Chapter 15
Damien
Play - Heathens by Twenty One Pilots
Found You
“Caldwell,” I say into the phone as I walk towards my parked car.
“Sir, the files you have requested are ready.”
I fumble with my keys as I push them into the car's lock.
“Thank you. I’m on my way.” I hang up and drop the phone onto the passenger seat. My hand goes to my pocket without thinking, closing around the lighter. I turn it over, thumb brushing the small scratch on the side, click it open once, then shut it again before putting it back and starting the car.
The police station isn’t far from campus, and I’m there sooner than I expect. I parked the car outside the small, allotted space before exiting the vehicle.
I need to check a few things before I settle in. Starting with the obvious, whether anything similar happened here around the same time, before or after the murders outside the island.
Rylan called before I arrived, according to Kyle's text. That way, there won't be any waiting or delays. The files are waiting for me when I arrive and present my badge at the entrance to the station.
“The archive room is at the end of the corridor, here’s the key, the files are in the box on row F, everything is there.
Don’t hesitate to come back to me if you have any questions,” the officer at reception told me.
“Most of these went cold years ago,” he adds.
“Accidents, suicides, overdoses, mysterious deaths.”
“That's good. Thank you,” I replied before heading to the room.
I open it and see a box on row F, as indicated, old and a little worn, with several files, then sit down and begin.
First file, then the next, and another. Nothing alarming about these. I’m halfway through the box when one file makes me stop. Ruled a suicide, female, mid-twenties, long hair, bruises, signs of abuse. The body was found in an empty street with no witnesses.
I read it once, then again. The positioning is wrong, the scene is too clean, it doesn’t resemble him at all, at least not the him I’ve seen on other crime scenes.
Her personal effects were arranged with care.
I sit back slightly looking again at the picture. This isn’t a suicide, the chain marks match his signature, same size, same depth and same position, at least for me. I need to make sure it’s accurate.
I slide the file out of the stack and set it aside. One case doesn’t prove anything, but it’s enough to ask the right question.
I closed the box, fingers resting on the folder I didn’t put back.
He was here, I’m sure, he wasn’t isolated or careless, and he didn’t stop.
I think I have a lead here and it might be the best one I've had since I started studying this case.