Page 32 of So Lethal

Ethan began to sign rapidly again. Beth translated, her voice shaky. “After the week three meeting—I was home sick that week, so they had a different moderator—Marcus approached Sarah and started yelling at her. He was drunk, and he accused her of being a privileged b-word. Sarah was upset by that, of course, and asked him why he said that. He went on a long rant about Sarah having it easy because she was rich, how she could probably get her hearing fixed by paying the doctors a lot of money when his insurance wouldn’t even cover the cost of a cochlear implant. She told him to go eff himself, and he tried to slap her, but a couple of the other men intervened.”

“And the guest host didn’t tell you about this?” Faith asked Beth.

“No. I’m just finding out about it now.”

She signed something to Ethan, who signed back and then lifted his hands.

“Have this conversation later,” Faith said. “Ethan, were there any other interactions between Sarah and Marcus?”

“No,” Ethan signed. “They ignored each other the next two sessions, and then Marcus was gone.”

“And no one at any time thought it would be a good idea to tell someone that a belligerent drunk had argued with and tried to assault Sarah?”

Ethan reddened and lowered his eyes. “We wanted Marcus to get help. We all felt bad for him. He was struggling more than any of us.”

Faith had to take a moment to calm down. Of course, they would sympathize with Marcus but not with the woman he assaulted. How did people make decisions about who they cared about and who they didn't care about? Was it really just because Sarah was rich and Marcus wasn't?

“Do you really think Marcus killed her?” Ethan asked.

Faith didn’t answer that question. “Thank you, Ethan. That’s all we need.” She handed him a card. “If you think of anything else, call me and let me know.”

“Do you have TTY?” Beth explained, “That’s a teletype machine. Hearing-impaired people use it to communicate.”

“The Philadelphia Field Office does,” Faith replied. “That’s the office number. I’ll let them know to keep an eye out and contact me if they get anything.”

Ethan nodded and got to his feet. “I hope you find whoever killed Sarah,” he signed. “She was a good woman. She didn’t deserve that.”

Faith’s anger softened a touch. At the end of the day, Ethan was only a civilian. Civilians weren’t supposed to be able to think like investigators. “We will. I promise.”

Ethan smiled and gave Turk one last pat before leaving the room. When he was gone, Faith turned to Beth. “We don’t need to talk to anyone else right now. Keep your phone on, though. We might need more help.”

“All right. I’m sorry. I never would have thought that Marcus could do something like this.”

“We’re still not sure that he did,” Faith replied. “Focus on your surviving students for now. Let us handle the hunt for Sarah’s killer.”

“Okay. Thank you both. I’m glad someone’s speaking for Sarah. No one should have to die alone like that.”

Faith thought of Gordon Clark and Grant Monroe, friends and mentors of hers, both murdered alone by serial killers obsessed with her. She swallowed the lump in her throat and said, "Have a good day, Beth. At the very least, have a better one than yesterday."

Beth chuckled and wiped tears from her eyes. “I will. Thank you again.”

Michael approached Faith after Beth left. “I’ve got an address for Wolfe.”

“Good. Let’s go see what he has to say for himself.”

As they left the community center, Faith wondered how many killers got away with murder just because the thought of murder was unfathomable to most people. How many people had looked at Ted Bundy and assumed that there was no way such a charming and handsome man could be responsible for cutting women to pieces with a hacksaw? How many people believed that Richard Ramirez was just a weird, angry guy and never considered how deep his depravity actually ran?

How many people looked at Franklin West and saw only a psychologist in a turtleneck? It wasn’t healthy to assume that anyone around you could be a serial killer, but it was true.

Sometimes Faith wondered if anyone was ever truly safe, or if they were only lucky that the predator’s eyes were aimed elsewhere.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Growing concern in San Jose as Channel Ten News has just learned that there is possibly a serial killer targeting hearing-impaired people in the Bay Area. According to an anonymous tip from a social worker who leads a support group for hearing-impaired people at the South Bay Community Center, three hearing-impaired people have been killed over the past three days by an as-yet unidentified individual. The killer is believed to lie in wait for his victims and then strangle them. Among the victims are San Jose artist Monica Smith, a graphic designer by trade whose recent entry into the Bay Amateur Art competition won silver.”

The reporter continued to talk about the victims and shared the sobering news that the FBI still had no leads on the suspect. The killer listened, somewhat amused at the sensationalism the news was lending the story but mostly irritated at the way the deaths were presented. Monica’s artistry was celebrated, but no mention was made of the fact that the musical arts were inaccessible to her. She spoke at length about James Porter’s contributions to his local community and not one person mentioned that he had no idea what birdsong sounded like. Sarah Martinez was depicted as a loving mother, and no one gave a damn that she couldn’t hear her sister’s voice anymore.

Why would they want these people to live such a shitty life? Were they that cruel? Could they not understand mercy when they saw it?

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