Page 124 of Cold, Cold Bones
Ryan returned to the table and tossed down his mobile. One glance at my face told him something was wrong.
“What?” he asked, laying a hand on my shoulder.
“I saw a woman murdered, Ryan. I was lured to SWI to witness her death.”
“It’s not necess—”
“That woman died because of me!”
My front teeth clamped onto my trembling lower lip.
Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.
“This bastard is upping the ante,” I said, borrowing the phrase J.S. had used. “He’s getting more aggressive.”
“That’s how I read it.”
I raised both brows in question.
“He’s been killing for a while,” Ryan said, pensive. “Sanchez. Boldonado. You just weren’t noticing. Now he’s making sure that you do. Murdering your friend. Murdering a woman while you watch.”
“That’s what Slidell said. What about Kwalwasser?”
“Snatching a head from the crematorium may have been opportunistic.”
“The bucket?”
“His notion of a playful threat.”
“Playful!?” Way too bitchy.
“Poor choice of words.”
I didn’t disagree.
I brought up a shot of Rountree Road. The spot later identified as the probable point of impact. The embankment. The little pink purse.
“Look at these, Ryan. What do you notice?”
Ryan dragged his chair beside mine, dropped into it, and studied the images. “No skid marks.”
“What else?”
“Is that a smear of paint from the vehicle?”
“It is. There were also a few fragments found on the pavement. And yet, in the SWI parking lot, nothing. Not a speck.”
“You said it was raining.”
“Still.”
A beat, then Ryan asked, “Have you tried to determine when all this started?”
“Kwalwasser died in 2020. Her head was discovered AWOL later that year. Boldonado was reported missing in August 2019. Sanchez turned up in a dumpster at Christmas 2019.”
“So, this chain began at least three years ago. Can you think of any triggering event around that time? A dispute? An argument?”
“My asshole neighbor moved in.”
