Page 18 of What’s Left of Me (What Left #1)

I study the two images. Jo looks a lot like her mother now that she’s close to her age, and Porscha was always considered beautiful. Even when I lived here Porscha was always wandering around, doing odd jobs to keep her and Joelle in their home.

Her job title in the file is handy-woman.

I scoff, wondering why the hell that’s what we’re calling it.

I wasn’t direct friends with her daughter since I’m four years older than she is, but I remember Porscha always did paint jobs for a bunch of complexes.

She did a little bit of everything: painting, doors, hinges, locks.

She was handy, and people liked to hire her for jobs.

I never saw Porscha without some type of tool or brush in her hand.

She seemed nice, always had a smile on her face.

She fit the victim type too - blonde, thin, local.

It was always someone who looked similar to the last, like each murder was a surrogate for the true offender.

Porscha was also the only victim who went outside Alastair’s preferred age group, but his story coincides with the bits Jo managed to remember.

She ran across them after he had abducted Jo, and her death was due to her interference, not because Alastair specifically targeted Porscha.

My fingers drum over Porscha’s photograph, her green eyes sharp and snake-like compared to her daughter’s softer baby blues.

Dad always said Porscha was a young mom, and I can see it plain as day in their pictures.

I know from the birthdates on the files that she was seventeen when she had Joelle, and it was a scandal in town.

Come to think of it, I don’t really remember hearing anything about Porscha’s extended family.

Even when Jo lost her only parent, I kind of remember hearing something about a wealthy family member helping to pay some of the costs, because I caught Vinny in the hall once arguing on the phone with someone about it.

But I never physically saw anyone except for Vinny at the hospital with her all those years ago.

His four siblings were children back then.

It’s sad to think of how alone she really was after her mother’s death until she woke up and married her high school sweetheart shortly after.

Jo’s background check years before only revealed an estranged uncle and aunt, and two younger cousins.

When I decided to contact Jo and Vinny that information still held true, although her husband is now her emergency contact for everything.

Her uncle appears to be Porscha’s brother, but again, he never showed up to claim the body after her death.

They had to wait for Jo to wake up to even claim her mother’s body from the morgue.

Shaking my head, I decide it’s time to stop drifting down memory lane. I pick up my phone and call one of my favorite people. She answers on the second ring, perky and upbeat like usual. “Give it to me, honey. What’s the latest news?”

“Soto,” I say, smirking down at the phone. There’s no contact picture, but I can almost imagine the way Finley Soto would raise a brow and smirk, ready to make some sort of joke to lighten the mood. “I assume Gabe mentioned the latest victim to you?”

“Already making the digital files and they’ve uploaded to your phone, boss man,” she replies. “He sent me the pictures. Who has the patience to cut people up like that?”

“I don’t think it’s a patience thing, Soto,” I remind her.

“Well it’s gruesome,” she says, and I can hear the disdain in her voice. “And gross. That poor girl.”

“Did you find anything interesting about the victim since we sent you her info?”

“Yes, I did, sir,” Soto replies, and I can hear the click of her keyboard.

“Candace Swan was a twenty-three year old transplant to Citrus Grove from the neighboring town Walters, looks like she got her bachelor’s in Tallahassee and came back to the small town life to continue working.

Her socials show a morbid fascination with serial killers-”

I groan. “Tell me Swan didn’t go and get herself a job at the penitentiary because of Alastair?”

“That would be speculation, sir,” she says, her voice turning coy. “She had an extensive search history on the Citrus Grove Slayer prior to her first day at CGP.”

“I swear if she’s one of those Slayer obsessors I’ve heard about,” I begin, grumbling my reply before the sentence trails off.

I get it, people are curious about those they are working with and Alastair has a reputation.

If she had any interest in history or horror she would recognize his name and connect the dots easily enough.

I mull over what Soto said, trying to piece together the puzzle in my head without all the pieces.

It’s not getting me anywhere.

“The victimology is different,” I continue instead, filling the silence where I let the sentence hang unfinished.

“So the copycat is already veering off course. Alastair could be feeding them intel. It seems meaningful that it was Swan who was chosen over every woman in Citrus Grove, not to mention she doesn’t fit the established profile. ”

“Maybe someone’s watching the penitentiary?” Soto muses. “I’m not a profiler, sir, but if Swan knew Kyle Wallsburg and he’s involved, her interest could make her a target, right?”

I hum in response, nodding to myself. “We’ve considered that. We need more proof to pin anything on Wallsburg, unless you have something new for me on him?”

“Not yet. Is there something else I can search for, sir?” Soto asks.

“Do a workup on any other friends Alastair had back in school,” I say, scrubbing a hand along my beard.

Honestly I’m not sure it’ll do any good, but now I’ve got keys on the brain.

“See if anyone is still in town, or recently returned. Maybe someone who is related to one of his previous victims who might have their own agenda. And I’m going to send you some photos of a key.

Compare it to what’s saved in VICAP from the Odell file and see if it looks like either key is a duplicate. ”

I think the one from Swan’s place was a duplicate, but to be frank I was a little thrown off when I saw it.

“Whatever you say, sir,” Soto replies, but I can hear some of the confusion in her voice. I just gave her two completely different things to look into, and the key is kind of out of left field.

But it’s bothering me now. I can't ignore it.

“Thank you, Finley.”

“You should get some rest,” she continues, her chipper voice extra loud in my ear this time when she speaks. “I’ll keep you posted!”

She disconnects the call, and I drop my forehead to the table with a groan. Rest is probably the optimal idea, but right now the headache pounding behind my eyes demands some type of liquor.

“Sterling, you back there?” Gabe’s voice coming from the front of the house startles me and I sit up, ignoring the pain.

Glancing around the room once more, I wonder if the answers really are buried in these files. I can’t stop the exhausted sigh as I realize how much work truly lays before us. “Yeah, I’m here. Did you find anything new?”