Page 67 of The Hanging Dolls
His eyes widened behind his glasses. “Yeah, I was.”
“Why?”
“Well, since you showed up with a bruise on your face that night and then you snuck out in this hoodie, you can’t blame me for being curious.” He gently guided her away. “What is going on with you? Do you know him?”
Shit.“I… I thought he might be a suspect.”
“A suspect?” he said flatly. “Really?”
“Yeah, I saw him at the hospital and he was lingering and acting shady…” She scrambled for an excuse. “So I thought I should follow him.” They stared at each other. She could tell he was waiting for her to come clean. But she just shrugged. “Do you want to leave? I think he’s fine. I was desperate.”
Aiden pulled a face. A sigh of resignation. But he didn’t push her. Somewhere Zoe was relieved. What if he hadn’t come? What if she had crossed that boundary and hurt someone?
As she followed him out, she looked over her shoulder. The man was gone. But she saw another figure lying on the ground—bruised and broken.
It washer. Only much younger. That teenager who was stupid enough to clean up a crime scene. Because she was just as responsible as the killer for justice evading them. Because she was weak and selfish.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Zoe leaned against the hood of her car, the early morning chill seeping through her jacket as she scrolled through her phone. She had decided not to think about what almost happened yesterday. How Aiden perhaps saw through her. If she pretended nothing happened, then maybe he’d forget all about it too.
A light mist clung to everything, beading on the leaves of the trees and the blades of grass. She could taste the salty tang of the ocean on her tongue. The sounds of the dock swaying with the tide and the gentle clatter of boats nudging each other in the harbor were becoming familiar.
She had gone back last night to assist Terri and the other officers canvass the neighbors and trace Lucy’s movements.
Lucy’s friend’s house was only two rows away from her home. It should have taken her five minutes to get back home. She had left at 4:30 p.m., which was still early in the day. But no one saw anything. How was that possible?
Once again Zoe was back in the neighborhood, walking the path from the friend’s house to Lucy’s house. Did Lucy take a detour? There was only one street that led to her destination, and it weaved in between other homes. It would be harder forLucy to be abducted if she took this path. In broad daylight when children were out playing, someone would have seen something.
Zoe spun round, scanning the neighborhood. Did someone lure her into one of these homes? And then her eyes caught sight of another path. A longer, twisted path that faced the backyards of a few houses and a stagnant pond on the other. She didn’t know where this path led to. She jogged along it—it was narrow with just enough space for one car to squeeze through. The road vined into a curve that led to the path in between two houses—one of them Lucy’s.
Could Lucy have taken this way home?
Zoe’s eyes searched for any cameras but there were none. This dirt road could be accessed from the main street. Perhaps this is where Lucy was taken. Her phone rang. She hoped it was Scott but it was Terri.
“Hey, Terri. Have you heard from Scott?”
“Not yet, Agent Storm.” Terri sounded concerned. She had been working under Scott for over four years. “Though I’m calling because neighbors reported a man called Sam Buster causing a scene outside Carly’s house a few days ago. Yelling, threats, the whole nine yards.”
“Sam Buster. Who is he?”
“Carly said he’s a friend with a temper. Didn’t give me much. But I know where he works.”
“Great. Send me the address. Thanks.”
When she hung up, she frowned, her thumb hovering over Scott’s contact. She hesitated, knowing he was with Carly, but still thought she should update him.
Z: Sam Buster. Ring a bell? Neighbors say he caused a scene at Carly’s place. I’m checking him out now.
No response. Scott was likely still tied up with Carly. Zoe sighed, sliding her phone into her pocket, before getting into her car and driving to the bar Terri had mentioned. Her phone rang again.
She glanced at the car’s dashboard screen—it was an unknown number. She pressed the answer button on the steering wheel. “Hello?”
Silence.
“This is Zoe Storm. Hello?” she said again.
“T-this is Nancy.”
