Page 53 of The Hanging Dolls (Zoe Storm #1)

FIFTY-TWO

Zoe had no idea how she got here. She stumbled through the darkened woods as the rain pounded against the canopy of trees, each drop like a drumbeat on her skin. The wind howled, twisting the trees into grotesque shapes that seemed to reach out for her.

She could hear it—an ominous presence—breathing heavily, chasing her.

The shadow moved silently between the trees, its shape barely discernible but ever-present, closing in with each passing second.

Panic surged through her as she tried to navigate through the swirling darkness, her heart pounding in her chest.

She burst through the underbrush into a small clearing and froze in terror, almost bumping into someone. There was just enough moonlight to reveal who it was.

Scott.

He was drenched, his face lacking the brutal scar that ran down the middle. He looked exactly like he did when she first met him. Back when she had no idea that this is how their story would end, how he was destined to die in front of her.

“Scott!” She ran to him, realizing it was a dream. A terrible dream designed to twist that knife deeper into her heart, until all she felt was guilt.

Scott’s gaze met hers, his eyes filled with a profound sadness. “Zoe, we’ve been betrayed.”

Before she could respond, Zoe felt herself being yanked from behind. And then she was plunged into a different scene so quickly that she got whiplash.

She found herself in a familiar place—her old house, bathed in the soft, warm light of a late afternoon sun. The storm was gone, leaving behind dripping leaves. She was standing by the window, looking out. It was rare for it to storm like this here.

A reflection appeared in the window—Rachel stood behind her, holding a dish rag. Zoe felt like she was drowning. She couldn’t breathe. But she didn’t turn round either. This was a memory.

“Too bad that it stopped raining.” Rachel’s lips twisted in regret.

“You like storms,” Zoe said.

She smiled. “So much so that I wish I could name myself after them.”

Zoe dragged her feet into the station with a throbbing headache.

Aiden was right behind her. It had been a few hours since she’d managed to call for backup in the woods and was escorted to the hospital.

She stood in the center, observing everyone—patrol officers and uniform cops all standing subdued, unsure of what to say.

She swore the walls were closing in, having absorbed the tragedy and buckling under its weight.

Aiden had driven her back from the hospital.

It was a quiet ride. She could sense he was trying to say something but would never have guessed that even shrinks could be speechless.

She almost bumped into the corner of a desk and Aiden’s hands came around her, freezing before they could make contact.

“I’m not fragile,” she said tightly.

“No, but you just watched someone who was like a friend get killed,” he murmured.

There it was. Scott was dead. Each time she blinked, she saw red liquid fanning out, dousing his clothes and skin before he was lost somewhere in it.

Her eyes scanned the despondent faces, looking for that one face. But when her eyes landed on Scott, her heart sank in her chest. He was talking to a patrol officer, giving him instructions from the looks of it. When he saw Zoe approaching, he raised a hand to wave at her.

She raised her hand as well. But just as she was about to make contact, a figure brushed past her, momentarily blocking her view. As the person moved away, Zoe realized that it was Travis speaking with the patrol officer, not Scott.

She turned to Aiden. “Look. You were right. There were two killers. The message left with Tara and the hesitation marks. Except the two killers weren’t acting in collusion; one was a copycat.

I know you probably want to go all shrink-y on me and talk about this.

But now’s not the time. I’m not in the mood. ”

“I’m not asking anything from you, Storm.” His smile was forlorn.

She headed toward her office. As she neared, she saw Terri hunched over her desk, talking to someone on the phone.

Zoe stared at her—an earnest, hardworking woman who had been working with Scott for years.

She waited to feel anger and spite, remembering Connor’s words about how she was his source, feeding him information from the inside.

But Zoe was too tired, too numb. It was like the grief was tugging at her skin, pulling it down.

“Terri,” Zoe said, her voice breaking the silence with a sharp edge. “We need to talk.”

Terri looked up, her eyes swollen and red from crying. “Agent Storm,” she said, her voice quivering.

Her gaze was hard and unyielding. “Were you slipping information to Connor?” When Terri opened her mouth, Zoe raised a hand to interrupt her. “Don’t even think about lying. Connor told us before he died.”

Terri’s face fell further, and she took a ragged breath. “I— I didn’t think it would come to this,” she sobbed. “I just needed the money.”

“He murdered a girl.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she struggled to find the words. “I didn’t know that! I swear!” Her outburst drew some looks. “He told me he just needed to stay ahead of the other news channels for strategy. For Regina’s campaign. He would just ask for details. I didn’t think anything of it.”

Zoe’s anger flared. “And when Tara went missing and was found dead, you didn’t think anything of it then?”

“I didn’t. Please believe me.” The corners of her mouth pulled down. “I have a kid too. I would never… The note at the first crime scene suggested there would be more victims. I thought it was the killer.”

“And the differences between the crime scenes? That didn’t ring a bell?” Zoe’s voice climbed up a notch.

She flinched, looking down at her feet. “I… I didn’t make the connection, Agent Storm. Like you said, I thought it was the killer improving.”

She broke down in tears, but Zoe didn’t budge. There were too many people dead, people who now only existed in photographs and memories. “I had made it clear to everyone not to leak details outside. This is why. How do you plan to live with yourself? Because of you, Scott is dead!”

Travis quickly interrupted them. “What’s going on? Agent Storm?”

But Zoe’s eyes were pinned on Terri, undeterred by her crying. “Terri leaked case details to Connor in exchange for money. That’s why Connor was able to stage the crime scene and leave that note when he murdered Tara.”

A series of gasps. Eyes filled with accusation and disbelief.

The shock on Travis’s face was palpable. He cleared his throat. “Terri, is this true?”

Terri nodded solemnly. But Zoe kept glaring at her.

It didn’t feel enough. No matter how many tears Terri shed and how red she turned, it wasn’t enough for Zoe.

Her right eye twitched. An itch grew stronger.

The desire to scratch it ran up her body.

The carnal need to right a wrong, to dispense justice.

Terri’s hands trembled as she tried to compose herself. “I swear, Chief, I didn’t want anyone to get hurt,” she said, her voice breaking. “Connor made it sound harmless. He just needed some inside info to boost Regina’s image. I never imagined this is what his plan was all along.”

“When did this start?”

“He contacted me a few weeks ago,” she said.

“He offered me a lot of money, and I—I was desperate. I didn’t think it would go beyond PR stunts.

I just gave him some details about the ongoing investigations.

I messed up. I didn’t see the bigger picture.

Connor seemed so convincing, and I needed the money.

I never imagined it would lead to this. Please, you have to believe me.

I didn’t want Scott or anyone to get hurt. ”

Travis sighed. “Terri, come into my office. We need to discuss your future. And Agent Storm,” he said, looking at Zoe who was still quaking with rage, “focus on finding Lucy. The clock is ticking.”

Before Terri followed Travis into his office, she turned back to Zoe.

“Scott was important to me. He was like a brother. What I did is going to mess me up for life, but if there’s anything I can do to help, tell me.

I don’t care about anything anymore but atonement.

Please.” With that, she went into Travis’s office.

Zoe didn’t want to think about Terri. Loneliness was cold and brutal.

With Scott dead and Terri rightfully fired, it dawned on her that she lacked allies in a new town.

She shrugged off her jacket and recruited more patrol officers to update her on the latest reports from the rangers and anonymous tips.

Hours bled into each other and Zoe felt like a rock was sitting on her chest. Lucy’s picture was pinned to her desk. Where was she?

In the waiting area, Carly sat with her knee bobbing and shredded lips.

She chewed on her jagged nails and glanced around waiting for some news.

She came in every day and left after sunset.

Her throat worked overtime, always swallowing and taking strained breaths.

She was losing it. Every day that insanity inside her became a little more visible.

Zoe watched her from a distance, thinking back to what Bella had said about still loving her mother.

The CPS had been alerted after Sam Buster’s statement. But with Lucy still missing, the CPS were on hold, ready to swoop in when she was found alive and well.

If.

Zoe took a break from reading one bad report after another. The suspicious man who Lily recognized was still a mystery. And Lucy’s friends and neighbors hadn’t reported any man lurking or Lucy mentioning anyone.

She went to get some water and paused next to Scott’s desk.

It still hadn’t been cleared. Her throat closed as her fingers grazed his chair.

His desk was sparse, only the things he needed—things still covered in him.

One coffee mug with a sailor on it. A true resident of Harborwood.

A rueful smile curled up her lips as she flipped open a diary.

He had scribbled notes in there—reminders of leads to follow up, affidavits to write, and random ideas.

Her hand hovered over a page.

Lucy. Check dumpster contents.

Zoe frowned. He hadn’t mentioned this to her. Was this a random train of thought? Did he get around to it?

She asked a patrol officer she recognized as assisting in the case. “Were there dumpsters where Lucy was taken? Communal ones.”

He contemplated her question. “Yes, ma’am. They are maintained by the municipal waste management services.”

“Was anything collected from them when Lucy went missing?”

“Yes, Detective Cohen told us to. It was a surprising request, but he was being thorough. It’s in the evidence room. Not sure if anyone has looked into it.”

“Take me to it.”

He led Zoe down a narrow, dimly lit hallway with low ceilings and walls adorned with yellowing posters warning against various misdemeanors. The sound of their footsteps echoed on the cold concrete floor as they approached a heavy, metal door at the end of the corridor.

The patrol officer unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing the evidence room.

It was a cramped, windowless space filled with metal shelves stacked with brown evidence boxes and a few locked cabinets along the walls.

The air inside was stale, with a faint scent of dust and old paper that tickled the insides of Zoe’s nose.

“Here we are, ma’am,” the officer said, moving toward a corner where several large, black trash bags were piled up haphazardly. He reached down and grabbed two of the bags, hoisting them up with a grunt. “These are the ones you asked for.”

Zoe slipped on her gloves. The weight of them suggested they were full, and as she set them down on the nearest table, the distinct, unpleasant smell of rotting garbage began to waft from the seams.

“Would you like some assistance?” he asked.

“No, thank you.” She wasn’t in the mood. She needed to be left alone today.

She pulled open the first bag, and the stench hit her—an overpowering mix of decaying food, sour milk, and the acrid tang of something chemical.

She wrinkled her nose but didn’t hesitate, plunging her gloved hands into the bag.

The contents were a chaotic jumble: crumpled fast food wrappers, soggy coffee grounds, and bits of unidentifiable sludge that stuck to her gloves.

She turned over each piece, inspecting it carefully, ignoring the way the slimy, putrid mess clung to her fingers.

Anything that would stand out. She wanted Scott’s instincts to turn out to be right. It made her proud how extra careful he was. He didn’t deserve to die, not like that, and he certainly didn’t deserve the train wreck of his last few days.

Zoe reached deeper into the bag, sifting through more debris—broken glass, twisted metal, a tangle of hair that made her grimace. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, just the usual filth one would expect from a dumpster.

She wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. Her hand pulled out what looked like an empty package.

It was hollow but Zoe stopped, noticing something on it.

It was a phlebotomy kit. The outer packaging contained information on what to expect inside—needles, collection tubes, alcohol swabs.

She studied it for any information on the recipient name or address but the package had been torn.

Stuck to it was a manual with details on how to draw blood.

The supplier information was on it though. Harborwood Central Pharmacy .

Zoe’s mind raced. Phlebotomy kit. This was something that could be used for the treatment of hereditary hemochromatosis. Was this a coincidence? What if the killer had discarded this? What if he lived near Lucy?