Page 11 of The First Hunt (The Final Hunt)
HOLLY
T he shrill ring of Holly’s phone cut through the otherwise quiet apartment as she unlocked the front door. She hurried to the kitchen.
“Hello?” She held her breath, imagining Andy on the other line, about to tell her they’d caught the Green River Killer, and that their suspect had confessed to killing dozens of women, including Meg.
“Hi, Holly. It’s Andy.”
Her heart rate spiked with anticipation as she pressed the phone to her ear.
“He passed,” Andy said.
Holly closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the ceiling. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, unfortunately. He’s not our guy.”
Holly’s throat swelled, making it difficult to swallow. She wanted to tell Andy there’d been a mistake. They should redo the test. But she was too overcome to speak.
“Sorry, Holly. And listen, we’re not releasing his name to the public. He cooperated with us and passed the lie detector test, and we don’t have any hard evidence linking him to the Green River Killings.”
“Can you at least tell me his name?”
A pause. “His first name was Louie.”
“Lou was one of the names Meg’s roommate gave me for the older guy Meg was hanging out with before she was killed.” It had to be him. “Did you ask him about Meg?”
“I’m sorry. But it became clear after we questioned him regarding over a dozen murders that he wasn’t the Green River Killer. And we had no evidence linking him to Meg.”
“But Andy—”
“Holly, Meg’s roommate admitted to being on drugs while she lived at the group home with your sister. The three names she gave me didn’t sound anything alike. She couldn’t remember; she was grasping at straws. I know it’s disappointing. Hell, I wish he was our guy too. But he’s not.”
She heard voices in the background and was about to ask Andy if they asked him specifically about Sally Hickman when Andy added, “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you soon.”
He hung up before Holly could say goodbye. After replacing the receiver, she pressed her forehead against the wall.
Hours later, Holly stared at the map of Seattle and its surrounding area.
It covered half the wall of her spare bedroom, marked with fifty-five X’s where young women’s bodies had been discovered, all of them strangled in the last five years.
And all their cases were still unsolved.
Beside the X’s , she’d tacked notecards bearing the women’s names, ages, and details of their deaths.
Holly crossed her arms and stepped back, thinking about what Andy had said about the man who’d been brought in for questioning.
He had an alibi for when the first three Green River Killer victims were killed, as well as for when a recent Green River Killer victim went missing over Thanksgiving weekend.
She untacked the notecards and stuck them into two rows on the adjacent wall. Halfway through, she turned to the desk and rifled through the mess of typed pages to find a blank paper. Losing patience, she flipped over a typed page. Swiping the pen from above her ear, she scribbled a list.
SOME RUNAWAYS, SOME NOT
TEENAGERS - EARLY TWENTIES
LAST SEEN AROUND BUS STOPS
KILLED WHERE BODY FOUND (NOT DUMPED)
ALL MANUALLY STRANGLED
1980 – PRESENT
MOSTLY FOUND WITHIN SEATTLE CITY LIMITS
She tacked the list to the wall beside the first row of names on the left before making another.
RUNAWAYS, PROSTITUTES, OR LIVING ON THE STREETS
Holly paused, biting her lip before adding
– BUT NOT ALL
MOVED AND DUMPED POSTMORTEM
STRANGLED WITH BOTH LIGATURES AND MANUALLY
1982-PRESENT
MOSTLY FOUND OUTSIDE SEATTLE CITY LIMITS
Holly stepped back. She’d tacked Meg’s name under the first list. Meg was last seen getting into a blue car at a bus stop.
Her body had been found just south of Seattle city limits, but only three miles away from Sally’s body.
There were two victims left on the map that didn’t completely fit on either list. One was Sally Hickman, and the other was Brooke Holtman.
Both fit the criteria of Holly’s first list except that they were prostitutes.
And they each had shared something in common with Meg: Brooke Holtman had been last seen near a Seattle bus stop, and Sally had been last seen getting into a blue car.
Holly tacked their names under the first list, adding AND SOME PROSTITUTES-BUT NOT MOST. She crossed off BUS STOP and frowned. This didn’t make sense. She rubbed her eyes. Her lists were blurring together.
The phone rang in the kitchen. Still holding the pen, Holly hurried across the small apartment to answer it, noting the city outside the apartment window had gone dark. It has to be Jared. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d stormed out of the Major Crimes Unit that afternoon.
“Holly, it’s Mack.”
Her lungs deflated at the sound of her boss’s gruff voice.
“I don’t see your piece on my desk.”
Holly’s hand flew to her forehand. Her gaze darted to the binder containing a stack of articles and handwritten notes on the kitchen table for her true crime book about Cassidy Ray.
Beside it was a pile of unopened write-ins she’d received that morning in her mailbox at the Tribune .
She hadn’t thought about either since getting home from work.
“I’m so sorry. I…” After the news from her literary agent and learning King County Major Crimes had brought in a Green River Killer suspect, she’d completely forgotten about her assignment to write a piece on the rising crime in Seattle’s Chinatown district.
She glanced at her watch and swore under her breath.
Two hours till deadline. She hadn’t even started it yet.
“I’m just putting the finishing touches on it.
” She had, at least, spent most of yesterday interviewing business owners in Chinatown about the increase in break-ins and muggings the neighborhood was experiencing.
Now, she just needed to compile all her notes into a succinct—and compelling—article.
“Don’t worry, I’ll have it on your desk by ten.
” She stared at the open door to the spare bedroom she used as an office.
With the time it would take to drive downtown to the Tribune , it was going to be close.
The Tribune’s lead editor breathed into the phone. “Okay, good work. But next time I want it turned in earlier. Don’t let all that success of yours go to your head. You still have a job to do.”
“Understood,” she said as the line went dead.
She sighed and trudged back into her office, preparing to crunch out a story over the next hour and a half before driving back downtown to turn it in.
Before sitting at her typewriter, Holly gravitated toward the two victim lists on the wall.
She tapped her fingers against her thigh before moving Sally Hickman, Brooke Holtman, and Meg to their own list. She also added Jennifer Duran, last seen at a Seattle bus stop, even though she was still missing.
She stared at the date Sally Hickman went missing, willing her mind to piece the puzzle together.
Her gaze traveled to the second row of victims. Sally Hickman had been last seen on Christmas Day, a day after the Tribune’s primary crime reporter ran a lengthy piece on the Green River Killer on Christmas Eve, highlighting the most recently discovered victim, found on December 19th.
Holly’s eyes stopped on the tenth victim on her right-sided list. Her corpse had been discovered north of SeaTac airport last spring.
While the victim had no criminal record for prostitution, police believe she had dabbled in it.
The grim discovery of the eighteen-year-old’s body had made the Tribune’s front page news.
Brooke Holtman, the other victim who, like Sally Hickman, didn’t exactly fit on either of Holly’s two lists, had gone missing the very next day.
She stepped to the two-page typed list of young women who’d gone missing in the Seattle area in the last five years.
One of the most recent was twenty-year-old waitress Jennifer Duran, last seen two weeks ago, whose disappearance had garnered extensive news coverage.
Holly glanced at the date before checking the day the most recent Green River Killer victim had been discovered near Star Lake, where detectives had found the suspect walking around today with his son.
And then she saw it. Holly covered her mouth with her hand as she drew in a sharp breath. It was a crazy theory, but a pattern, nonetheless.
A sharp rap against her apartment door tore Holly from her thoughts.