Page 33 of The Hanging Dolls
He shrugged. “There is a disturbing creativity to the crime scene. Empty nooses arranged to indicate the number of victims. A photograph of Lily neatly tied to the rope with a lyrical prose on the reverse.”
Blasts of images of the crime scene invaded her mind. “Right. It’s possible. Every detail is significant to him…” The light in the diner dimmed, casting a softer glow on them, and suddenly they were the only patrons left other than the homeless man who was eating his food in a corner, keeping his head down to avoid attracting any attention.
“Why are you staring at him?” Aiden followed her gaze.
“He’s homeless.”
He frowned. “And staring at him will not make him homeless?”
“No, Aiden, I was having a moment of empathy. Which you wouldn’t understand,” she chirped, digging into her pasta.
“I’m a psychologist, you know that, right?”
“And you might be more psychotic than your patients. You know what they say,” she said, teasing him.
Aiden laughed, dimples denting his cheeks. Zoe’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Scott.
S: We need you both at the station.
“We’ve been summoned.” She wiped her mouth and pulled a bill from her wallet to leave on the table.
“At this hour?” Aiden checked his watch.
“Maybe they found something.”
They were rushing out of the diner, when Zoe turned back and saw Aiden handing a hundred-dollar bill to the homeless man. Fuzziness swarmed her chest but when Scott sent another message, the muscles in her stomach went rigid.
S: Another girl just went missing.
The rain pounded against the windshield as Zoe and Aiden pulled into the station’s parking lot, the wipers struggling to keep up with the deluge. She was soaked by the time she sprinted from her car to the station entrance, her hoodie stuck to her skin, dripping water onto the floor as she burst through the door.
Inside, the station was humming with activity despite the late hour. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows as a handful of patrol officers huddled near the main desk, their faces tense. Scott was leaning over a table scattered with maps and reports, his brow furrowed in concentration. As Zoe strode toward him, an angry voice cut through the room.
“What the hell is going on here?”
She noticed a lean, short man, pacing back and forth, his face flushed with anger. Mayor Hicks.
“Another girl goes missing, and you’re telling me you’ve got nothing? This is a disaster! Do you have any idea what this is doing to the election? To my chances?”
“Great,” Aiden muttered.
Scott barely looked up as he spoke, his voice steady but strained. “We’re doing everything we can, Mayor Hicks. We’vegot patrols out, and we’re coordinating with every available resource?—”
“Not good enough!” Hicks cut him off, his eyes blazing. “This town is in a panic! If we don’t find her—if we don’t get the situation under control—there won’t be an election to worry about because there won’t be a town left to govern!”
Zoe found it difficult not to judge Hicks, when the first thing he mentioned were the elections. Scott’s nostrils were flaring and his features drawn tight. Aiden seemed to be the only one not upset by Hicks’ outburst—Zoe chalked it up to nothing really surprising him anymore about people.
She approached Scott, water still dripping from her clothes, cutting through the charged moment between them.
Scott looked relieved. “Good, you’re here. You guys need a change of clothes?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she replied, her voice tight with urgency. “What’s the situation?”
Scott gestured to the table, where a map of Harborwood was spread out, various locations marked with red circles. “Eight-year-old Tara Bennett went missing about an hour ago from her bedroom. We’ve got officers combing the area, but the rain’s making it difficult. And I’ve been making calls to WSP.”
“Who reported her missing?” Aiden asked.
“Her dad.” Scott gestured at a heavy man with a double chin, sitting in a corner, staring at an empty space, panic-stricken. “He’s a single father. Lives alone with the daughter.”
