Page 90 of Zero Divergence

Holy fuck.

Vivian Gross had sent the new evidence she’d obtained on Humphries to him.

“I’ve got you now, you fucker,” Royce said.

He set the Speedo and hat on the table and picked up the envelope with shaking hands. He started to peel back the tape sealing it when he remembered his training. Gloves. He needed gloves. He kept a spare box in his kitchen drawer, where others kept things like plastic wrap and aluminum foil. Before meeting Sawyer, most of his dinners arrived in takeout cartons, so he didn’t have much use for those things. He never knew when he was going to be called out to a crime scene and would need gloves.

With a pounding heart, he carried the envelope into the kitchen. Royce opened the drawer, slid on a pair of nitrile gloves, then tore into the envelope. Even though his kitchen counters looked clean, they wouldn’t be sterile enough to avoid contaminating evidence, so he decided to study one piece at a time. The first thing he pulled out was a letter from Vivian Gross.

Detective Locke,

I know you and I have had our share of differences lately, and I’ve said some harsh things about you in the press, but I didn’t know where else to turn. New evidence regarding Franco Humphries dropped into my lap, and I had to make a tough choice: do what was best for a client, or do what I knew was ethically required of me, even if it meant losing my license to practice law. Betraying a client and my oath isn’t in my best interest professionally, but I have to look in the mirror and like who I see. I can live without being an attorney, but I cannot live with knowing I helped a serial rapist and murderer go free to continue terrorizing women.

While Franco was incarcerated, Tiffany found a safe-deposit box key hidden in a secret compartment in her husband’s desk. They had a joint box at the same bank, and this key had a different number. She talked herself out of opening it, choosing to believe what Franco told her. She said his demeanor drastically changed once he came home from the county jail, and she began fearing for her life. Tiffany hoped the safe-deposit box was the key to her freedom. The bank teller was too busy asking prying questions to recognize the key was for a second box Franco had opened without her.

What Tiffany found inside was very disturbing and quite damning for Franco. She wasn’t sure who she should turn to, because I’d done a great job of convincing her you couldn’t be trusted. I understand the irony of me turning to you now. Enclosed are photographs of the contents of the safe-deposit box. Tiffany has moved the items to a secured location Franco isn’t privy to, or me either for that matter. The photos of the evidence were enough to make me act.

Best regards,

Vivian Gross

Royce slipped the letter back inside, then pulled out the eight-by-ten photographs Tiffany Humphries had most likely snapped with her phone and later printed. There were dozens of charcoal sketches of women restrained to beds in various states of dress and stages of consciousness, including the four coeds, and a Ziploc bag with personal items most likely belonging to the victims. Most serial killers kept souvenirs. Humphries wasn’t as unique as the prick thought he was. As damning as all of it was, the photos that interested him the most were ones taken of monthly planner entries showing the dates and times of Humphries’s guest lectures at other universities. Next to the entry pages, Tiffany had placed newspaper articles about sex workers killed during the same time frame and snapped a picture. There were more than two dozen entries and corresponding articles.

“Fuck. This is way worse than I thought.” No wonder Tiffany phoned her sister.

Royce’s pulse soared as adrenaline rushed through his body. His hands shook as he slid the final piece of evidence back in the envelope. He started to feel lightheaded and realized he’d been holding his breath.

Breathe, dumbass.

He practiced Sawyer’s yoga shit until he felt steadier on his feet. Sawyer! He had to let him know what he discovered. Royce tucked the envelope under his arm, then grabbed his keys and headed out to the car where he’d left his cell phone. He’d turned so sharply into his driveway that the phone had slid off the passenger seat and onto the floorboard, landing by the passenger door. He’d been too miserable in his wet clothes to care and had left it in his locked vehicle.

Royce punched the button to unlock the Camaro, then walked around to the passenger door. He picked up the phone and called Sawyer. He heard a click and thought it was Sawyer picking up, but the line rang again. The hair stood up on the back of his neck when he realized the noise came from behind him.Humphries.

He started to turn to meet his nemesis, but an electrical current shot through his body, starting at the back of his neck and speeding its way to his legs, which had suddenly lost their ability to hold his weight.

Sawyer answered his call. “You better be calling to say you’re on the way.”

“Asshole,” Royce slurred.

A second, longer zap caused his body to jerk and fall forward, smacking his head hard against the doorframe.

Royce’s vision started to dim, and the world began to spin as the ground rushed up to meet him. He tried calling out for Sawyer, but Royce couldn’t get his mouth to form words. Then there was nothing but blackness.

Sawyer heard a solid thump followed by a barely audible groan before the connection ended. “Royce!” he shouted, even though he knew it was futile. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.” Fear screamed through his nervous system, threatening to short-circuit Sawyer’s brain and sweep his legs out from under him.Pull it together, Key. The last time he reacted without thinking, he nearly died and could’ve taken Royce out with him. A calm head had to prevail, and Sawyer needed to rely on his training, not emotion.

“Sawyer, what’s wrong?” Evangeline asked, gripping his arm.

He just shook his head as he dialed for help. “Officer down,” Sawyer firmly said when the dispatcher answered. He knew he wasn’t overreacting. Royce had slurred like he was incapacitated, and the loud thump could’ve been his body falling to the ground. God no. Sawyer choked back his fear, then rattled off his badge number and Royce’s home address, which he believed was his last known location. “I repeat. Officer down. Send units immediately.” Sawyer disconnected the call and turned to face his parents. “I have to go. Something is wrong.”

Tears streaked his mother’s face, but she nodded.

“Keep us posted,” his father said.

“I will,” Sawyer called over his shoulder as he raced down the hallway and out of the house.Please let them be in time. Please let them be in time.

His phone rang as soon as he started backing down his parents’ driveway. Sawyer saw it was the chief calling and hit the button on his steering wheel to answer. “Chief, I was just about to call you.”

“What’s going on?” Mendoza asked. The chief’s voice was firm but calm, which was just what Sawyer needed to pull himself together the rest of the way.