Page 62 of Girl, Fractured

‘Not much room for anything.’

‘Is this a reflection of our unsub?Or a reflection of the times?Is this how all young men are forced to live?’

‘Palm Harbor’s a pretty cheap place to live compared to the rest of Florida,’ Sarah said.‘But then again, so is Montana and the Unabomber still lived in a ten-by-fourteen cabin.’

‘True.’

‘I’ll take the next room.What are we looking for, exactly?’

‘Ideally, a severed head.’Ella crossed the living room in three steps and began rifling through the kitchen drawers.She found a few pieces of cutlery and an instruction manual for the oven.‘But anything that connects him to Frank or Diana will suffice.’

Ella opened the fridge and found nothing but condiments and a half-empty carton of milk that had expired three days ago.The cupboards yielded a single box of protein bars and two cans of soup.For someone who ran a coffee shop, Josiah Nicholls seemed far from a culinary master.Maybe he was just deeply, profoundly broke and lacking in basic life skills.Possible, but less likely given the calculated deceit involved in his fake identity and infiltration of the White Whale group.

She ran her gloved fingers along the underside of the kitchen counter, checked behind the microwave, peered into the gap between the refrigerator and the wall.Nothing.No hidden trophies, no bloody implements, no damning evidence.

A sound from the other room broke her train of thought.Not a shout, but a sharp, indrawn breath.The kind of sound someone makes when they stumble upon something that stops them cold.

‘Ella.Get in here.Now.’

She crossed to the lone door, which opened onto a space that served as both bedroom and bathroom.The setup had a prison cell efficiency - bed, toilet, shower stall all coexisting in uncomfortable intimacy.

But Sarah stood transfixed by something else entirely.

A small desk occupied the narrow space between bed and bathroom fixtures.Unlike the sterility of the rest of the apartment, this surface erupted with papers and files.

‘What is it?’

Sarah pinched the top paper between her fingertips.She lifted it up.

Ella had seen this paper before.Or at least a copy of it.

The text read:

JENNIFER MARLOWE – PALM HARBOR P.D.CASE #76-1109 – UNSOLVED.

Ella’s breath caught in her throat.‘He’s got the original Marlowe police report.’

‘Yes he has.’

The implication sat there.This was all the connection they needed.With this, they could charge Josiah Nicholls today.Ella moved closer and gently leafed through each page.It was a copy of the one she’d found in Frank Sullivan’s safe.Ella snapped pictures of the scene.

Sarah had turned her attention to the two drawers beside the desk chair now.Sarah opened one, peered in.Then opened the bottom one – and froze.

‘Uh… Ella?’

‘Got something else?’she asked.Ella found Ripley’s name in her phone and sent a batch of photographs to her.She could use this to make Josiah Nicholls talk.

‘You… need to see this.’

Sarah shifted out of the way, then Ella glanced into the drawer.

It wasn’t filled with stationery or old bills.

Nestled inside was a clear plastic ziplock bag.It was half-full of smooth, milky-white stones.Slightly smaller than quail eggs.

Alabaster stones.

The kind you put in garden planters.