Page 91 of The Sound of Silence

A chill raced down my spine. I had to force myself to remember I’d just left her, and she was completely fine.

“Who would do such a thing?” I whispered to myself.

This wasn’t some random act. It was clearly the work of a madman. I walked across the main floor, surveying the rest of the damage. The smoothie bar was in ruins. Blenders and tumblers had been tossed about, and everything was covered in smashed fruit and supplement powder. Every one of the bench presses was toppled over, and the weight bars had been strewn haphazardly across the main floor. I nearly tripped over one and stopped to pick it up. However, I paused when I noticed the angle was identical to the one lying in front of it. I stood and took another look at the weight bars. On second glance, they weren’t tossed as carelessly as I’d thought. In fact, they looked like they formed a pattern.

I quickly headed toward the raised platform on the far-left side of the gym, skipping every other step until I reached the long row of ellipticals lining the railings. Looking down at the main floor, the arrangement of the barbells and weight bench bars clearly formed the shape of a cross.

What the fuck?

At this height, I could also see other areas of the gym more clearly. Through the wall of broken glass windows at the back of the gym, I was able to see the rooms with the racket ball court and the boxing ring where Gianna had been training just that morning. Written in red spray paint, the word ‘wrath’ defaced the vinyl floor of the ring.

Wrath?

I shifted my gaze to take a closer look at the spray-painted walls I’d seen when I first arrived. If I wasn’t mistaken, two of the scrawled words spelled out ‘lust’ and ‘greed.’

I heard a thumping on the stairs and looked over to see Pete Milano following the path I’d just taken up to the platform. Pete was a lieutenant with NYPD and a client at The Mill. Although I knew he was a cop, it was strange to see him in uniform. I was used to seeing him in sweatpants and his standard gray NYPD t-shirt.

“Pete,” I greeted with a nod and accepted his offered handshake.

“Hey, man. Tough break. I came here as soon as the call came over the radio.”

“This is brutal. I haven’t even begun to wrap my head around it. There’s just so much destruction.”

“You ain’t kidding. I was just talking to Detective Warhol. He said whoever it was cut the phone lines so the alarm company wasn’t notified, then gained entry through the service door in the alley. The frame was chipped, and he found a heavy-duty paint scraping tool on the ground. Forensics will dust it for prints, and hopefully, we’ll get a lead.” He paused, glanced around at the damage again, then frowned. Raising a hand, he pointed down toward the barbells on the main floor. “Is that a cross?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what it is.”

“This looks more like a hate crime than anything else. Do you know anyone who might do this?

“I think I have an idea,” I stated wryly. “Although, the cross and the words spray-painted on the walls are throwing me off.” I stared hard at the bright red, sloppily painted words, trying to recall if Gianna had ever mentioned Ethan being a religious fanatic.

“Throwing you off, how?”

“I’m dating this girl, and it’s very possible her husband may have done this. His name is Ethan Walker. She left him a while back after he knocked her around one too many times,” I told him, deliberately avoiding the horrific details out of respect for Gianna’s privacy. “We recently found out the Cincinnati police are looking for him. She thinks he’s here in New York. The thing is, I don’t remember her saying he was some kind of religious extremist.”

“Wait a minute. Did you say, Ethan Walker? He doesn’t happen to be a cop, does he?”

“Yeah, actually, he is—or at least he was. I heard he was suspended from the job. Why do you ask?”

Pete let out a low whistle and shook his head.

“Shit, your girlfriend was married tothatguy?”

I didn’t bother to correct him that she wasstillmarried to him. Instead, I zeroed in on the fact he’d even heard of Ethan in the first place. I was fairly certain the NYPD didn’t make a habit of knowing the business of the Cincinnati Police.

“Yeah, so. Why do you say it like that?”

“If we’re talking about the same dude, the Cincinnati police aren’t the only ones looking for him. He’s a fucking nut job. I’m talking serial killer nuts. He had a secret apartment of sorts. It was weird—like a sadomasochist den. Now, all of this is making sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw pictures of the place. The imagery was a sadist’s delight, and he seemed obsessed with the seven deadly sins.”

“You saw pictures?” I was trying to piece together what he was saying and realized my questions kept coming fast and furious.

“Yeah, the FBI sent them over just a few days ago. It was like seeing pictures from the movie set forSeven—you know, that movie with Brad Pitt? Anyway, it was really messed up shit. An APB on this guy went out to precincts all across the country. I have to call my Captain. If you think this might have been done by Ethan Walker, the FBI is going to want to know.”

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