Page 32 of The Hanging Dolls (Zoe Storm #1)
THIRTY-ONE
“Just trust your instincts, Agent Storm.” A dimple appeared on Aiden’s cheek. “Your instincts will never fail you.”
Zoe hadn’t noticed his dimples before. She liked it. “Haven’t your instincts ever failed you before?”
“No.”
“Aren’t you self-assured?” she teased lightly.
He cracked another smile. “If your instincts failed you, then it’s because you were too scared to actually listen to them.”
Zoe pondered his words. She knew deep in her bones she wouldn’t keep her promise to Rachel to not look into her death—she just didn’t have the stomach. “I suppose you’re right. But your instinct definitely failed you when you decided to decorate your office with that .”
He turned his head to follow her gaze at the Pollock painting on the wall behind him. “That’s a classic! What are you talking about?”
“Why didn’t you pick something easy on the eyes? Like a Monet or a Van Gogh?”
He made a show of taking notes. “Patient has a shockingly poor taste in art. Unfit for duty.”
Zoe laughed.
There was something charged about that morning.
An electric hum that clung to Zoe’s skin like static as she walked along the docks to the station.
The water in the harbor lay almost perfectly still, a mirror reflecting the muted colors of the sky, broken only by the occasional ripple as a lone seagull dipped low to skim the surface.
The boats, varying in size and age, bobbed gently in their moorings, their hulls creaking softly like an old man’s bones.
Her phone rang. “What’s up?”
“I finished my linguistic analysis of the messages,” Aiden said, sounding unusually hesitant. “And I found something intriguing.”
“Like what?” Her heart skittered.
“Both messages refer to conclusions or endings and contain metaphors. I did three types of analysis—lexical, syntactic, and stylistic. The first message had frequent use of first-person singular pronouns, unlike the second message that had third-person and impersonal language like the outcome, everything concludes . The first message also contains more poetic terms like climbing a hill, plucking a flower, stealing a star ?—”
She stopped in her tracks, watching the seagulls pick away at the carcass of a dead bird. “The second one had generic phrases like perhaps it’s for the best .”
“Exactly. In terms of sentence structure, while both use contractions, the first one was a mix of short and complex sentences with multiple clauses but the second had two sentences of moderate length and simpler structure. Also, the tone has shifted from urgent, personal, and emotive to reflective, impersonal, and resigned.”
Zoe raked over the words that were embedded in her head. “Yeah, the second was more formal too. First one was poetic, less generic expressions.”
“Now you’re getting it.” A pause. “According to the program, there is a fifty percent chance that the two messages were authored by two different people.”
“What?” Her voice splintered. “ Two? Isn’t it possible that the killer’s psyche is evolving with the killings?”
“It’s a possibility and to be fair, the two messages were very short but… the crime scenes are too clean, Storm. Especially for a town that has no history of violent crimes and incidents. Chief Hunter and I have looked into every newcomer in town and they all checked out. We can’t rule this out.”
“So there might be two killers.”
“It’s easier for two to orchestrate something like this.” A phone rang in the background. “I’ll give my findings to Scott. You coming?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there soon. See you.”
Zoe was getting used to the smell of salt and seaweed. Her mind was still in turmoil over Aiden’s suggestion. Her foot caught in the old ropes coiled on the ground and she almost stumbled forward. A hand appeared around her elbow, steadying her.
“Easy there.” It was Keith.
“Hey.” Zoe blinked, not quite sure how he’d found her.
He withdrew his hand, stuffing it in his pocket, and looked over at the ocean with narrowed eyes. “How’s the case going?”
“I’m sure you’ve been watching the news.” She slurped on her milkshake.
His gaze remained on the plastic cup longer than it needed to. “It was your mother’s favorite. I, myself, was more of a chocolate milkshake guy.”
She tried not to beam. But she only knew bits and pieces about her mother. “What else did she like?”
“The ocean.” A rueful smile tugged at his lips. “She always used to dream about living out here. She spent some time in Lakemore as a teenager and wanted to go back. She wanted to do a lot of things.”
But she was killed. Someone forced her to take pills and then drowned her in the bathtub.
And her dutiful daughter Zoe cleaned up the crime scene before calling the police.
The knot in her chest tightened. The knowledge of what she had done choked her.
It was necessary, she had to. She knew that.
It’s what Rachel had wanted. She had done the right thing.
But if it was the right thing to do, then why did she hide it?
“Gina has two kids. Twins,” Zoe said. “I wish she got to see that.”
“Grandkids, huh?” He chuckled. “Time goes by fast.”
“Why didn’t you ever contact her?” She regretted it the moment she asked the question. A shadow engulfed his face.
He pretended to check his watch. “Running late for an appointment.”
She didn’t stop him as he hightailed from there.
She had made progress. He had approached her of his own accord.
She could wear him down. But he was like a wounded animal.
The only way he would come to her was if she stayed away, even though as time ticked by and her patience ran thin, it was the hardest thing to do.
Zoe was right about there being something different in the air.
Her pulse quickened as she got out of the car.
The parking lot was packed with people, signs waving, and voices raised in angry shouts.
The morning had brought more than just tension; it had brought a storm.
As she drew closer, she could make out the signs: “Justice for Our Girls!” and “Do Your Job!”—the words hit her like punches to the gut.
The crowd was larger than she’d anticipated, and louder too. Patrol officers stood at the entrance, blocking the tide of angry townspeople. The reporters were in the thick of it, cameras rolling, firing off questions that only fueled the fire.
Zoe’s heart sank as she spotted Logan, Tara’s dad, near the front. His face was twisted with anger, and he was shouting at the officers, demanding answers they couldn’t give.
“How do you sleep at night?”
“How many more girls have to die in the woods?”
“Why haven’t there been any arrests yet?”
Reporters with cameras slung over their shoulders moved through the throng of people.
All the fear, grief, and anxiety had all boiled into anger.
When emotions didn’t know where to go, they all headed to fury.
The rage that boils blood. The frustration that feels like needles running through veins.
When reality bends and everything looks wrong and unfair.
It’s in that heat that the animal takes over, when logic and calmness flee. And all animals need a prey.
There was no way around it—Zoe would have to push through the angry mob. She squared her shoulders and started to work her way through the mass of bodies, trying to keep her head down. But she didn’t get far.
“Hey! It’s her! FBI!” Logan’s gaze locked onto hers, recognition flaring in his eyes. “You!” he shouted, pointing a finger at her. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be protecting us! Why aren’t you doing your job?”
“It’s the FBI. They’re all corrupt!” someone yelled.
The crowd surged, closing in around her. Hands reached out, grabbing at her arms, her coat, anything they could hold on to. Zoe’s heart pounded as she tried to keep her footing, but she was surrounded by a wall of hostility that was closing in.
“My daughter is dead!” Logan yelled, his voice rising above the chaos. “What the hell are you doing about it?”
Zoe tried to speak but her voice was drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “Please let me through! We are doing everything we can!”
Panic clawed at her throat as she struggled to break free from the hands pulling at her.
Suddenly, a familiar figure pushed through the crowd—Scott. He moved with a determined urgency, his face set in a hard line as he reached her side. “Back off!” he shouted, as he pushed people away from Zoe. “Get back!”
For a moment, Zoe thought that everything was going to be fine and she would be pulled into the safety of the station. The next second, someone lunged.
A flash of metal slicing through the air. Zoe’s eyes widened in horror as the knife cut across Scott’s face.