Page 41 of Girl, Unmasked (Ella Dark #28)

This was what happened when you played God and got caught, Ella thought.

Even through the holding cell bars, Drago LaChance – not his real name, but what she’d come to know him as – looked about as substantial as wet tissue paper.

The man seemed to exist in a constant state of being curled up like a foetus, as though the slightest danger from the outside world could kill him.

LaChance sat hunched on the concrete slab that passed for a bed. His fingers twitched and scraped at nothing in particular. His lank hair hung like ratty curtains, and his eyes were hollow pits in a death’s head.

Footsteps echoed behind her. Ella didn’t need to turn to know it was Ripley.

‘Job well done,’ she said with a shoulder-tap.

‘Appreciated. Officers found anything at his house?’

‘A whole lot of pill bottles and LaChance’s cell phone. Blythe’s fast-tracking a clearance so we can search it. We know this guy’s real name yet?’

‘I’ve just taken to calling him LaChance.’

‘Same. Pseudonyms beat real names every time. Did you know Elton John’s real name is Reginald?’

‘I can see why he changed it.’

‘Do you want first crack at this guy?’ Ripley asked.

‘I’m not sure how much there’s left to crack, but I’ll try.’

‘An instant confession will go down well in court. I’ll keep an eye from afar.’

Ella steeled herself, left Ripley and approached the cell. She placed one hand on the cold steel. She couldn’t imagine what life must be like with these things as walls for the rest of your life.

‘LaChance, time for you and I to have a heart to heart.’

The killer didn’t even look up. He just held on tight to himself.

‘Why’d you do it?’ Ella asked.

No response.

Ella summoned the guard over and gestured for him to unlock the door. He obliged, then Ella stepped inside and left the door ajar. A calculated move. Let him think there was a chance, however slim. Sometimes the illusion of freedom was all it took to get a perp talking.

One more time. ‘Why?’

LaChance's lips moved, but no sound came out. He tried again. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You’ll need to try harder. We’ve got enough evidence to bury you six-feet deep, so you might as well start talking.’

It wasn’t exactly true, but cops were allowed to lie to suspects in Connecticut if it meant getting results.

LaChance buried his face in his hands and let loose a sob that sounded like it came from the bottom of a mineshaft. Ella watched the tears leak through his fingers and suppressed the urge to grab him by the scruff and shake him like a ragdoll.

‘I did it. I killed them all.’

And with those words, Drago LaChance secured himself a permanent residence in Connecticut State Prison.

Ella’s guts knotted then untangled in quick succession.

She knew it, but hearing the words out loud always provoked a visceral reaction.

This was it. Confirmation. She glanced back at Ripley and she gave her the nod.

‘The proof,’ LaChance continued. ‘It’s on my phone. Pictures.’

‘Why those victims?’

‘They hurt me. Martina was my English teacher, said I’d be nothing. Kane made fun of my book at his little writing class.’

‘And Sophie?’

‘Who?’

‘Sophie Draper,’ Ella said.

‘I… don’t know.’

‘Right.’ Ella didn’t know if LaChance genuinely didn’t know her name or whether too many chemicals had rotted his short-term memory.

‘So, this little book of yours. Tell me about it.’

LaChance’s head nodded like it was on a string. ‘It’s just a… story. Not a very good one.’

Ella had to prod a finger in her ear and root around for any wax. In her experience, wannabe-artists never shut the hell up about their creations, and none of them ever admitted they sucked.

‘Not a very good one, huh?’

LaChance rubbed his skinny arms and shrugged. ‘Not really. I’m not a writer. I know I’ll never have adoring fans.’

‘So, why did you feel the need to make Halo of Blood a reality?’

LaChance scratched his scalp in a gesture that would suggest confusion, under any other circumstances. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I only wrote the thing to get over my ex dying. Her name was Becky. Cancer. She was my real angel.’

That explained the hoarding, Ella thought.

‘Jeez, what do you know?’ she asked. ‘I’m sorry about your ex, but you’re telling me you don’t know why you tracked down three old foes and carved them up? Nobody wakes up and decides to rip out a woman’s eyes on a whim.’

‘That’s the thing. I don’t even remember doing it.’

Classic excuse. Diminished responsibility. ‘Are you sure about that?’

LaChance clenched his hand popped a river of veins in his forearm. The man looked like he hadn’t eaten a carbohydrate in years. ‘Very sure. I have these… blackouts. I pass out and wake up in different rooms.’

‘Drugs will do that to you. You said you took pictures.’

‘I did. Apparently. But I don’t remember taking them. They just appeared.’

Unbelievable. Ella had heard some doozies in her day, from ‘the devil made me do it’ to ‘aliens beamed instructions into my fillings’, but she’d never heard ‘those photos of dead women just appeared on my phone’ before.

‘How did you do it? Your approach?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did you stalk these women, slip in through their windows, what?’

LaChance looked like Ella had asked him to explain particle physics. He looked at her, then across to the cell door, still open. But then he instantly sank back to his question-mark position.

Strange. Perps usually at least entertained the idea of making a break for it. LaChance, on the other hand, seemed content to be in this cage.

‘I couldn’t tell you how I did it. It all happened during one of my fugue states. It’s like another person takes the wheel.’

It was clear she wasn’t going to get many details out him. Maybe save the real probing questions for the official interrogation when she could record everything in full.

‘Alright, LaChance, stay put. Chances are you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.’

Ella aimed for the cell door. She needed time and distance to process all this. She’d had perps shout their actions from the rooftops and she’d had perps claim innocence right up to the execution chamber. But she’d never had one confess to three murders but say they don’t remember the details.

And while she hated to admit it, something wasn't adding up. LaChance's story had the ring of truth to it, but it was a truth wrapped in a lie. Or maybe a lie wrapped in truth. Either way, Ella's gut was screaming that there was more going on here than met the eye.

Just before leaving, she turned back and asked, ‘What’s your real name, by the way?’

‘Huh?’

‘Your real name. We searched Drago LaChance to the hills, couldn’t find you anywhere.’

‘It’s Drogo Lachowski. Polish.’

Ella tried not to roll her eyes. All this time, and all she needed to find him was a few more letters.

‘I’ll be back,’ Ella said.

She had a lot of thinking to do.