Page 38 of In Her Wake
“Chief Morgan is never happy to see us,” Jenna replied, sliding behind the wheel.“But we have a serial killer operating in both our territories.”
Jake buckled in beside her.“What’s your theory?What connects Marjory Powell and Kevin Torres?They seem like random victims.”
“I don’t know yet,” Jenna admitted, pulling onto the main road that would take them to Pinecrest.“But whoever is behind this, they’re skilled, methodical, and they’re not going to stop until we catch them.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As she drove out of Trentville, Jenna’s mind was still sorting through the disturbing details of the case.Marjory Powell’s body, arranged so carefully in the gully.The mannequin with her face sitting at the victim’s kitchen table.And now another mannequin, another missing person, another carefully constructed face.It was a pattern with horrifying clarity, even as the motivation behind it remained obscure.
One thing seemed certain—Rebecca Ashcroft had one hell of an alibi, at least for whatever had happened to Kevin Torres.She was in St.Louis torching her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s car.And if she had nothing to do with this latest incident, Jenna was sure she had nothing to do with Marjory Powell’s murder either.
During the drive, Jenna called headquarters ordering an alert to the public of danger—a request to beware of unusual or suspicious contacts.
“I keep coming back to how precise it all is,” Jake said, breaking the contemplative silence that had settled between them.“The body arranged like it was being presented.Even the method of killing—if Dr.Stark is right about the inert gas—it’s all so...”He searched for the right word.“Clean.”
Jenna nodded, eyes fixed on the road.“No blood, no struggle, no signs of rage or hatred.”
“Exactly,” Jake shifted in his seat to face her better.“It’s almost as if the killer didn’t feel any hostility toward the victim.Like death isn’t the point—it’s just a step in whatever process he’s carrying out.”
“A means to an end, perhaps,” Jenna murmured.
“But what are we supposed to make of the mannequins?”Jake continued.“Are they mockeries?Some kind of sick joke?Or are they—” he hesitated, “—tributes, in his mind?Preserving the victims in some way?”
Jenna considered this as they passed a weathered barn, its red paint faded to the color of dried blood.The question had been circling in her own mind since they’d discovered Marjory’s body.What was the purpose of creating such perfect replicas, of placing them where the real person should be?
“I don’t know,” she admitted.“But whoever’s doing this, they’re putting enormous effort into these mannequins.The level of detail, the positioning—it feels like there’s meaning behind it.We’re just not seeing it yet.”
They drove in silence for several minutes, the landscape gradually shifting to the well-developed approach to Pinecrest.Unlike Trentville with its classic small-town charm, Pinecrest had grown more rapidly in recent decades, sprouting strip malls and housing developments to accommodate the university population.
As they entered the town limits, the streets widened, trees lined the medians, and signs for Ozark State University appeared with increasing frequency.Students moved along the sidewalks despite the early hour, backpacks slung over their shoulders, coffee cups in hand, oblivious to the darker currents flowing beneath the surface of their college town.
Jenna and Jake been here just over a week ago for another case—one that had caused considerable resentment toward her from Pinecrest Police Chief Rudy Morgan.He didn’t welcome anyone outside his own jurisdiction.
The case still lingered in Jenna’s mind as she turned onto Main Street, following the GPS directions to Torres Fitness Studio.
The gym occupied a converted storefront in a newer commercial district, its large windows now concealed behind blinds.Yellow crime scene tape created a perimeter around the building, and several police vehicles sat parked at odd angles, suggesting they had arrived in haste.Uniformed officers moved between the building and the parking lot, while a small crowd of onlookers had gathered across the street, held back by more tape.
Jenna parked the cruiser behind a Pinecrest Police Department SUV and cut the engine.As she and Jake stepped out into the crisp morning air, she spotted Colonel Spelling and Chief Morgan standing near the entrance to the gym, deep in conversation.
Morgan’s stance was defensive—shoulders squared, arms crossed over his chest, chin jutting slightly forward as he listened to whatever Spelling was saying.He looked every bit as unwelcoming as Jenna had expected.
“Showtime,” Jake muttered beside her as they approached.
Chief Morgan spotted them first, his expression hardening as his gaze locked onto Jenna.He was a stocky man with close-cropped gray hair and the permanent tan of someone who spent considerable time outdoors.His eyes were sharp, assessing, and hostile.
“Sheriff Graves,” he greeted her, his tone just this side of civil.“Seems like you can’t stay out of my jurisdiction for more than a week.”
“Chief Morgan,” Jenna replied evenly.“I wish the circumstances were different.”
Colonel Spelling intervened before the tension could escalate.“I was just bringing the Chief up to speed on the Powell case,” he explained, his tall figure serving as a buffer between them.“The similarities are too striking to ignore.”
“Mannequins,” Morgan said, his skepticism evident in the curl of his lip.“More the kind of thing that goes on in your jurisdiction than mine.”
Jenna bit back a sharp retort.Morgan’s territorial nature made collaboration difficult at best, but antagonizing him would only make things worse.She understood his frustration—having another jurisdiction’s law enforcement descend on his crime scene couldn’t be easy.But the killer wasn’t respecting jurisdictional boundaries, and neither could they.
“Have your people found anything yet?”she asked instead, deliberately softening her tone.
Morgan seemed to make an effort to match her professionalism.“Not much.No signs of forced entry.No obvious disturbance inside beyond the mannequin itself.”
