Page 22 of Girl, Unmasked (Ella Dark #28)

‘Kane,’ she said, leaning in so close she could smell the musty amalgam of old books and what she hoped was just really strong coffee on his breath, ‘I need everything you've got on this guy.

And I mean everything. Name, description, what he was wearing, any tattoos or distinguishing marks.

Hell, tell me what brand of deodorant he used if you can remember.

I want to know if he parted his hair on the left or the right, if he had a nervous tic, everything.

Kane blinked at her, nonplussed. ‘I... I don't really know. I mean, how often do you really look at someone?’

‘Quite often when they're talking about mutilating women.’

‘It was just fiction!’ Kane protested, shrinking back like he thought she might vault the counter and go for his throat. Not a bad instinct, all things considered. ‘Just words on a page! I didn't think…’

‘Ditch the excuses and give me whatever you’ve got.’

That seemed to pierce Kane's indignation. He deflated.

‘He was young,’ Kane said after a moment. ‘Maybe thirty or so. Had long black hair, kind of scraggly. Down to his chin at least. Long nose. Dressed in army trousers and a gray jacket. I didn't see any tattoos.’

Ella blinked, then frowned. That description was so far off from the portrait painted by Halo of Blood that it might as well have been a different species.

Where was the wiry scarecrow with the haunted eyes and hacking cough?

Could Drago LaChance have deviated that far from his fictional counterpart?

‘Are you sure he didn't have wild hair?’ she asked. ‘Or look sick in any way?’

Kane just looked confused. ‘No, nothing like that. Guy looked healthy enough. Bit grungy. Maybe some acne. He looked like he was trying to blend in, you know? Like one of those plants you put in an office that you only notice when it starts to die.’

Ella waved off the question. ‘Never mind. I need a name, Kane. Tell me you got a name.'

‘I remember thinking of that movie, you know?’ he said after a moment. ‘You know, the boxer one? With Stallone?’

‘Rocky,’ said Ripley with a sigh.

‘That’s it.’

‘What? His name was Rocky? Sylvester?’

Ripley nudged her. ‘The villain in Rocky was named Drago.’

Kane snapped his fingers. ‘That was it. Drago. I thought it was an odd name.’

Ella wanted to bang her head against the bookshelves. This son of a bitch had used his pseudonym. Maybe he was craftier than she gave him credit for.

But now she had a description to go with the name, however contradictory. It was more than she'd had ten minutes ago, and in this business, she'd learned to count even the most tarnished of blessings.

‘Your shop got cameras?’

‘Sorry, Detective. No cameras. Never saw the need. I mean, who'd want to steal books these days?’

Ella mentally added poor home security to her list of reasons to hate penny-pinching business owners.

This was why she paid her taxes, dammit.

Well, part of the reason. So that small-time entrepreneurs could invest in a decent closed-circuit camera or two and save them some detective legwork.

She made a mental note to canvas the surrounding businesses for any outdoor cameras that might've caught a glimpse of this guy.

'Where were you last night and this morning? Between 8PM and 8 AM?'

Kane goggled at her. ‘I was at the hospital, visiting my mother. She's been ill. I can prove it if you need me to. They make you sign in, you know. And the nurses, they remember me. Hard to forget the guy who keeps asking them to explain what all the beeping machines do.’

Ella nodded and filed that away for later verification. She believed him, in that resigned, world-weary way she'd come to approach most of her cases. But now at least she had a lead. A description, however incongruous with expectations.

'Thank you, Mr. Kane. I'm going to check your alibi for last night. If you try to leave town, you'll be hearing from us, okay?'

She turned to go and contemplated her next steps.

Check nearby cameras, maybe see if the ghostlike Drago LaChance had submitted his manuscript to any other publishers in Connecticut, or even the country.

The killer was a local, which meant someone around here had seen him, perhaps knew his real name.

She was close to the exit when Kane's stuttering voice snared her attention again.

‘The other author, the visiting celebrity. Kirsten Lawler.’ He held out one of the glossy paperbacks from the pile and thrust it at Ella. ‘She was there, heard him read that dreck. She can back me up and tell you this isn't all some opium dream on my end.’

Ella moved back to the counter and glanced at the book. The cover boasted a suitably spooky mansion silhouetted against a blood-red sky. Ella accepted Kane's offering.

‘Her contact details are in that book, should you need to corroborate my claims.’

‘Thanks, William,’ she said. ‘One last thing. When Drago read his nasty little scene, what was the reaction? From you, Kirsten, the rest of the class.’

Kane went perfectly still. Ella could sense his brain working overtime, probably calibrating just how honest he should be. What good citizen soundbite would get the scary lady with the badge out of his establishment the quickest?

But in the end, something in her tone must have convinced him that candor was the coin of this particular realm. He deflated, then said, ‘There wasn't much of one. From the rest of the group, that is. Awkward silence all around. But Miss Lawler and I, we tried to tell him it needed work.’

‘How did he react?’

‘Embarrassment,’ Kane said. ‘Didn’t say a word after that. Looked quite demoralized.’

Constructive criticism, Ella thought. How hideously banal. She turned the information over and over. This was a mutilation fetishist trying to workshop his unholy vision to people he thought might validate him. And when his efforts were rebuffed, that’s when he lashed out

Ella was dealing with a wannabe artist; someone so desperate to be heard that he'd burn the world down for want of an audience.

Ella tipped her imaginary hat and made for the door.

She felt one step closer to her prey.