Page 23 of Girl, Unmasked (Ella Dark #28)

Back at the precinct, Ella occupied that liminal space between the day shift and night shift.

For a fleeting hour, it was just Ella and the strays who’d decided to do some honourable unpaid overtime.

Ripley was lingering somewhere too, or she might have decided to check out their hotel, which thankfully, was within walking distance.

She'd spent the past hour playing phone tag with every business within spitting distance of Bookshop Obscura, begging for CCTV footage like some kind of voyeur.

So far, she'd gotten a whole lot of ‘I'll see what I can do’ and ‘You'll need a warrant for that,’ with a side helping of ‘What's CCTV?’ from one particularly unhelpful shopkeeper.

But now, at her desk, piles of paperwork teetered on the brink of collapse.

Enough red tape to mummify someone, but until she had responses regarding her CCTV footage, Ella was staring at a dead end.

Her veins hummed with a cocktail of caffeine and irritation that could make hearts, so she had a ton of energy and nowhere to put it.

She quickly relayed everything she’d learned from William Kane, if only to file it firmly in her memory bank.

The description of Drago didn't match the Cain from the manuscript.

The timing was odd too – why wait months after reading his story aloud to commit the murder?

And why choose Sophie Draper, who as far as Ella knew, had no connection to Bookshop Obscura or its writing group?

Answers might come through waiting, but waiting wasn't her strong suit. Patience might be a virtue, but it was one Ella had traded in long ago.

Ella swiveled to her laptop. If she couldn't chase down leads in the real world, she'd do it in the digital one.

Before she could decide where to go next, Detective Blythe filled the doorway. Ella was sure he’d already left for the day.

And one look was all it took.

Bad news. The news no one in law enforcement wanted to hear, but knew was as inevitable as taxes.

‘We've got body number two,’ Blythe said. ‘And it’s… not good.’

***

The Tidewater apartment complex was in full-blown circus mode by the time Ella screeched to a halt at the mouth of the parking lot.

The place was lit up brighter than Times Square in a kaleidoscope of red and blue flashing lights that made her wonder if the police had decided to throw an impromptu rave.

But this was no party. The street was clogged with more vehicles than a used car lot, and the sidewalks were crammed with both cops and civilians.

No time to find a suitable parking space.

Ella ditched the car at the gate and made her way forward.

She pushed through the crowd, and Ella could hear murmurs and rumors and four-letter words.

It was the kind of gossiping that mutated and grew wilder with each retelling, and so by the Ella they reached the parking lot, she wouldn't have been surprised to hear someone claim it was an alien abduction.

As she cleared the throng and stepped into the open space of the parking lot, Ella’s world narrowed to a pinprick of horrific clarity.

She followed the tilted heads and hundred pair of eyeballs up, up, up, past three floors, and her gaze was drawn to the top floor of the apartments like a magnet to true north.

And there, lit up by the pale glow of the moon, was a sight equally as horrific as the one she’d seen this morning.

Her heart plummeted to the floor. Bile rose in her throat and threatened to overflow at any sudden movement.

‘Jesus, what the f...’

The prayer slipped out unbidden. But the lord was the only man fit to call upon in a moment like this, because there, dangling from the uppermost balcony, was angel number two.

Perhaps not dangling. Strung up. Hanging on invisible wires. Arms outstretched, with another barbed wire halo slotted in place around her forehead.

The woman had been crucified.

And as of tonight, this was no longer an isolated case of ultra-violent homicide.

Their unsub was a serial angel-maker.