Page 71 of The Executioners Three
“Someone took them,” Theo declared from his spot beside a floor-level drawer. His thumb toyed with the stitches over his eye. “It’s the only possible explanation—except why would someone want them, Gellar? What happened on that day?”
“It’s not what happened on the twenty-second,” Freddie explained. “It’s what happened on the twenty-first.” She slid her attention to a green folder before her—November 1975. It would seem several dates from this month were missing, suggesting those issues mustalsohave had information referencing the mysterious affair at the county park that got the fête moved.
“So what happened on the twenty-first, then?”
“It’s what I told you, Mr. Porter: there was an unsolved murder.” That wasn’t atotallie.
“What kind of murder?” He moved to the desk and leaned against it. A split second later, his arms folded over his chest… And a split second after that, his thumb started tapping.
So predictable.
“Why do you care?” Freddie picked through the November issues, counting how many were gone. Six in total.
“Icarebecause I’m helping you, and you owe me a full explanation.”
Freddie supposed that was fair. “Okay, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. On October 21, 1975, someone got decapitated in the county park, and as messed up as that was, what makes itextraweird is… Wait a minute.” Freddie frowned Theo’s way. “Why did you just cough like that?”
He didn’t answer. His whole face had gone white. Even his busted lips had paled, and his black eye looked a sickly green—which was not the reaction Freddie had expected. Mild horror, sure. Disgust, fine. Casual disinterest, maybe. But instead Theo looked like he might vomit. He was even pressing the back of his hand to his lips.
“What… makes it extra weird?” he squeezed out.
“There was a hanging shortly before.” Freddie spoke these words with total detachment, gaze rooted on Theo. “And then another hanging in 1987. Andanotherhanging now—just a few days ago, as you know.”
Yeah, hereallylooked like he might vomit. “Hangings?” he said, mouth still covered with his fingers. “Let’s look for those.” He shoved off the table, a jerky movement. Gone was his earlier grace.
Not his speed, though. In moments, he’d plucked out the 1987 files for theBerm Sentinel. He didn’t bother closing the drawer before striding back to the desk and tearing it wide. Seconds later, he had found the same article Freddie’s dad had cut out only a few weeks before his heart attack.
Freddie watched as Theo’s eyes raced over the headline—“Suicide By Hanging in County Park”—and then over the entirety of the article. Somehow, his face went paler.
And Freddie could tell, deep in her gut, that Theo Porter knew something. “What is it?” she asked. “Why do these deaths matter to you?”
He didn’t try to deny it. “This.” He poked at the headline. “Like you said, a hanging just happened again. And three times is… a lot.”
“And?” Freddie shook her head. “That’s not all that’s bothering you. I can tell, Mr. Porter. Is it because of the second body in the forest?”
Theo bit his lip. Then hissed with pain, as if he’d forgotten the gash was just above. “How do you know about that, Gellar? I checked the paper today. There was no beheading mentioned.”
Freddie gasped. Her whole body rocked back. “A beheading? How doyouknow it was a beheading?”
Theo’s face tightened, like he was remembering something he very much wanted to forget. “My aunt slipped up,” he answered eventually. “She mentioned something she shouldn’t have, about a body by the beach. No head.”
Before Freddie could press Theo with any more questions, he suddenly straightened. And just like that, his pallor was gone; the steady, determined Theo had returned. “You said the same thing happened in 1975? A decapitation on October twenty-first?”
A nod from Freddie.
“But if all the articles are missing, then how doyouknow that?”
“Because,” Freddie said, and in quick terms, she described the article she’d found about why the Fête du Bûcheron had been temporarily moved. About a decapitated body and the traumatized drunk guy who’d been with the victim. “That was all the article described, though. No details aboutwhothose people were or what the police found.”
“Okay.” Theo drawled out the word as he ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s say someone came in here and removed all those articles from 1975. Why not take the ones from 1987 too?”
“I… don’t know.” Freddiedidn’tknow. She had come here hoping for answers, and now she only had more questions.
“Let’s check the Chicago papers.” Theo motioned to an aisle across the room. “If there was something that messed-up happening, then it would have reached the cities.” He loped away.
And Freddie scampered after him. Now her gut was really singing. “So you think someone went into the local libraries and removedallthe articles about October 21, 1975—and no one noticed?”
“What other explanation could there be?” Theo slung into an identical row of cabinets with an identical desk and window. “You know it’s not just a coincidence, Gellar.”
