The Dark Places by R. Whitfield (novel24 TXT) 📕

hair, young, beautiful, these girls have absolutely nothing in common.” Surin looked over at him, sensing his frustration.

“Emma, nineteen, waitress; Kara, twenty, legal secretary; Jessica, twenty-two college student; Eva and now Isabelle.” He put his book down and shifted in his seat. “Five girls, how is it that we are the only ones who are noticing this?” He looked over to Surin for answers.

“The time gap, the different locations, the lack of motive or any discernible connection between victims? Believe me, I’ve asked myself all these questions before. The only thing we need to focus on is that we have noticed and we are going to get this guy.” She turned the wheel into the parking lot at the medical examiner’s office and turned off the engine.

“Time gap,” Parker repeated to himself.

“Rhodes, are you talking to yourself or me right now?” Surin asked, pushing her large black Audrey Hepburn-inspired sunglasses onto the top of her head.

“Emma was killed seven years ago, then nothing until four years ago?”

“Your point?” Surin added, getting that tingly feeling she got when she was on the verge of a break.

“That’s a huge gap. He has killed two this year already. That’s pretty major escalation, don’t you think?”

“You think we have missed one?” Surin asked quietly. “I mean, that is possible, I was the only one working on this. I’m not perfect. Some of the files may not have been uploaded at the time, and a lot of precincts are still upgrading computer systems.”

“Let’s check in with Vector, head back to the station and start looking,” Parker stated and opened the car door, stepping out with renewed vigour.

“We have a refined window to search, and now we know exactly what we are looking for,” Surin added with a smile, “the haystack just got a shitload smaller.”

***

Vector liked working alone. There was nothing he preferred more than being undisturbed in his environment. The crisp air, stark white walls and chemical scent may be a deterrent to others, but it was an odd comfort for him. The morgue held a type of silence that was rare in this city. Double-glazed windows, vacuum-sealed doors and solid walls meant that quiet was truly quiet. White noise did not exist in here. No monotonous droning of traffic, people chattering, bikes, bells, coughing, sniffing, birds singing or any other sound that people are oblivious to. This type of quiet can unnerve people, but not Vector. Today, however, he needed noise. He needed something to distract him from the body of a young man on the table in front of him who had pointlessly taken his life. In Vector’s eyes, these cases were more tragic than any, and far too close to home. His choice of noise: Johann Sebastian Bach’s Violin Concerto in A Minor.

Surin saw the music before she heard it. Through the viewing glass in the main room, she watched as Vector, oblivious to his audience, used a bloody scalpel to conduct an imaginary orchestra.

“He must have a suicide today,” she mumbled to Parker.

“What the hell is he doing?” Parker replied and watched as Vector spun in a tight circle to face them. His cheeks visibly reddened as he bowed for them and then waved them in.

“He needs a distraction. These cases aren’t easy for him.” She left it at that and walked around to the doors to enter.

“Detectives Elliott and Parker,” he announced upon their entry, “enjoy the show?” He smiled.

“You should sell tickets,” Surin replied and tapped him sweetly on the shoulder. The music had been paused with their arrival.

“What can I do for you this fine day?” he asked, pushing the young man’s body back into the wall fridge.

“We promised Isabelle Lacross’s mother, Bethany, that we would bring her Isabelle’s personal effects.”

“Of course,” he replied and walked over to a cabinet. Opening the cupboard door revealed rows of large ziplock bags, each containing the possessions of the deceased — some used for identification, some for crime scene analysis, and others unclaimed.

“Have the crime techs finished with it all?” Parker asked when Vector handed the bag over.

“Yes, all fibre samples, fingerprint swatches and DNA tests have been completed,” he replied. “Give it to that girl’s poor mother, the last remnants of her daughter’s life, condensed to a plastic bag.” Vector shook his head sadly and shut the door.

“Nothing new to report then?” Surin asked, “With Isabelle?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry to say,” Vector replied. “I’ll let you know if I do, as always.”

“Thanks, Vec,” Surin added gently and she and Parker left the same way they came. Surin turned and glanced through the glass on the way out and caught a glimpse of him spinning with his eyes closed. Some days were harder than others.

17

Madison reached her arms over her head, letting out a sigh as she stretched her back over the top of the hard plastic library chair. She had been at it for hours, not even sure exactly what she was looking for. Frustration bit at her as she let her head fall forward into her hands.

Goddamnit, I know there’s something here, she thought. Think outside the box, she reminded herself. What would make a detective as accomplished as Surin Elliott leave her jurisdiction to go all the way to Breckham? And at three in the morning no less. As far as Madison had heard, and she had followed the case closely, the victim of that crime had been an on-her-way-out model, murdered by her agent. It made no sense. That case had been an open-and-shut.

OK then, focus on something else she told herself, the recent murder, Isabelle Lacross. Now that made sense, the seemingly horrific murder of a young woman, definitely something Surin would be put on. I’ll start there, she thought. Pulling her hair back out of her face into a messy knot, she moved the