Page 44 of Girl, Unmasked
The trail led from the hallway around to the living room.Ella followed it.The feathers grew larger and more pronounced with every step.In the living room, Ella crouched down and examined a particularly large plume.
‘Either our unsub is a chicken or he brought these with him.’
‘Or our vic has a thing for feathers,’ Ripley offered.
Ella’s stomach clenched like a fist.She tracked the grisly gambit and noted the delicate arc of plumage and the way it swept from hallway to living room in a graceful swoop.
‘I don't know, Mia.Sure, it's melodramatic as hell, but I think there's something more going on here.’She looked up, met her partner's gaze over the bizarre confetti.‘I think these feathers are his foreplay.’
‘Well, I’ve never seen foreplay like this.’
She pointed to a cluster of feathers near the hallway.‘See how they're all pointing towards the living room?And look, they get bigger as we get closer to the balcony.It's like he's building up to something.’
‘That’s if he even planted these things.They could have been here regardless.’
‘No chance.It’s part of his angel-making ritual.He’s transforming these women.In his mind, he's creating angels.’
Before Mia could respond, Detective Blythe burst through the door.His face was flushed and a sheen of sweat had formed on his brow.
‘It's a goddamn zoo out there.Journalists are piling in faster than we can keep them away.We're talking major news networks, even some sleaze who swears he's from the Paranormal Times.Whatever the hell that is.’
‘Sounds stupid,’ Ripley said.
Ella said, ‘Yes it does, but a media circus is a media circus.And that’s the last thing we need.This case is the media’s wet dream as it is.’
Ella could see tomorrow’s headlines already.NORWALK ANGEL-MAKER CLAIMS SECOND.Blunt.The kind of carnivorous copy that sold papers and whipped the populace into a mouth-foaming frenzy.And right now, the press's finest were jockeying for position.
Ella continued, ‘Get some more bodies out here.It's too late to deny anything happened, but we can still do some damage control.Set up a perimeter.And for the love of God, don't let anyone snap pictures of the cops or forensics team when they get here.Last thing we need is our killer knowing who's on his tail.’
Blythe nodded.‘You got it.’
‘And see if you can scrounge up some tarps, sheets, hell, somebody's used gym towel for all I care.Anything to cover up the scene, give our girl a little dignity.’
‘Anything else?’
Ella's gaze swept the room again and caught the little details.A half-empty coffee mug on the counter with lipstick stain still visible on the rim.A novel splayed open on the arm of the couch.A pair of reading glasses perched precariously on the edge of the coffee table, as if their owner had just set them down for a moment and would be back any second to reclaim them.
‘Yeah.Who’s our vic?’
‘Martina Payne.Forty-two years old, lives alone.Neighbor called it in when he came home from work and saw the…’ Blythe gestured to the balcony door.‘That’s all we’ve got for now.’
‘Sure, now go and keep those vultures at bay.Crack some skulls if you have to.’
Blythe scuttled away and left Ella and Ripley alone in the apartment.Ella turned her attention to the small kitchen tucked off the living room.A dinette set, covered in scuff marks and coffee rings.The dull gleam of old stainless steel.And there, tacked to the fridge with alphabet magnets, a corkboard collage of smiling faces.Ripley appeared beside her.
‘Sad, isn’t it,’ she said.
‘Isn’t it just?’
A dozen Polaroids, all featuring the same woman.Beaming at the camera with arms slung around friends and what looked like family.A barbecue, a beach vacation, a birthday with a gaudy ‘40’ crown perched on honey-blonde curls.
Martina Payne.Bubbly, beautiful, surrounded by people who seemed to adore her.So what had drawn the eye of their vengeful angel maker?
Then something caught her attention, buried at the bottom of the collage.Another snapshot, creased and faded with age.Martina again, but this time draped over a man, a tousle-haired Adonis with a rakish grin.They were lip-locked, lost in each other, and someone had taken the time to draw a lopsided heart around the edges.
‘Hey, Mia.Get a load of this.’
‘What?’
