Let Me In by Adam Nicholls (books under 200 pages .TXT) đź“•
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- Author: Adam Nicholls
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Over the next two days, the press had kicked up a stink about how far the killer would go. The friends and family of Emma Cole had been constantly hounded, whereas Morgan had left his phone untouched. But that wasn’t to say he didn’t sit staring at it, waiting for it to ring with a certain twitch making him less comfortable by the second.
“Why don’t you just let it go?” Rachel asked, passing by the living room with a laundry basket in her arms. “Not the case, obviously, but I don’t think that Matthew guy is going to call. If he was going to, he probably would have already.”
Morgan mulled this as he shot up and opened the door for his wife, following her into the yard and pulling out the basket of clothes pins they kept under the back porch. Together, they began to hang shirts, Rachel remaining silent to let him think, as usual.
“You’re right,” Morgan said, bending down to pick another item out of the basket. He bit his lip as he stood upright, squinting against the sun and keeping his fingers moving to avoid numbing in the cold fall air. “He’s probably being kept busy by the police anyway.”
“Yep. What does Gary have to say on the matter?”
“I haven’t heard from him since the HUCINS event.” Morgan paused, glancing at her and catching a fleeting frown. It was like the memory haunted her—a good, positive event being turned into something sinister and traumatic. And had she complained about it? Not one bit. Another accolade to add to her ongoing list of admirable traits. “Listen, I feel awful about that night. The whole thing was supposed to be something good.”
Rachel crooked an eyebrow and pinned a pair of socks to the clothes line. Her already pale skin grew whiter in the cold, and Morgan thought she only looked more like an angel, if angels were even half that beautiful. “Why? It’s not your fault that guy did what he did.”
“Still, you deserve better than that.”
“I don’t mind.” She shook her head. “I just hope that Emma girl is okay.”
Morgan lowered his head, almost forgetting he was in the middle of a household chore before he picked up where he left off, leaning over to grab another garment. His hopes and prayers went out to Emma Cole too, but he also felt helpless. After all, it’d been his responsibility to keep an eye on her, hadn’t it? After agreeing to meet her outside, how hard should it have really been to ensure she didn’t go missing in this hall full of people? It left a nagging sense of guilt nibbling at his conscience, but he couldn’t let it bring him down. Not while he still intended to find her, at any rate.
“There is something that bothers me though,” Rachel went on, picking up the empty basket and heading inside with Morgan close behind. “The two murdered girls went to school together, right?”
Morgan cleared his throat—all the agreement he had to offer.
“And Emma Cole went to the same school. Our school. Stop me if I’m wrong.”
“Go ahead.”
Rachel set down the basket and shut the door, a final gust of cold wind blowing in before it was banished to the outside. “Well, then you spoke to Matthew, who was yet another student at the same high school, only this guy recognizes the man in the photographs.”
“Barely. It’s optimistic to think he noticed more than a familiar jawline.”
“But isn’t that enough?”
It made Morgan stop, leaning back against the kitchen counter with his crossed arms brought high into his chest, squeezing out the cold. “I don’t follow.”
“What I mean is, don’t you think it’s too much of a coincidence that they all went to the same school? Think about it: Matthew threw a punch at some guy who knew those other girls. Sure, it’s possible he knew them some other way, but doesn’t it strongly suggest the killer went to that school as a student?”
“Oh, I completely agree, but I’ve already checked out the school.”
“Yes, but has Matthew?”
Morgan let out a short breath that was half laughter and half a sigh. He lowered his head and resumed breathing before he returned his gaze to Rachel, who was setting up the coffee machine to brew a fresh batch. “Still not following.”
Turning to reveal her own smile, Rachel went on. “Okay, Detective, let me spell it out for you. Matthew may not fully recognize the man from Pizza Palace, but surely he’d know the guy if he saw him again. With me so far?”
“Kind of.”
“Good. So then, let’s assume the killer did attend that school. What would be the one surefire way to identify him?”
Morgan knew it before she even finished the sentence. All the pieces fell into place in the blink of an eye, each puzzling clue falling into its rightful slot. It was like the end of a sudoku puzzle, when the hard work was done and the rest could be completed on autopilot. Only the sense of sheer excitement went far deeper, enabling him to possibly find his killer. And if he was lucky—very lucky—he might be able to find Emma Cole in one piece.
At least now he knew what to do.
While the cold whispers of late fall crept up and down his collar, Morgan sat nursing the item in his lap. The bench he sat on was situated on the outskirts of the nearest park, a spot chosen for its convenient positioning between both their houses. Now, as the sun slipped behind the horizon and the streetlights flickered on, all he had to do was wait.
It wasn’t long before he appeared, but it felt like forever.
Matthew trudged up the dirt-covered path, hands hidden in the deep pockets of his trench coat. It was obvious he hadn’t shaved since they’d last met, and Morgan remembered reading that most men put their grooming on hold during times of distress, though he’d never endured it himself. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Young, but I hope there’s a good reason you called me out here on the coldest evening in recent months.”
Oh, there was, but Morgan kept his words to himself and handed over the item. Excitement riddled through him, but it could’ve been for nothing, so he only watched his companion’s expression while he studied the item.
“What’s this?” Matthew asked, finally glancing up but looking no less dazed.
“That,” Morgan said, standing up as Matthew sat down like ships passing in the night, “is a school yearbook from a place you’ll recognize. I managed to snag an old copy from the principal, who said you’re welcome to keep it as a gift for when you get Emma back.”
Matthew, who’d been hunched over the yearbook sitting in his lap, looked up with bleak yet grateful eyes. It was no secret he appreciated the optimism, for all the good it would do. “That’s great, but why go to all the trouble?”
“You said you’d know the man if you saw him.”
Without another moment of confusion, Matthew seemed to understand. He tore open the book and held it up to the overhanging streetlight. He used one finger to scan the many faces, flicking each page as his search failed to turn up results.
Meanwhile, Morgan paced. What else could he do, really? The case was about to either blow wide open or collapse on itself like a poorly erected tent, and while his nerves felt like scorching rocks rolling around under his skin, his teeth chattered in the cold. It was the most hopeful he’d been in days, but that little bit of doubt kept him on edge.
“Not much luck,” Matthew said with his head still buried in the book. He stood now, closing the distance between the book and the light, holding it at the only angle that would serve. His face contorted, screwing up as he turned to one of the middle pages. “Wait.”
Morgan, who’d been thinking of the moment they’d rescue Emma as a means of distraction, unfolded his arms and rushed to Matthew’s side, leaning over him and only now realizing how much taller he was than the man. “What do you have?”
“This.” Matthew pointed to a picture. “This is him!”
Snapping the yearbook out of his hands, Morgan studied the photo himself, taking in the sight of a young man with small ears and bright lips. He looked sort of feminine, enough to make it difficult for him to fit in with alpha males. Morgan tried to think of all the social groups from when he was in school, but he couldn’t picture this kid belonging to any one of them. “Are you certain this is the kid you tried to punch?”
“Yes.” Matthew bounced his head in urgent nods.
“And you’d bet he’s the same man in the Pizza Palace photographs?”
“I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure.”
Morgan closed the book with a heavy thump, keeping it held close to his chest like a nerdy teenager. A smile tugged at his lips, but he didn’t even want to try holding this one back—this could be the moment he found his killer. At least, the name of him. “Thank you so much for your time. Now I want you to return home, and do whatever the police tell you.”
Matthew lunged out and
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