Page 36 of The Hanging Dolls
Fear crept up Travis’ spine too. The uneasiness that had been gnawing at him for weeks had resurrected in full force. This wasn’t the first time Ryan had come home late with that same haunted look in his eyes.
His training whispered to him that this wasn’t a boy who had never got over his mother’s death; this was a boy who was hiding something. But what the hell was he up to?
His chest tightened, and he rubbed it absently, trying to ease the discomfort. He knew where it stemmed from. It was something he had buried deep down inside himself a long time ago that was now trying to get out. Travis pushed the door closed, his hands trembling as he tried to steady himself. “Get a grip, Hunter,” he muttered under his breath. He needed to sleep, needed to clear his mind before he could think straight again.
But as he lay in bed, the silence of the house pressed in around him. He couldn’t shake the image of Ryan’s pale face, the fear in his eyes. He closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to take him. But when sleep didn’t come and he opened them again, there was a girl standing at the foot of his bed.
She was young, no more than ten or eleven, her skin pale and waxy, her dark hair hanging limp and wet over her shoulders. Her eyes were hollow and jaundiced, staring directly at him with a look that sent icy tendrils of fear curling through his veins. She didn’t move, didn’t speak—just stood there, silently watching him.
A cold fist wrapped around Travis’ heart. His body paralyzed with a terror he hadn’t felt in years. He squeezed his eyes shut. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. But when he opened them again, the girl was still there, closer now, her face inches from his, her cold breath ghosting over his skin.
Panic surged through him. He jerked away, turning over in bed—and there, lying beside him, was another young girl. This one was even younger, her blond hair tangled and matted, hereyes wide with an unsettling mix of innocence and despair. She was curled up next to him, as if she’d been lying there all night, her small hand resting on his chest.
“No,” Travis whispered, his voice trembling as he pushed himself to the edge of the bed. “No, this isn’t happening.”
His mother had seen things, too. Visions that haunted her, drove her to the brink of madness. Was this it? Was he losing his mind, just like she did? Was this madness plaguing Ryan too?
TWENTY
Zoe’s eyes thinned at the image on the screen. The new day had started on an encouraging note. She had finally gotten her hands on the CCTV footage from Seaside Sweets. The burglary had been tagged as a low-priority case following Lily’s disappearance, but now this was the only solid piece of evidence that could lead them to their elusive killer.
“The CSU is combing Tara’s room and that shoe print we found,” Scott said, swinging the door to her little office wide open. “Jesus, it’s cold in here.”
Zoe didn’t care. She had barely registered the chill seeping into her toes and fingers. Her eyes were glued to the footage. The timestamp displayed 11:28 p.m. “Got the robbery video. Check it out.”
The grainy video showed behind the counter. The lights came on and a figure appeared in the frame. Zoe stilled in anticipation. The figure was wearing a brown hoodie, his size and shape distinctive of a man. But his hood was up, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched.
He was avoiding the cameras.
With a gloved hand, he opened the compartment door to a display case. He began sweeping all the desserts into a largebox he’d picked up from the floor. As soon as he’d finished, he disappeared from the frame. Seconds later, the lights went off.
“Damn it.” Zoe sat back with a huff. “He knew where the cameras were.”
“Must have scoped the place as a customer at some point,” Scott said.
She played back the video, zooming in on the hooded man. There had to be something here, she kept trying to convince herself. But the hoodie was a generic brown. No visible logo on it. “I’ll send this to FBI.”
“What will they be able to do?”
“They can enhance this frame by frame and detect something our eyes missed. That’s our only shot.”
Gloom settled on her shoulders like a heavy weight. Her mind spun in all directions, firing randomly, but she was getting nowhere. Aiden strolled into the office, carrying a tray of coffees.
“Did you guys find anything last night?” he asked, scowling at his tie, which was askew.
“A footprint. CSU is there. Anything from the dad?” Zoe asked.
“I didn’t detect any signs of deception, but he’s hotheaded. Very.”
“He took four days to kill Lily.” Scott’s words tumbled as though outrunning his thoughts. “But Lily showed no signs of any kind of injury other than the strangulation. So what was he doing for four days with her? Deliberating?”
“It could be obsessive-compulsive pathology. The caretaker behavior is part of a compulsive cycle that the killer feels obliged to complete. Disrupting the sequence could cause significant psychological distress,” Aiden explained. “We do know he’s meticulous and most likely mirroring something important to him.”
Zoe pulled up Lily’s autopsy report again and read it line by line, hoping for a clue she might have missed. She’d gone over it countless times, but something kept nagging at her.
“Hold up,” Zoe said, her tone shifting as she focused on a particular section. “The victim’s stomach contents revealed traces of recently consumed food, including proteins and carbohydrates. The body showed no signs of malnutrition; in fact, it suggests that Lily was well fed in the days leading up to her death. The only damage was to the kidneys, which could be attributed to exposure to some kind of toxin while in captivity.”
Scott stopped pacing, turning to her with a furrowed brow. “Well fed? So he was taking care of her?”
