Page 69 of Don't Shoot Me Santa

“Course it does.”Jack’s voice sharpened.“You know how it works. Legal sex at death, nothing more. Especially if they’re marked high-risk. They never dig past that. Never ask.”

Kenny stayed quiet. Let it land.

Jack went on.“You know how many trans kids get misgendered even after they’re dead?”

It hit like a punch to the chest. Not just the possibility that this victim had been erased. But that there could be more like him. Hidden. Misclassified. Lost in the cracks between paperwork and prejudice. Erased twice. Once in life, then again in death.

“How many others have they buried under the wrong name?” Kenny saidaloud, although it was more to himself. “The wrong gender. The wrong story.”

Jack didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Kenny exhaled, getting back to the reason he was on this call. “I’ve got three more. Two male. Both runaways. One flagged as possibly gay. One female. Survival sex work. All young. All vulnerable. No defensive wounds. Clean kills. Post-mortem staging. Symbolic objects. Ritual-adjacent signature.”

“I didn’t work it directly, but I knew the senior investigating officer at the scene. He said it felt wrong at the time. Too clean to be an overdose. No visible trauma, tox panel showed heroin and benzos, nothing else. Body had been washed. Scarves folded neatly. Some sweet tucked into his coat pocket.”

“So there was a sweet?”

“Apparently. I think so.”Jack paused.“You think it’s a serial?”

“I think it’s the middle of something we thought had an end.” Kenny scratched through his beard. “And I need the full Glasgow file. Scene photos. ME’s notes. Any internal chatter from shelters or outreach workers. I know it’s buried and half-lost, but I need the pattern.” He rubbed his forehead. “And, yes, before you say it, I know linking earlier murders to this won’t be straightforward. The killer wouldn’t always have been this composed. Early killings are almost always messier. Less control, more impulse. They’d have made mistakes back then, mistakes they’ve learned to hide now. That’ll make the links harder to see, but they’ll be there. And if I can track the evolution, the shift from chaos to ritual, I can prove it’s the same hand. I just need access to dig it out.”

Jack was quiet. Then,“You said you were doing this unofficially.”

“I am.”

“Then officially, I can’t send you anything.”

“But unofficially?”

“Unofficially, you’re still a manipulative bastard.”

“That’s practically a job title.” Kenny swivelled in his chair. “But I want to catch them, Jack. And you know better than anyone, red tape is exactly how monsters keep winning. These are kids. Survivors. People who’ve already been failed once. And now someone’s dressing up mercy as mythology and slipping in through the cracks. They’re dressed as Santa for fuck’s sake. At Christmas.”

Jack blew out another breath.“Santa?”

“Not the jolly red-suit version. The old one. The judge. The one who sees what no one else bothers to. The patron saint of the invisible. Delivering peace dressed up as a gift.”

“Happy fucking Christmas.”

“Exactly. And if you still want that Christmas card by the fire, with the dog and the fake smiles, then I need this file.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.” But before Kenny cut the call, he said, “And Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Amend that fucking entry. Put the name he chose on there. Front and centre. Give him his truth even in death.”

“Sure thing, Kenny. Now go profile this monster.”

The line went dead.

Kenny stared at the phone for a second, then set it aside and turned back to the chaos of open notebooks and post-its spread across his desk. The momentum returned immediately. Thoughts spinning, case notes forming, pattern recognition mapping itself across paper and memory like stormfronts.

He had to get it all down. Now. Before the rest of the day blurred it. And he still needed to stock up for that evening. He had a scene to set. Essentials to buy. Because once he picked Aaron up, there would be no more killers. No more victimology. No more peppermint and pathology.

There would be candles, though. A lot of water. Energy drinks and supplies.