Page 30 of Investigate Away
“What?” She dropped her piece of chicken on the paper plate. “My sister’s was pretty brutal. But I don’t remember any of the other victims being beaten and stabbed more than three times.”
“Renee had been beaten almost beyond recognition, and she’d been stabbed twenty-one times, much like Stephanie.”
Callie gasped. Her chest rose up and down as she took a few harsh breaths. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“It took a while before we could lump Renee in with the Trinket Killer because of that discrepancy with the next couple of victims, but the Trinket Killer left me a little note letting me know Renee was his work.”
“What kind of note?” she asked with narrowed eyes. “And when?”
“Right after you dubbed him the Trinket Killer, he sent me an envelope with a picture of Renee at the crime scene, alive. Told me to make sure he got credit for all his kills. Seemed he got off on the way you told his story.”
She picked up her chicken and tossed it at him.
He ducked, but it still managed to hit him on his temple. “Hey.”
“You should have told me.”
“I couldn’t. It was one of those things we kept from the public and the press. Technically, I shouldn’t be telling you now. So I’d rather you didn’t print it in your book.”
“If I can’t print it, why’d you tell me?”
He shrugged. He really didn’t know why he decided to fill her in on some of the things he hadn’t been able to in the past. Maybe it was because she wasn’t a reporter and he wasn’t working the case anymore.
Or perhaps it was because he wanted to put the past where it belonged, and it was high time he found a way to forgive her for breaking his heart.
“I wanted you to know.”
“Doesn’t make me feel any better.” She took a napkin and dotted the corners of her eyes. “The detective that took over for you, in his statement after my sister’s murder, he said he believed that she knew her attacker. Do you believe that?”
“I believe that of both Renee and Stephanie. Their deaths were so brutal, but the killer took the time to clean them up. Whereas the rest, the killer only positioned the bodies a certain way to present the trinket. He didn’t seem to care about them. He cared about Stephanie and Renee. It’s why I don’t think we’ll be hearing from the Trinket Killer again. Your sister and Renee are like bookends. I just don’t know what the story is in between.”
“Do you even care what that narrative is?” She bolted off the bench. “No. You don’t because you’ve done nothing to find my sister’s killer since you were forced off the case.”
That wasn’t true. Not even close, but he wasn’t ready to show her exactly how much time and energy he’d spent searching for a ghost. He wasn’t sure if it was because his ego couldn’t handle the fact he’d found almost nothing.
Or he was still holding on to the notion that he’d tell her when he found something.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“Fuck off,” she mumbled, storming off into the tent. She tossed out one of the sleeping bags and zipped up the flap. “You can sleep in the damn Jeep.”
* * *
Callie lay on her back and stared at the ceiling of the tent. Her eyes burned, unable to release the tears that stung at the corners. Memories of Stephanie flashed through her mind. They had been close their entire lives, and she helped her sister navigate her transition and subsequent surgery into becoming the woman who had been trapped inside the male body she’d been born with.
A few days before Stephanie had been killed, she’d called Callie, all excited about a new girlfriend, but it was new and she wasn’t ready to share. Callie suspected it was because Stephanie hadn’t told her new friend she was a transgender woman. Even with having had the surgery, it often freaked people out, and many didn’t understand.
Poor Stephanie had many friends who thought they were open-minded, but it turned out they weren’t even close, leaving Stephanie with a wounded heart.
But on the night of her death, she’d left a frantic message, begging Callie to call her. However, Callie had been having a romantic evening with Jag who had popped the question. When the call came over that the Trinket Killer had struck again, they were in bed, celebrating.
The sound of metal ripping open caught her attention. “I told you to sleep in the Jeep.”
“Yeah. Well, that’s not going to happen.” Jag stepped into the tent, tossing the sleeping bag onto the foam mattress. “There is a divider you can put up if you want, but the space heater is on my side, and that will keep the warmth mostly with me, and it’s already dropped to about forty degrees outside. But that’s your call.” He shimmied out of his jeans before hiking up a pair of sweatpants and slipping into the sleeping bag. “And for the record, I’ve never stopped looking for your sister’s killer. Never. But it’s fucking damn hard when the trail is as cold as it is.” He rolled, turning his back to her. “Good night.”
“Have you uncovered anything? Because I have come across some things when it comes to my sister, and I have some new theories.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure you do.”
