Page 50 of The Hanging Dolls
Regina was so close to fulfilling her dream. She could taste that victory. Finally, there was a project that was nearing completion after years of dealing with corporate and government red tape. And maybe Connor was right—why would he take such a big risk if he didn’t have any confidence in it? The report said medium to low not high.
She’d known it was wrong, felt it deep in her gut. But Connor had a way of making the wrong things seem right. So she’d done it. She’d paid off that man. The money had been enough to sway him, and just like that, the report had been changed. The soil was suddenly perfect for construction, and the school had gone up without a hitch, fulfilling her lifelong dream and cementing her position as a leader in the community.
A gamble for the greater good.
Regina downed the rest of her drink, the glass clinking against the counter as she set it down harder than she intended. The guilt had been easy enough to ignore at first, drowned out by the applause at the ribbon-cutting, the praise from the community, the boost in the polls. But now, with reporters digging around, with that question hanging in the air… it was all starting to unravel.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that the ground beneath her was about to give way, taking everything she had built with it.
The door creaked open behind her, but she didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. With a sigh, she pushed the empty glass aside. “If this goes south, Connor, I’m not going down alone.”
When Connor didn’t reply, Regina turned around to find him standing still, his eyes cold. “Something has happened, Regina.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
The car went over a bump, jolting Zoe out of her state of numbness. The streaming blur of green was easy to get lost in. She pulled at her seatbelt, which suddenly felt too tight on her chest. A feeling of impotence had gripped her.
Aiden turned on the AC and directed it at her.
“Thanks.” She scrutinized his face and how seemingly unaffected he was. Always in deep thought, cutting and dissecting interactions, but at the same time so far removed from it. No wonder she would sometimes forget he was there; he seemed to seamlessly blend into his surroundings. “I feel like shit, Aiden.”
“So do I, Storm,” he admitted in a small voice.
They shared a moment of understanding. “Do you have any theories?”
“A couple.”
“Like what?”
He took a sharp turn and the rising sun flicker-flashed through the trees overhead. “Something about his last message was off. It was too simple.”
“Simple? What makes you say that?”
“It wasn’t as lyrical as the first one. It was written more directly, lacking subtlety. The tone shifted from…” His face scrunched as he searched for the right words. “He sounds resigned now. Like he’s already given up.”
“Tara wasn’t held captive as long as Lily was. Do you think there’s been a shift in his psyche?”
He nodded, touching his glasses. “Something has changed. Perhaps the fact that he got away with two murders has led to a satiation effect, reducing the compulsive reinforcement he previously experienced. Although he didn’t perceive it as a game, the psychodynamic engagement with us—the cat-and-mouse interplay—has lost its intrinsic appeal.”
“This case isn’t just changing us, it’s changing him too.”
They were one of the first to arrive at the station. Uniforms in night shift were packing up, ready to head home. They nodded at her, some smiled and made small talk.
They asked questions that she didn’t have the answers to. But she was determined to find out. Three ropes, three nooses. Two victims so far. A current rippled through her veins as she made her way to her little makeshift room, carrying a large whiteboard she had purchased at a local store.
And then they got to work. She jotted down names, forensic details, and lists of suspects and possibilities. Aiden started a linguistic analysis of the two messages—something about checking stylistic features and sentence structure.
The CSU had fast-tracked analysis of the note left at the scene. As expected—no fingerprints or DNA. Her phone vibrated. When she saw who it was, her stomach dropped.
Simon: IT is overloaded but I’m trying. I don’t like how we ended our conversation. Can we talk?
Zoe didn’t want to talk to him about anything other than work. It irritated her that he was digging up old feelings and triggering memories long forgotten.
“Sorry.” Scott shuffled into the room carrying a tray of coffee and a bag of Sour Patch Kids. “I slept in.”
Zoe studied him with skepticism. He had slept in. His hair was ruffled, the suit he was wearing yesterday was now crinkled, shirt buttoned improperly, and there was a fading red spot under his collar. She hadn’t realized that he was seeing someone. She met Aiden’s eyes but they said nothing.
“That’s a nice perfume. I have it too,” she said casually, looking at the whiteboard.
