Page 21 of Her Last Escape

Rose's jaw clenched. "Bad. Really bad." His voice carried the seriousness of the moment, and Rachel found herself dreading what might be waiting for them behind her.

Rachel moved past him, Novak falling in step beside her. The security lights created overlapping pools of harsh illumination, turning the asphalt into a patchwork of light and shadow. Three officers stood in a loose circle around Peter Wells' body, their postures rigid with tension. The amount of blood pooling beneath his head caught the security lights and gleamed like fresh paint.

Her stomach clenched. She'd seen her share of blunt force trauma over the years, but this...it was among the worst she’d ever seen. The side of Wells' head was completely caved in, the damage extending from his temple to the base of his skull. Fragments of bone and teeth mixed with the congealing blood, creating a grotesque mosaic on the concrete. The killer had struck again and again, well past the point of death. This wasn't just murder—it was rage made manifest, a violence that spoke of something deeper than simple homicide. And it was identical to the severity and violence shown in the other two victims.

Beside her, Novak's lips moved in silent prayer. Rachel understood the impulse. The scene felt profane under the stark lighting, like a sacrifice on an altar of concrete and steel. She forced herself to look closer, to see past the horror to the details that might matter: the angle of the body, the spray pattern of the blood, the lack of defensive wounds on Wells' hands.

"Who found him?" she asked, finally forcing her eyes away from the corpse.

"A guy named Rich,” Rose said. “The night manager. I'll show you." The relief in his voice was evident now that he had something to do besides stare at the carnage. "He's inside with the assistant manager and the officers."

They followed him into the dealership. The showroom felt frozen in time—spotless floors reflecting ranks of cars that were unmoved and unaffected by the tragedy outside. Their footsteps echoed off the high ceiling, each step seeming to disturb the unnatural quiet.

Sergeant Rose led them to a back office that had been converted into a security hub. Banks of monitors lined one wall, showing different angles of the dealership. The blue light from the screens cast everything in a ghostly glow, making the room feel like an aquarium.

A man stood in the corner, hands thrust deep in his pockets. His tie was loose, and sweat darkened the collar of his shirt despite the cool night. Dark patches spread from his armpits, and his face had the waxy sheen of shock.

"This is Rich Yancy," Rose said. "He found the body."

Rich nodded jerkily, his shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller. He regarded the agents like a scared kid as they introduced themselves.

“When exactly did you find him?” Novak asked.

"I was heading home for the night….so right around 6:15, I guess." His voice cracked. "I... I saw him lying there and thought maybe he'd fallen. But then I got closer..." He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet room. "We've been watching the feeds with Blake and the officers, but it won't help. There aren't any cameras covering the employee lot."

A man at the security desk—Blake, the assistant manager, Rachel assumed—confirmed this without looking away from the monitors. His fingers moved mechanically over the controls, rewinding and fast-forwarding through footage that showed nothing useful. "He's right,” Blake said. “We can see vehicles entering the main lot, and then there are cameras aimed down just about every row of cars. We’ve got three inside the building as well. But if someone parked on the far side and went around back..." He trailed off, shoulders slumping. "We won't see them."

Rachel studied both men. The loss hung heavy in the room—this wasn't just the death of a boss. These men had lost a friend. The air felt thick with grief and shock, the kind that hadn't yet given way to tears. Blake's hands trembled slightly as he manipulated the controls, and Rich kept rubbing his palms against his pants as if trying to wipe away something only he could feel.

Taking a chance, Rachel asked, "Rich…did Peter ever mention anything about cryopreservation to either of you?"

Rich's brow furrowed, confusion momentarily replacing the shock on his face. "I don't even know what that is."

"I do," Blake said, finally turning from the monitors. His face was ashen in the blue light of the screens, making him look decades older than he probably was. He looked almost terrified to have responded,…like he wished he'd just stayed quiet. "Peter brought it up last week. Said he'd met with someone local about it." He gave a hollow laugh that held no humor. "I thought it was science fiction stuff. Make-believe." His expression darkened. "I mean, is it related to this? Is that why...?"

Rachel caught Novak's eye. There was no doubt now—this was their third victim with connections to cryonics, and probably New Horizons Cryonics at that. Margaret Fenway would have some explaining to do, whether she liked it or not.

The security office fell silent except for the soft whir of cooling fans and the muted clicks of the officer reviewing footage. On the monitors, cars gleamed under the sodium lights like coffins sealed in metal and glass as the sun went down—the footage showing feed from two and a half hours ago. Rich slumped against the wall, his reflection a ghost in the darkened windows. Beyond the window to his right, the crime scene techs moved around Wells' body with mechanical precision, documenting the violence with flashbulbs that briefly outshone the security lights.

At the monitors, Blake rubbed his eyes, leaving his hand over his face a moment too long. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I keep thinking I should call his wife." He dropped his hand, revealing red-rimmed eyes. "Shit. Fifteen years we worked together. Fifteen years of Christmas parties and cookouts and..." His voice caught. "He has a daughter. Chloe. She’s ten. She…”

But he trailed off, struggling with emotion. Rachel watched a tear track down Blake's cheek, quickly wiped away. Behind him, the monitors showed endless loops of normal moments—customers browsing, salespeople chatting, cars being moved around the lot. Normal moments that would never be normal again. But not what they were looking for.

Rose walked over and, with heaviness in his voice, said, “A unit has already headed over that way to speak with her. If she doesn’t already know, she will very soon.”

Rich suddenly pushed away from the wall, his breathing becoming erratic. "I need some air," he mumbled, fumbling for the door. No one tried to stop him. They all understood the need to escape this room with its endless loop of useless footage, its walls that seemed to be closing in with each passing minute.

Through the window, Rachel watched him stagger to a corner of the building between the rear of the building and where the cops were still staggered around the crime scene. Rich took a deep breath and then hurried to a trashcan, where he emptied his stomach. The sound carried faintly through the glass, a reminder of the horror waiting outside. The crime scene techs had set up portable lights now, their harsh beams cutting through the sodium glow, creating new shadows that seemed to writhe and dance across the parked cars.

She turned back to Blake, who had resumed his vigil at the monitors. "We'll need copies of all the security footage, even if it doesn't show the actual murder. Is that possible?”

He nodded his head, wiping tears away. “Yeah. You want them for the entire day?”

“Might as well.”

“Just tell me where to send it. I can get it to you by like midnight, maybe.””

Blake’s eyes were still fixed on the screens where his dead friend's cars sat in perfect rows, waiting for customers who wouldn't come. Tomorrow, the sun would rise on a crime scene instead of a dealership. Yellow tape would replace for sale signs. And somewhere, a killer was already choosing their next target.

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