Page 75 of Girl, Unmasked
The self-portraits caught her first – a dozen awkwardly-angled shots of LaChance himself, greasy hair and sunken eyes dominating the frame.His expression ranged from dazed to surly to utterly empty, like he couldn't quite remember how to arrange his features into anything approaching human.
No artistry to these, no careful composition.Just the visual white noise of a malfunctioning mind.
Ella flipped past them, only to run into a handful of landscapes.An anemic sunset, a sickly-looking oak tree.The kind of generic nature shots a first-year photography student might snap before discovering bong rips.
Was this really it?The sum total of LaChance's existence outside of ripping women to shreds for his scrapbook?For a guy so obsessed with his own genius, it seemed out of tune.
Before she could drill down into that discordant note, Blythe’s hand landed on her shoulder.‘I think we’ve seen enough, Dark, now let’s slap a charge on this lunatic before he sprouts wings and flies away.’
A half-formed protest rose in Ella’s throat.This was moving too fast.She needed time to shake the pieces until they tumbled into a picture that made sense.
Blythe was already in motion, so Ella shot a hand out and snagged his sleeve.‘Detective, wait.’
‘What for?’
‘Something isn’t… I mean, it doesn’t track.The memory lapses, the methodology.’The nagging sensation intensified, morphing into full-blown skepticism.Her instincts were sounding the alarm, but damned if she could put her finger on why.
‘Methodology?Dark, he’s got pictures of all three victims on his cell.He’s confessed.What else do you want, an affidavit signed in blood?’
‘LaChance says he doesn’t remember killing those victims.’
‘If you want honesty, you’re in the wrong job.’
But Ella was already shaking her head.'No, I'm serious.Think about it.Every kill was calculated down to the last detail.You don't do something like that on a whim or in some kind of trance.There's no way he'd pull off this level of staging if he were sleep-killing.'
‘So maybe he's lying,’ Blythe countered.
'But why?If LaChance did this, really did it, then why not boast about it?A preening psychopath with an ego like this, he should be crowing it from the rooftops.But instead, he's curled up in there crying about blackouts.Why the sudden shyness?'
Blythe heaved a sigh that sounded like it started somewhere around his soles.He fixed Ella with a look she recognized all too well.‘I get it, Dark.You want to make sure it’s buttoned up tight before we put a bow on it.’Blythe hitched up his belt.‘Tell you what.I’ll give you an hour to scratch that itch.Then I’m serving this guy up to the DA on a silver platter and calling it case closed.’
A dizzying wave of relief coursed through her.‘Thanks, detective.I won’t let you down.’
‘Don’t.Clock's ticking.’
Blythe spun on his heel and made his way down the corridor.Ella, Ripley, and Ryland watched him go.
Then Ripley looked at her and said, ‘Your funeral, Dark.’
‘Sure is.’
'You honestly, LaChance, aren't our guy?How do you explain the pictures?'
‘I don't know,’ she admitted.‘But I'm sure as hell gonna find out.’
With that, she pocketed the phone and made a beeline for her office.She had work to do and a clock to beat.And she'd be damned if she let a little thing like linear time stop her from untangling this knot.
In her isolated corner of the precinct, the clock on the wall ticked over to eight PM.
Sixty minutes and counting.
CHAPTER FORTY
Ten minutes gone, fifty left to prove she wasn’t chasing shadows.
Ella had paced from wall to wall so many times that her thighs had started to burn.With every lap of her office, she passed her evidence board with the faces of the victims staring back.The more she stared at them, the more the pieces refused to click.
Time to go over everything from the beginning, Ella told herself.
