Page 20 of What’s Left of You (What Left #2)

It’s not something I believe, but we haven’t proven otherwise yet. Soto did some research on the professor, but nothing popped.

“Had we known any of this, Bradshaw, we wouldn’t be here now. And if I remember the rumors I keep hearing, you were friends with Char, isn’t that right?”

He scoffs. “Friends would be pushing it. I told you, we only ever spoke on the phone. We don’t really know each other.”

I glare at him, tilting my head. We’ve interviewed everyone who worked at CGP the week of the breakout, and I heard whispers about Rowths-Spurig more than once. Her name wasn’t just common; people actually knew who we were talking about when asked. Some even mentioned her first.

“I haven’t met her,” Norbert, one of the guards regularly on Alastair’s detail at the prison, tells me. Gabe and I have been doing interviews for a week, speaking to every single person there. Medical staff, security, inmates, maintenance staff, everyone. It’s been a lot.

Norbert was around quite a bit when we’d come to visit Alastair.

I did his first interview the day of the breakout, then Jensen spoke to him a few days later.

Today is interview number three and it's easy to see we’ve got him flustered.

He’s definitely hiding something; nobody is this skittish if they’re innocent.

“But Professor Rowths-Spurig is known around the complex,” Gabe argues, eyeing me. “We’ve heard plenty of people mention her by name. You included.”

He tugs at the neckline of his shirt, looking away for a moment before speaking again. “I think, uh, I - I think I told Constantine that she’s good friends with the warden. Maybe someone overheard?”

“And how did you find out that Warden Bradshaw is friends with the professor?” I ask.

“He talks to her on the phone sometimes,” Norbert continues.

“They’d been talking more lately. I think CGU was planning to have her come teach a class and maybe take on an advisory role here.

Obviously, that’s not happening anymore—but that was the plan.

He spent a lot of time on the phone with her. ”

“And you heard what they were talking about?” Gabe presses.

He shakes his head quickly. “No. Warden Bradshaw always hangs up before anyone can hear his calls, especially when he was talking to her. I only heard her name occasionally right before he’d disconnect the call. I don’t know what they talked about, specifically.”

“You know each other well enough that more than one employee mentioned it,” I tell him, offering a fake smile. “If you want me on your side, don’t bullshit me.”

Bradshaw pulls back with a scowl, and before he can answer, we’re interrupted by a woman approaching us through the maze of parked cars, holding a cell phone in front of her as far as she can reach.

“Agent Gideon! Warden Bradshaw! Can you give us an update on the missing serial killer Alastair Constantine and the woman he allegedly abducted during the breakout?”

We glance at each other, and I can feel this already spiraling out of control when the warden speaks. “Are you interviewing us on a smartphone?”

“It’s a livestream,” the girl says, shoving the phone closer. She peers around from behind the device, and when I can see all of her face I vaguely recognize her from around town. I think she was at the last press conference. “Beverly Heather. Reporter at Large.”

“We aren’t answering any questions via livestream, Beverly,” I tell her, holding up a hand. “If you have a lead, report it to the tipline.”

“So neither of you have a comment on the missing woman? She’s an old victim of Alastair Contantine’s, according to my sources!”

My brow twitches. That’s technically correct, but I’m not about to tell her that. Bradshaw mimics me, partially covering his face before shoving past us. “I’m not commenting on this case!”

He hurries away but Beverly stays. Sighing, I start towards my car, not looking forward to whatever is happening.

“So you don’t care at all about the victim?

” she presses, following behind me. She’s short, her head barely reaching my shoulder, and I ponder how old she is as we head through the lot.

“The people deserve to know what’s being done to protect the citizens of Citrus Grove!

You’re not going to protect Constantine when he’s apprehended; you’ll throw him back into the penitentiary without a fair trial!

The Slayers are ready to assist him, but we can’t find him with the FBI getting in our way.

You aren’t giving a mercenary like Constantine the respect he deserves! ”

Oh lord, she sounds like one of those crazed fans. I haven’t had to meet many Slayers yet.

“There’s no fair trial for a convicted killer,” I groan, biting my tongue before I say anything else. “He’s already gone through the justice system. We are only looking to return him to the cell he abandoned.”

“The Slayers can do better, you know! Protect the lives of the citizens here and let us save Constantine instead, Agent. We will take him where his talents can be respected.”

Of course the girl wanting to talk outside of the PD is a little mental.

When I reach my SUV, I take a quick look around the lot.

I don’t see any press, so they’ve either decided to give up on this case for now, or this girl just somehow happened to find me.

Now that Alastair’s been missing for weeks, the reports are becoming less frequent, but if people like Beverly start going rogue and live streaming, following my agents around this could reach the national news.

All the work we’ve done to keep things on the down-low won’t matter.

Opening the door of the vehicle makes a barrier between us, and Beverly huffs. “We the people are not going to be ignored! We deserve to know if we are safe in our homes at night.”

Beverly, you are way off the mark. Not only is she a bit mental, but I’m struggling to follow if she’s for or against Alastair at this point.

“If the killer was nearby we believe there would be more carnage closer together, not two bodies in seven weeks. If you are looking for news, Ms. Heather, I suggest checking with the stations the next time we have a press report.”

I slam the door shut, and she walks up and taps on my window.

The tint on the SUV works well, and I doubt she can see much of anything as I start the engine.

She’s apparently not used to stalking someone in their car.

I would’ve circled around and come at them from the bumper so it would be hard to close the door on me.

“You can’t deny the truth! The Citrus Grove Slayer lives! The Slayers are ready to support our savior. With his blade we can ascend to our final form!”

Oh, so Beverly is fucking crazy. I shake my head and start to reverse, tapping the dashboard so the side mirrors close into the sides of the vehicle.

Beverly might fantasize about reaching her final form, but she’s clearly not ready to get run over.

She steps back once she realizes I’m leaving with or without her moving.

By the time I’ve reversed out of my spot and started toward the exit, I’m already on the phone.

She trails me for a moment, then brings her phone back up—probably having a great time capturing my license plate for her livestream viewers.

“Hey, boss man,” Finley Soto says, her chipper voice echoing in the car. “What can I do ya for?”

“Soto, is there anything trending online about Constantine right now? Maybe connected to the name Beverly Heather,” I supply.

“Ah,” she replies. “Heavenly Beverly. Looks like a newer account, links to a personal one on socials that’s mostly pictures of beaches and flowers. Oh, I see, she’s trending for supporting the Citrus Grove Slayer.”

I replay what she said as I drive back to the house. “She made it sound like she didn’t like Alastair. She alleged that the person who’s traveling with him is a victim he abducted.”

Soto snorts. It’s nice to talk with her.

I haven’t relayed as much to Soto in the past few weeks.

Jensen’s done a lot of that, since Tyler and Gabe spend a lot of our brainstorming time arguing.

Trying to figure out the thought process of a serial killer is tricky business, but those two give me a headache every time they get into it.

Arguing amongst ourselves won’t solve the case, or help me find Alastair or Porscha.

“Heathers videos are mostly of her calling the police into question,” Soto continues. “No surprise there, she looks like she’s anti everything.”

“She called Alastair the Slayers’ savior,” I continue with a frown. “ With his blade, we can ascend to our final form . This shit is trending? How long has that been a thing?”

“Social media is a powerful thing Sir,” Soto says knowingly. “Videos go from nothing to something in a matter of minutes and half the things that trend shouldn’t. She’s collected a group of women who seem to be in love with Alastair Constantine.”

“There’s a good amount of those,” I grumble, thinking of what the prison turned over to us.

Alastair received a sickening amount of fan mail and letters, but he stopped opening anything years ago according to the records.

Some of the letters are years old, dating back to the weeks following his original arrest. “Are the Slayers supporting this video?”

“Looks like it,” she continues, and I hear her tapping slowly. “Uh, Sir?”

“Soto?”

“The video of you was just uploaded. It was a live feed, and it looks like she’s cropped it to show her interview with you and the Warden.”

“Not really an interview,” I tell her, but I can already feel a headache forming. “Great to know it’s posted.”

“We’ll have Gabe look it over,” she says sarcastically. Gabe has the best camera presence. He’ll tell me if I said something critical in the recording. “I’ll send it to him. And ask some of the other teams here?”

“It’s trending,” I groan. “They might see it anyway.”

“Right,” she replies, but the lightness in her voice is gone. This impromptu questionnaire could cause some serious problems since Heather so kindly uploaded directly to the internet.

“Do a preemptive search on Heather and any of her close friends,” I sigh. “I’m going to relay what I learned with Wallsburg and Bradshaw to the team, and I’ll have more for you to search after. Did you find anything new about our two victims?”

“Unsub Six I haven’t pulled anything up on yet,” Soto admits. “Briggs says her fingertips were sanded down? Where did they find power tools?”

“They could have them on hand,” I reply with a sigh.

I don’t know if that’s an Alastair move or a Porscha one, but it reminds me of the unidentified body that was supposed to be Porscha.

They’re trying to hide identities again, but this is due to the brutality of the murder.

The poor victim didn’t have any other significant identifiers.

“That’s unfortunate,” Soto grumbles. “The seventh victim, Tanya Gomez, her parents are planning cremation. We haven’t found a key, and her car shows no forced entry.

Her online presence was minimal and she was a grocer in town.

Briggs ID’d her from dental records. It’s probably in your messages, Sir. ”

It’s all information I mostly already know, and running it over in my mind doesn’t help me see anything clearer.

Porscha, or Alastair, spent the time to sand down fingerprints to avoid an ID but forgot about dental records.

It’s an oversight I wouldn’t expect from the true killer, since everything was so precise years ago.

I scrub a hand across my face as I drive, anxiously messing with my beard.

I don’t like the distinctions because they don’t give me enough to know who is who.

The seventh victim could be an accident aside from the fingertips, because Tanya Gomez wasn’t a blonde like every other victim.

If the wound pattern was different, we wouldn’t even connect her to the case.

She was outside of Citrus Grove too, close to Walters County. So like we suspected, Alastair and Porscha aren’t in the town. Whoever is doing the killing moved their hunting grounds, and Tanya was found closer to her hometown. She works part time at the grocer, according to her parents.

“I’ll do some more research on Heather. Jensen has me searching for any highway cameras too for the roads around Walters County, but unless it’s private property, I’m doubting we’ll find anything. There’s no traffic cameras in the area.”

“Probably a dead end,” I agree. “Keep me updated, Soto. Good work.”

When I hang up, I see the message I left on read before walking into the police department. It’s from Jo, demanding updates like I report to her.

Maybe I do. She’s been on my mind a lot, Vinny too.

We didn’t have any time together after visiting with his family, and all that experience made me want to do is grab a warrant against Massimo and Gloria Ajello.

While that would cause major issues for the Organized Crime division, that's not my issue. I’m hunting a serial killer.

And every time she asks, I have a mental war with myself over what to tell her.

We might be at odds right now, but they invited me into their world.

And in their world, Alastair exists. He might be in the past now, and he’s on borrowed time pending his capture, but he’ll always be a part of their lives.

He’s their past, and he lingers in the present and future.

Death Row or not not, Alastair is a part of them.

How I fit in, I’m not sure yet. I’m probably a fun addition for their time here in Florida, but once Alastair is apprehended and the copycat case closed, I’ll return to Quantico. And they will go back to Denver.

There won’t be anything left of me to hinder the two of them. Instead of trying to figure out what to tell her, for now, I continue to leave her on read.