the woman he’s holding in his basement,’ I surmised for them.

‘Please, remind us. How is it you have all this information?’ the tall one asked, piping in for the first time. There was an emotion that flitted behind his eyes before he shut it down again, but it looked remarkably like fear. He cared about Detective Benson.