Chapter 20
“Warren Rouge,” Griffin said as he stared at the Aesop’s Files’ director. “This isn’t good.”
“No, it isn’t,” Bel whispered. “He’s escalating. A writer, a costume designer, a producer, and now the director.”
“All that remains is an actor,” Eamon said, and the sheriff looked like he might pass out at that prospect.
“What’s Rouge doing here, though?” Olivia asked. “The cast and crew know not to leave the bed-and-breakfast after filming.”
“I think the naked woman wearing a sheet is the answer to that question,” Griffin said. “But how did he get past our patrol units?”
“Gwen Rossa never returned to the inn,” Bel said. “Rouge could’ve done the same.”
“Only Gwen Rossa didn’t know crew members were being hunted at night. Our director here did.” Griffin cursed as he ran his fingers through his hair. “That poor woman. He killed Rouge right next to her while she slept. There are no footprints in the snow leading to the sliding door, so our killer probably entered from the front walkway. The couple was already naked, so he only needed to drape the cloak over him and wait for her to wake up.”
“How on earth did they sleep through this?” Olivia answered.
“One-night stands are usually preceded by alcohol,” Eamon said, and while his observation was common sense, Bel guessed it was because he smelled the liquor wafting off the body. “They were probably too drunk to hear an intruder.”
“If this was a one-night stand, I’ll talk to my neighbor,” Bel said. “She might feel more comfortable giving her statement to a woman.”
“Sounds good,” Griffin said. “Is there a box?” He scanned the room for the white and red gift.
“Yeah. Kitchen counter,” Bel said. “I spotted it when I used the landline to call you, but I left it to be photographed. I’ll go grab it.” She retreated down the hall just as Lina Thum stepped into the cabin.
“Is it true?” she asked. “Is it the director?”
“Yes.” Bel grabbed the tiny box.
“Good god. How is this happening?” She looked around. “And inside? Why did he change M.O.s for this one?”
“He didn’t,” Bel said. “The bed’s before an open glass door that leads into the woods.”
“I saw your neighbor outside. They’re saying she woke up to find him dead beside her.”
“She did.”
“That poor woman,” Lina gasped as she confronted the sight of Warren Rouge’s brutalized body. “I don’t know if I’d ever recover from that.”
“It’s odd that he attacked with a witness,” Olivia said. “But then again, with our security so tight, this was probably our killer’s only shot at taking out Rouge. I guess our director didn’t think leaving the bed-and-breakfast for a hookup was dangerous.”
“He should’ve,” Bel said. “Ellery Roja left to get chips, and it killed her.”
“It’s impossible to protect people who won’t halt production or follow the rules,” Griffin sighed, his chest deflating like a punctured balloon.
“They refuse to listen, yet we’re the ones who will be blamed,” Lina said. “All this could’ve been prevented if they’d just shut down after Gwen Rossa’s death.”
“No point in descending that rabbit hole,” Griffin said. “What’s in the box?”
With gloved fingers, Bel untied the bow and tugged the lid off. “Oh… god.” Her lips recoiled at the sight. “It’s a tooth.”
“A tooth?” Griffin leaned over, and she aimed the box’s contents at him. “That’s a canine, and it looks like it was just pulled.”
“It’s probably Rouge’s,” Lina said. “But where’s the riddle? All the other boxes came with riddles.”
“No,” Bel said. “All the boxes came with body parts. Eyes, ears, and nose. This is the same. What big teeth you have.”
“So, the clue’s in his mouth.” The medical examiner stepped to the head of the bed and pried Rouge’s lips apart. “It’s his tooth,” she confirmed, angling his face so everyone could see the missing canine. “And there is definitely something in here.” She withdrew a plastic-wrapped square of folded paper. “Here. My hands are dirty.” She placed it on Bel’s waiting palm.
Bel peeled off the wrapping and dropped it into the evidence bag Olivia held open for her. Changing her gloves to a fresh pair, she pulled the paper back out and unfolded it. “It’s a piece of an autopsy report.” She showed it to Lina. “It’s incomplete, though.”
“It’s just the body diagram where we denote wound locations.” The medical examiner leaned closer, and Bel watched her face go from studious to horrified. “If this is a real autopsy report, it depicts a victim who was stabbed five times in the abdomen.”
The entire room’s attention snapped to Warren Rouge’s disemboweled belly.
“It’s the what,” Olivia’s southern accent broke the heavy silence. “Where? In the snowy trees. When? January. Why? Because the show was renewed. What? Five stabbings to the abdomen.”
“I’ll see if I can find what autopsy this belongs to,” Lina said. “Don’t get your hopes up, though. There are thousands of fatal stabbings every year, and all we know is January. We don’t know city or year.”
“Wouldn’t it be five years ago when that article was published?” Olivia asked.
“Maybe, maybe not,” the M.E. said. “These clues have been incredibly vague. I bet this is no different.”
“There’s one more victim to go,” Bel said. “He doesn’t want us figuring out who his last target is before he kills them.”
“But we will. We have to.” Griffin broke free of the trance this destructive death had placed all of them under. “All right, Mr. Stone. I have to ask you to leave so the techs have room to work. Emerson, you aren’t exactly dressed for a crime scene, so can you go outside and talk to your neighbor about last night? Also, the press is arriving, but I don’t want anyone talking yet. Make sure no one does anything stupid.”
“Will do.” She grabbed Eamon’s arm and pushed him before her, following in his footsteps so they wouldn’t step in the blood on the carpet.
“I’m sorry that we have to meet this way, but I’m Detective Isobel Emerson,” Bel said when they rejoined her neighbor and the deputies outside. “I live in the cabin down the road.” She gestured toward her home.
“You’re where they found the producer’s body, right?” the woman asked. She was no longer hysterical, and she now wore proper winter attire, but the look in her eyes matched the same expression Bel had worn the night Alistair Rot bled out in her backyard.
“I am,” Bel answered, and the woman’s gaze flicked to Eamon as she waited for him to introduce himself, and it wasn’t lost on Bel that she didn’t recoil from his presence. She just stared at him as if she were resolved to accept whatever fate he inflicted on her. She’d already survived a monster. She had no fear left for the devil.
“Eamon Stone.” He extended a hand, and she shook it.
“Chloe Rider,” she said.
“Miss Rider, I understand this morning has been incredibly difficult for you, but if it’s okay, can I ask you some questions?” Bel asked.
“How did he get into my house?” Chloe stared through Bel as if she were invisible, the violated cabin the only thing her eyes could focus on.
“There were no footprints in the snow or signs of forced entry, so I suspect he picked the front door lock,” Bel said.
“I…” Chloe started. “I actually don’t remember if I locked the front door. Oh god. Did I let him inside?”
“Don’t feel guilty. He would’ve gotten inside, regardless. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you are very lucky. The man we’re looking for is extremely dangerous.” Bel waved down a passing tech and asked him to grab Olivia and check for signs of lock tampering.
“You’re right. It doesn’t feel like it.” Chloe finally focused on Bel’s face.
“I’m sorry. Is there someone we can call for you?”
“No. My sister lives a couple of neighborhoods over. I’ll go stay with her.”
“We’ll have a deputy escort you, but if you’re up to it, I need to ask you some questions.”
“All right.” Chloe sighed, resigned to her fate.
“Thank you.” Bel shifted sideways to block Miss Rider from the news crews hoping to capture the winning shot, and catching her meaning, Eamon blocked both women with his size. “The Bajka Police Department advised the cast and crew of Aesop’s Files to stay at the bed-and-breakfast when they weren’t shooting. How did Warren Rouge end up here?”
“Most find Beau Draven sexy, but he’s too pretty for me.” Chloe shrugged. “I prefer men in their forties.” She tossed her eyes up at Eamon to illustrate her point. “Warren was hot, and we’re consenting adults. It’s not a crime.”
“Your date is not my concern,” Bel assured her. “I’m worried about how he slipped past our deputies at the inn.”
“I might have helped him with that,” Chloe said.
“I see… What happened last night? If you remember, can you recount your movements from the time you met him until you woke this morning?”
“I was at the signing with the bomb threat,” Chloe said. “Warren and I had instant chemistry when I got his autograph. I wanted to give him my number, but people were staring, so I left. Later on, I got a little tipsy at the bar and started talking about my regrets. Another fan overheard and told me I was Warren’s type. He said the bed-and-breakfast had a wine-tasting menu, and he thought I should go and shoot my shot with Warren.”
“This fan?” Bel asked. “What did he look like?”
“Couldn’t tell you, other than he was a man wearing wolf makeup. It was after the signing, so everyone was still in costume.”
Bel met Eamon’s gaze, a wordless understanding passing between the couple. Had the killer dressed as a wolf to encourage Miss Rider to lure Rouge away from their protection, or was this simply star-struck fans excited about the idea of a famous one-night stand?
“Did you go to the inn?” she asked.
“No, I chickened out,” Chloe said. “But I ran into him at The Espresso Shot the other day. We had the same chemistry, and I was brave enough to write my number on his cup. He called last night and invited me over. The bed-and-breakfast upped their bar service to accommodate the cast and crew’s curfews. He told me everyone was tipsy, so no one would notice if I showed up. I was thrilled he called, so we met up. We hit it off and drank a lot… probably too much.” She fell silent as the gravity of her overconsumption struck her. “Then he asked if I wanted to get out of there. He didn’t want to go to his room since the inn was packed. He wanted privacy. So I helped him sneak out, and we caught a cab here. He was hot, and it was fun until…” she trailed off.
“Did you notice anyone following you last night?” Bel asked. “Did anything unusual happen when you got home?”
“I was with Warren Rouge,” Chloe emphasized. “I wasn’t thinking about anything else.”
“Right.” Bel nodded, trying to keep the disappointment from reaching her face. Chloe Rider was the first witness their killer had left alive, but a drunk, star-struck woman was little help. “Do you remember what time you arrived home last night?”
“I don’t know. Late?”
“Late as in after midnight or almost dawn?”
“Um…” Chloe kicked at the dirty snow with her toes. “Somewhere in between? Maybe two-ish? It was still dark.”
“Do you have a security system?” Bel asked.
“No. But after this, I plan to get one… not for this cabin, though. I can’t live here after this.”
“I don’t blame you. It took me days to face my house after Alistair Rot died in my backyard.”
“I wish Warren died in my yard and not next to me.” Chloe started sobbing, and Bel placed a comforting hand on her arm. “I liked him. How could anyone do this? How come you haven’t arrested the murderer yet?”
Bel opened her mouth to answer, but what could she say? That she was failing at her job? That the killer might be a deal that wouldn’t stop until the debt was paid? That every time she stood in the snow, she was transported back to that mountain with Charles Blaubart hunting her just like this killer hunted its hooded victims?
“We’re doing everything we can,” Bel settled on her standard answer despite its hollowness. “If you think of anything else, call me at the station, but you’re free to go. I’ll have a deputy escort you to your sister’s.” She waved an officer down and asked him to deliver Miss Rider to her family.
“Don’t let what she said bother you.” Eamon massaged her shoulders as Chloe ducked into the squad car. “This production has been uncooperative, and our town might be playing host to black magic. Neither of those bode well for justice.”
“I know.” Bel sagged against him, shutting her eyes as his thumbs worked out her knots. “But he killed Rouge next to her, and she woke up covered in his blood. He forced her to sleep beside a dead man. I can’t even imagine that.”
“So don’t.” Eamon kissed her cheek. “You’ve been through worse. Don’t add more to your… plate.” He bristled, and Bel scanned their surroundings in search of his annoyance.
“It’s just Jerry.” She reached behind her and patted his thigh. Jerry was the middle-aged cameraman from the news station that had aggressively chased her down during The Matchstick Girl case. Eamon feared his hyper focus on Bel was because he was the killer, but it turned out he was merely an eager father who followed his dream later in life.
Bel gave a small wave, and the cameraman jogged over to greet her, stumbling over his own feet when he saw the hulking man glowering at him.
“Hi, Jerry. How are the kids?” she asked.
“What?” he gawked at Eamon.
“The kids, Jerry,” Bel repeated.
“Oh right, yeah.” His excitable speech pattern returned as he collected himself… for the most part. “Everyone’s good. Sorry about all this. I’ll try to keep you out of the shots.”
“Thank you.”
“Me too,” Eamon said, and Jerry looked like he’d swallowed his tongue.
“Right… sure. Who are you?”
“Hers.” Eamon’s evasiveness sent a thrill through Bel’s chest, and she leaned her head back against him with a stifled grin.
“Clearly.” Jerry fixated on his massive hands gripping her shoulders. “You guys make a good couple, though. I can see it.”
“Thank you,” Bel said. “We haven’t released anything yet, so even if you hear any names?—”
“I didn’t,” he finished for her. “Sure thing.”
“Thanks, Jer—” His name died on her tongue when she registered who stood beyond the police tape… and what he was doing. She cursed, her skin flushing hot despite the morning’s bitter chill, and without a goodbye, she ducked under the yellow tape and stormed through the squad cars for Beau Draven.
“But Warren’s death won’t be in vain,” the actor said into his phone’s camera. “His commitment to our show will never be forgotten, and I intend to honor his memory by taking up the director’s mantel. Aesop’s Files was our dream years ago, but now the show belongs to everyone. Warren wouldn’t want us to give up.”
Bel picked up her pace. He couldn’t be saying those things, especially not on a live stream before an active crime scene. She wanted to strangle him for his flagrant lack of respect and common sense, but attacking a beloved actor while thousands of his fans watched was the worst idea, so she lunged behind his camera and seized the phone, using her hand to block the view.
“What’s wrong with you?” she spat after she ended the livestream. “This is an active crime scene. Someone was murdered here. Violently. Have you no decency?”
“Give me back my phone,” Beau demanded.
“No.” Bel shoved it into her pocket. “We haven’t released the victim’s name or done the death notice yet, and you just broadcasted Rouge’s murder to the entire world. His family doesn’t deserve to find out that way, plastered across social media like trivial entertainment. Someone’s killing members of your crew, and you’re going live like this is some scene in your show. Well, it’s not. This is real. This is a tragedy.”
“All right, all right, point taken.” Beau raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll stay off the internet like a good boy. So, can I have my phone back?”
“Fine,” she growled. “But if I see you on it?—”
“Yeah, yeah, you’ll be the bad cop,” he said. “This is my big break.”
“Big break?” Bel pinched her eyebrows at the sudden shift in conversation.
“Yes. If I direct the rest of the episodes while we’re here, the studio will have to recognize my talent. This is the next step in my career.”
“Are you serious?” She couldn’t be hearing him right. A man had been brutally murdered, and all the actor could think of was progressing his career. “A killer is targeting your show. This needs to stop. You need to shut down production.”
“Why would we do that?” Beau asked. “Warren would want us to continue. The fans want us to continue.”
“Because continuing could get you killed!”
“So protect me.”
“I am not a bodyguard,” she hissed. “I’m a homicide detective, and these murders are escalating. Enough is enough. Filming needs to stop.”
“The show must go on, you know? This could change everything for me.”
Bel’s mouth fell open, but no words came out. How was this happening? Why did no one care about the four dead crew members? Eamon believed a deal was to blame, and staring at Beau Draven, she knew her millionaire was right.
“What did you do?” She grabbed the actor’s arm and pulled him to the snowy trees lining the road. “I know what this is about. I know you did something.”
Beau’s handsome face paled, and for a moment, he stood more frozen than the ice-coated branches. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“What did you do?” Bel repeated, pulling the taller man closer. The actor might play a cop, but he was no match for the scowling reality that stood a foot shorter than him.
“Nothing.” His voice was unconvincing as his eyes flicked to something over her head. Cameramen were starting to take note of their conversation, and while Jerry graciously tried to force their focus to the investigation, the gorgeous actor being harassed by a detective was a treat they couldn’t resist.
“Your phone stays in your pocket.” She released his arm and stepped away. “If I see you filming again, you won’t get it back.”
Before he could respond, she stalked to Eamon’s side, her rage boiling so forcefully that she slipped her hand around her boyfriend’s and squeezed hard enough to break a human’s bones. “I don’t know if it’s a deal, but something won’t let this show shut down,” she hissed at him. “Something wants this crew dead, and we need to find it before these deaths ruin our town.”
“I don’t think the deal is in Bajka.” He dragged her closer. An inch of air separated them, but his strength radiated off his body to steady her. “If he’s the killer, he only steps inside town limits to kill and then retreats, otherwise I’d scent someone powerful enough to wield black magic.”
“Did you smell something in the cabin?” Bel jerked her head at the crime scene.
“Yes.” He nodded. “But the doors were open and hours had passed, so it dissipated.”
“But it’s not black magic?”
“No.”
“So, the killer isn’t the deal.”
“Not necessarily,” he explained. “If a deal was made, it was struck years ago, so no magic transferred between bodies during the killings. He left enough of a trace to warn he isn’t human, but that’s it.”
“Regardless, he has one more debt to collect,” Bel said, setting her sights on Beau Draven. “And I can guess who the last man standing is.”