Page 40 of Girl, Fractured

Ella did.The phone rang once, twice, three times.

You’ve reached the voicemail of…

She ended the call.‘No answer.You don’t think…?’

A vise clamped around Ella’s chest.A fall down stairs.That’s what logic said.A simple domestic accident.Maybe Diana had stumbled in the dark?

But logic felt paper-thin against the weight of context.Frank Sullivan’s murder.Diana’s scream.The fact that she saidget hereafter three seconds after answering the phone.

‘Think what?We’re ten minutes out from her place.’

Ten minutes might as well have been ten years.If someone had gotten to Diana Jewell, those ten minutes represented the difference between a crime scene and a rescue.Ripley took a corner so hard Ella thought the car might topple to one side.

‘I’d been profiling this as an isolated case.Someone with a grudge against Frank and only Frank.What if Frank was only the beginning?’

‘Come on, Dark.Think.’

The world outside dissolved into a watery blur.The digits on the GPS counted down.‘I am thinking, and I don’t like my conclusions.’

No one ever woke up and randomly decided to gouge out a man’s eyes.By the same token, no one ever committed such a vile act only once.The behavioral profile said that this unsub definitely had the capacity for multiple killings.

Ten miles to go.Nine.Eight.

‘Call it in?’Ripley said.

‘Yeah.Just in case.’Ella pulled out her cell and dialed Sheriff Bauer.He picked up on the first ring.

‘Ella.You learn anything at that true crime thing?’

‘Yeah, listen, I need officers at 388 Wayfarer Avenue.The home of one Diana Jewell.’

‘On it.I can get guys there in...eleven minutes.’

‘Do it.’

‘What’s the situation?’

Ella mentally raced through everything she knew about Diana Jewell and found the file very slim.She was a former cop and her white whale was the Ferryman case.That was all she had.

‘I don’t know.Just get some people here.Need some to circle the area too.Look out for anyone suspicious.’

‘Roger.I’ll be part of the crew.’

Ella thanked him and hung up.Five miles to go.The vehicle rocked as it hit a pothole submerged in rainwater.

‘If Diana Jewell…’

‘Don’t,’ interrupted Ripley.‘Don’t theorize.Wait until we get the facts.’

The GPS arrow crawled across pixels.Outside, Ella watched palm trees blur past.The houses grew larger, more spread out as they entered what looked like an upscale neighborhood.Four miles.Three miles.Somewhere ahead, Diana Jewell was either alive or dead, and the distance between those two possibilities shortened with every second.

One mile to go.

A nautical theme developed amongst the street names.Dolphin Drive.Seagull Court.

‘There,’ Ripley said.‘Wayfarer Drive.’

Ripley turned onto it and killed the headlights.The street seemed like a rural backwater that had somehow survived Florida’s relentless development.Each property sat on at least an acre of land, with tall pines and ancient oaks creating natural boundaries between neighbors.

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