Page 22 of Run for Her Life
Back at the station, Zoe’s finger grazed the edges of Annabelle’s autopsy photographs in the file. Snapshots of her arms, collarbone, and legs sprinkled with distinct purple puncture wounds. The dimensions were measured and noted in the file, along with test results pending for particulate analysis. There wasn’t a single part of Annabelle’s skin that was devoid of injuries. It was as if someone was determined to systematically inflict pain on her—piece by piece, slowly and steadily pushing her because he wanted to see that first crack in her resolve andthen the next, until she broke down completely. Like Annabelle was a lab rat in a twisted individual’s experiment.
Unlike Zoe for whom pain was a quick fix like a drug. She chased those blows and punches and kicks to assuage some of the guilt that had a permanent grip on her insides.
“How can someone do that to a person?” she wondered out loud, wincing at another photo of Annabelle’s thigh where the imprint of barbed-wire fencing was etched into her skin.
Aiden appeared over her shoulder, startling her. “Dehumanization—” He stopped when he saw her watching him flatly. “Ah, it was a rhetorical question.”
Zoe rolled her eyes and closed the file, swiveling on her chair. “We might have another missing woman.”
His face fell. “Did you get another riddle?”
“Annabelle was last seen at the café and talking with her friend—Jackie Fink. No one has heard from her since Annabelle went missing.”
“Did the husband, Trevor, know Jackie?”
“I got off the phone with him an hour ago. He said the name doesn’t ring a bell.”
He stroked his jaw and slowly sat down. “Bothwomen could be in danger?”
She nodded. “The last sighting of Annabelle was with Jackie. Why? What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking it’s not an easy feat for someone to kidnap two adult women.” His voice trailed off as he did some calculations. “We might have to revise our profile.”
“How?”
“It’s more likely that the killer knew both of them, which is why he was able to lure them at the same time. Maybe they were on their way to meet him.”
Her chest constricted. “Do you think Jackie is being tortured as we speak? There’s a reason I haven’t gotten a riddle yet.”
FOURTEEN
Jackie’s house was a single-story building in need of a fresh coat of paint. The lawn was patchy and unkempt with weeds creeping up the edges of the driveway. Lisa broke open the door after nobody answered.
The first thing Zoe registered was the dust dancing in the stale air. She waded through the personal space of a woman she’d never met—an occupational hazard. A half-empty coffee mug, a stack of unopened mail and bills, a crumpled blanket on the couch, and overflowing garbage infusing the air with a sour smell. A bouquet of stream violets in a vase—limp and dead.
“She forgot to put the milk back.” Lisa pulled a face. “She definitely hasn’t been home these last couple of days.”
“No one at work reported her missing?” Aiden asked.
“I talked to the manager. It sounds like she’s checked out of the job.”
Zoe twirled the cord of a charger. “How does Jackie know Annabelle?”
“Maybe they just became friends at the coffee house. She could have been a regular there and they bonded,” Lisa suggested.
“Possibly.” Zoe looked at Aiden. “What do you think?”
He slipped inside the only bedroom without answering. Zoe followed him, noting the bed hadn’t been slept in. It was highly likely that Jackie lived alone, from the single toothbrush in the bathroom, and yet she’d made no attempt to engrave the house with an ounce of her personality. No books, no artwork, no mementos, no pictures that told Zoe anything about who Jackie was.
Except for a bunch of flowers—now wilting—sitting in a vase.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Zoe asked, wandering back out into the kitchen.
“It’s a functional house, nothing more,” Aiden remarked, opening the closet and flicking through Jackie’s clothes. “Is she new to town, Sheriff?”
Lisa leaned against the doorway. “No. Born and bred here, according to Ethan. No priors. I’ll ask deputies to canvass the neighborhood. Maybe someone saw something.”
Zoe’s eyes landed on the magnetic calendar on the fridge. September 5 was circled with the words “MF birthday” next to it. The only intimate detail in this barren house. “Who is MF?”
