Page 110 of Cold, Cold Bones

There was a long silence on the line. Then, “Explain.”

I lifted the first of the files, which I’d stacked in reverse chronological order.

“Sanchez. His murder mimicked the gutted torso that washed ashore at Lake Wylie.” Next file. “Kwalwasser. Her head and eyeball mimicked a stabbing in Montreal.” Next. “Boldonado. His garroting and hanging mimicked the death of Noble Cruikshank.”

“We been through all this.”

“Hear me out.”

Slidell sighed.

“The bucket from Burke County.”

“Yeah, yeah. That mimicked the kid went missing up in the mountains. Except for the novel Joker twist.”

“And that snapshot of me we found in the hollow.”

I could picture Slidell’s jaw muscles jackhammer bunching and relaxing.

“And I think your instincts are right about Charlie Hunt.”

Slidell said nothing.

“When we were at Charlie’s townhouse you mentioned an ER doc who died by CO poisoning in his garage a few years back?”

“The pedo.” Resigned? As though he knew what was coming?

“Yes.” Though the situation had been much more complicated than that. “He was a person of interest in a cold case I was working. Anyway, the guy’s death wasn’t a suicide. He’d been drugged, then placed in his car with the engine running.”

I could sense Slidell’s grip tighten on his mobile.

“I just met with Nguyen. She received the tox report on Charlie Hunt. He had peanut protein in his system.”

“So, what, we’re looking for Mr. Peanut? Didn’t he die in a crash?”

Knowing Slidell’s sarcasm stemmed from a deepening mix of anger and fear, I ignored it. “Charlie had a severe allergy to peanuts. Avoided all contact with them.”

“Don’t mean—”

“Remember the bottle of Chivas in his office?”

“Let me guess.” Zero flippancy now. “The booze was spiked with peanut.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be goddamned.”

I was silent for a moment, steeling myself to go on.

“The killer’s been at this a while. Planning and staging his littlehorror show. Sanchez. Kwalwasser. Boldonado. But I wasn’t getting it, wasn’t seeing the connection to me. To my old cases. So he’s grown impatient.”

“The sicko’s bringing it home.” Slidell’s breathing sounded low and steady. Dangerous.

“Yes.” I swallowed. “Now he’s murdering people I know.”

“Like I said in your kitchen, that’s personal.”

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