The Vanishing Girls by Callie Browning (read this if txt) 📕

table, which meant he’d soon be able to stop covering the good doctor's tracks. Clipboard in hand, Holden started making notes.

Eileen peered over Holden’s shoulder at the clipboard as she placed the tools they’d need on a tray. “Is it just me or are you taking a lot of notes these days?”

“Keeps the mind sharp,” Holden replied, hoping that a vague answer would suffice. “Are you free this weekend? I was hoping to take you out for that date we had discussed.”

Eileen blushed. “I’d love to.” But changing the subject wasn’t enough to distract her. “Why do you need to keep your mind sharp?”

Holden sighed. “Well,” he began in a low voice. “Since you think the police are a little slow, I thought we could keep our own notes. You never know; they may come in handy.”

“Hmm, you’re right.” She perked up and then inspected the woman’s grimy hand, her mouth puckering in disgust. “I guess it’s a good thing that Dr Thorpe hasn’t done a good job with the tidying up.”

“Indeed,” mumbled Holden.

“It’s definitely the same L-shaped cut, isn’t it?” Eileen said, jutting her chin at the victim as she tugged on her gloves.

“Yes,” Holden frowned as he looked at the young woman’s neck. “The killer is awfully lucky to keep hitting the jugular all the time,” he said, pointing to the vein beneath the skin. “Maybe he’s a butcher or something, somebody who knows where to cut. But, what's odd is that a straight cut would do the same job.” He tapped his scalpel on the metal tray, the sound echoing like tiny cymbals in the cold room.

He reached for a magnifying glass and peered closely at the girl’s fingers. “There’s pollen in the blood spatter on her hands.”

“What are you thinking?” Eileen asked.

Holden chewed his lower lip and stared at the wound as though he hoped the truth would crawl out of it.              Finding pollen on these women was more jarring than Holden was willing to verbalize. Something in the back of his mind told him that it was more significant than they had initially realized. “She’s the second victim that we found pollen on.”

“But where would pollen come from?” Eileen mused. “Sugar cane doesn’t have pollen, does it?”

“It does actually, so the odds are it could come from the cane fields,” Holden said as he straightened up.

Eileen frowned. Once again, they may have come up against a dead end.

Chapter 23

The Grand Plan

Eileen’s anxiety rose as the week went on. With dangerous prisoners and a serial killer on the loose, she had switched from tea to coffee to help her stay awake and she cussed every day because of it. Bitter and acrid, the coffee tasted like burnt toast and she took to sweetening it with so much sugar that it tasted like burnt toast with marmalade. She was loath to have more conversations with Holden about falling asleep at work. Eileen didn’t want him to think that she was taking liberties with the situation just because they were dating.

It was Friday morning and Eileen was looking forward to her date with Holden that weekend. Her feet were pulled up to her chest in a chair just outside her front door, absentmindedly flipping through the paper as she ate breakfast. Out of habit, she turned to the classified section and scoured the small blocky ads. She ran her finger up and down the columns, ignoring the wet ring that bloomed from the glass of juice she used as a paperweight. Finally, squeezed into the corner of page thirty-four was an ad seeking a cleaner with instructions to call a familiar phone number in the late afternoon: the Slasher's phone number. Her chest felt like it was on fire the way her heart started to beat. She ran inside the apartment, snatched up the receiver and spun the dial. Holden answered the phone on the second ring. “I just saw it,” he said when he realized it was Eileen.

“We should call Derricks,” she said, excitedly.

“I already tried calling him,” Holden told her. “He wasn’t home and his secretary said that he won’t be reachable for the next two days.”

“Two days!” Eileen exclaimed.

“I suspect Derricks is on some sort of sting operation to track down the escapees. He’s gone from Rock Hall to Bush Hall and can’t find the prisoners,” Holden said. “I’m sure finding this killer is important too, but the new prime minister has made finding those prisoners a top priority. I guess we’ll have to wait to see how we can proceed.”

“I’ll reply to the ad.”

“What?!”

“I’ll call and arrange to meet the Slasher. You can follow me and we’ll catch him in the act.”

“Eileen, this makes no sense. Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“Do you think I like making up these girls? Painting foundation over stitches on their necks? What’s stopping it from being me or somebody else?”

The tension on his end of the telephone was palpable. He always got quiet when he was uncomfortable, letting his brain go into overdrive as he calculated every angle.

“Holden…”

On the other end of the line, he hesitated. “Yes?”

“I know you won’t let anything happen to me. But we have to do something.”

He sighed. “Okay. You can call the number, but everything else we’ll do my way.”

By the time she pulled into the car park at work, Eileen was regretting her decision to ask Holden to play Tonto to her Lone Ranger.  When she pushed open the door to the building, Holden was sitting at his desk, his brow furrowed as he watched her walk in.

“I tried reaching Derricks again,” he said without preamble. His hunched shoulders told her that the commissioner was still out of office.

Eileen sighed. “It won’t be that bad. I’ll just go and see who turns up for the meeting. Then we’ll leave and call the police. You’ll be nearby so everything will be fine.”

His eyes were pained as he stood and asked, “Do you really want to do this?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then,” Holden pinched