Page 4 of Hard Game

The girl is naked, and her skin is an ugly bluey-gray, with dark purple bruises around her throat.

“She’s been dead for at least two hours,” I mutter, almost to myself. “Maybe more.” It’s impossible to know at this stage, but if I had to guess, I’d say this girl has been here for around five or six hours. But I’ll leave that to forensics.

“There’s a lot of lividity,” Taron says with a frown. “She’s been here a while.”

I can’t take my eyes away from her face, the look of terror eternally frozen in her lifeless eyes.

Who did this to you?

I slide on some gloves, the snapping of the rubber stinging my wrists before I reach down to rest the back of my fingers against her cheek. “She’s ice cold,” I say softly, moving my hand back. “And stiff as a board.”

Taron watches me as I steady myself and pull the sheet back over the victim. “So she’s probably been here for about four to six hours?”

I shrug, glancing around me at the forensic team. Two are labeling bags and making notes; another is taking photographs. I notice one I know and like, Ellie, and approach her before she can start bagging more evidence. “Tell me who did this,” I whisper, peeling my gloves from my hands. “Or at least give me some idea.”

Ellie sighs from behind her mask, fogging up her glasses. She’s in her twenties and pretty new to the job, but she’s already renowned for being meticulous and quick to boot. “She was strangled, but by who? I don’t know.” She narrows her eyes. “One sick puppy, considering he cut out her tongue while she was alive.”

I close my eyes but quickly regain my composure. This dead girl deserves more than me losing the plot over gruesome details. “Do you have anything?” I plead, glancing back to see Taron chatting to one of the police officers.

“No footprints, no DNA.” Ellie shakes her head. “Her hair is all over, though,” she says, glancing around us. “Like she was dragged here.”

I arch a brow. “Any drag marks?”

Ellie shakes her head. “No. But it’s been raining non-stop today. The ground is sludgy.”

Fuck, this is frustrating. Someone must have seen or heard something. The field isn’t exactly isolated; it’s surrounded by houses.

“When do you think she was killed?” I ask Ellie, and she frowns.

“It’s hard to say, but given the stage of lividity and the rigor mortis, I’d guess seven hours. The weather hasn’t helped, though.”

I thank Ellie and go to walk away when she calls me back, her green eyes bright as she gazes at me.

“I hope you catch whoever did this. That girl has been through a world of pain.” She grimaces and walks away, and I turn to stare at our Jane Doe lying on the ground.

Part of me doesn’t want to know what she’s been through before her death, and what I do know makes me feel violently sick. But I know one thing: to cut out someone’s tongue is a message to everyone.

Don’t talk.

So the question is, who did she speak to?

3

MADDOX

Something is wrong.

My phone is buzzing nonstop on my bedside table, and no matter how many times I’ve rejected the call, it keeps ringing. I sit up and snatch it from beside me, groaning into the phone. “What?”

“It’s eleven in the morning. Why aren’t you out of bed?” My best friend, Tassa, sighs. “Honestly, Maddox, you can’t live like this.”

She’s right. And you know what she’s going to say next.

“You can’t be holed up inside all day. It’s not good for you.”

I squeeze the bridge of my nose before I reply, wondering why she can lead a normal life when I’m not.

“I was up late. Couldn’t sleep.”

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