CHAPTER TEN
‘Okay, you’re going to have to walk me through this,’ Ripley said from the passenger seat.
‘Rats.’
‘Rats? You’ve jumped from A to Z real quick here, Dark.’
‘Think about that wound in her stomach. It didn’t look clean-cut like with a surgical instrument. It was jagged and irregular. Remember what the pathologist said? Like a thousand cuts.’
‘Yeah, I’m not seeing it. Why would rats burrow into her stomach like that? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘We saw animal droppings at the scene, remember?’
‘Yeah, but who knows if they were from rats or not? And rats don’t attack humans like that. They’re terrified of us.’
‘That's true under normal circumstances, but rats were used in medieval times for torture. They'd put a rat in a cage against someone's stomach, heat the cage, and the rat would burrow itself to safety via the victim’s stomach.’
Ripley went quiet for a moment. 'Julia was studying medieval history.'
'Exactly.'
‘So what, the killer used rats as a torture method? Deliberately?’
'It fits. She dies of cardiac arrest from extreme stress, then the rats do the rest. The killer doesn't have to touch her.' Ella braked hard at a red light and felt the seatbelt catch. 'We're dealing with someone who plans. Someone who researches their victims.'
Ripley’s lips parted in response, but then her phone buzzed with an incoming text. She checked it, then clenched her teeth. Ella knew it was bad news.
‘Jason White,’ Ripley said. ‘Julia’s ex.’
‘We got something on him?’
‘The opposite. He’s been overseas for months. Currently in Germany.’
Ella slammed her palm on the steering wheel, an inch away from blaring the horn. ‘Damn it. So he’s out of the picture.
‘No traces on Julia’s car either. She didn’t use it all weekend.’
'So we've got no ex-boyfriend, no vehicle movement, and a theory about rats.
' Ella accelerated through the intersection.
The precinct was four blocks away. 'We need to get forensics back to that cabin.
Check the surrounding areas for discarded cages or anything that could have held rodents.
Those impressions we saw in the dust were probably from whatever heating element he used. '
‘The sheriff might still have people on site. I’ll get him to take a second look around.’
‘Good idea. Tell him exactly what we’re looking for. Hell, even clumps of fur. Anything that proves rats were there.’
‘On it.’
‘And I need to look into Julia’s life more closely.
If the killer was using her research against her, there might be clues in her studies.
We need to devour all of Julia Dawson’s social media profiles when we get back.
With any luck, we can get into her laptop without too much trouble.
And let’s not rule out the medieval torture theory, because if we’ve got a killer obsessed with medieval torture, that’s… ’
‘The media’s wet dream.’
‘Yeah. Either way, we're dealing with someone who knows how to cover their tracks.’
‘Let’s say our unsub did use rats – then how did he get access to them? No one has piles of rats lying around, unless they live in a swamp.’
Ella considered the implications. She knew this homicide had been planned well in advance, but only now realized the true extent. The questions plagued her; why Julia? Was her rat theory correct? If so, was it part of the killer's ritual, or was it a byproduct of being dead in the woods?
‘Pet stores. Snake breeders. You can probably buy rats in bulk these days.’
‘Leave that part to me. You do the tech stuff. I’ll search for rats.’
She knew that to catch this killer, she had to think like him, anticipate his moves, and uncover his connection to Julia.
When she got to her office, she had a lot of digging to do.
***
Ella had been rummaging through Julia Dawson’s laptop for thirty minutes.
Julia’s roommate had handed it over, and getting clearance to the laptop had taken another hour of paperwork and phone calls, but Director Vernon's office had fast-tracked the approval.
Bureaucracy moved quicker when an eviscerated body was involved.
The laptop itself was unremarkable. It was a ten-year-old Dell with a cracked screen protector and a keyboard worn smooth at the home row keys. Julia's digital life, preserved in folders and browser history, and a half-finished essay about Alexander the Great.
However, Ella discovered messaging apps on the home screen that must have been connected to Julia’s cell. Since Julia’s phone was no longer active, presumably destroyed by her killer, Ella could only access Julia’s past conversation history, but it was as good a starting point as any.
Most of the messages, to Ella's disappointment, were junk.
It was mostly spam mixed with pointless conversations from people Julia barely knew, given her minimal responses to them.
There were a few talks of weekend plans, but Julia's replies suggested she a tendency to cancel plans at the last minute, so Ella guessed she wasn't much of a social butterfly.
Not a single exchange felt important enough to pursue further.
The door opened, and Ripley came in. 'Sheriff just called me. He said the cabin's clean. Other than droppings, no other evidence of rats at the scene. No fur, no suggestions of a cage being setup. He's at a loss.'
Ella didn't look up. 'Great.'
'Finding anything?'
'Lots of nothing.' She scrolled past another useless thread. 'Julia didn't talk about school online. Not once. No complaints about homework, no mentions of professors, nothing. It's weird.'
'Maybe she kept that stuff private. You checked her social media?'
‘She only has one profile and hasn’t used it in six months.’ Each theory Ella had now seemed more tenuous than the last. The lack of evidence at the cabin, the dead ends in Julia's social life, the absence of a clear motive. Was it possible they were looking in the wrong places?
‘There you go. Not everyone broadcasts their life online.’
‘But her personal messages? That’s what messaging is for. Complaining about things to your friends.’
‘Well, you need to dissect that thing from top to bottom. Or give it to a tech guy here if you’re at a dead end.’
‘No. I’ll do it.’
‘Why? It’s not a personal failure, you know?’
Ella went back to the homescreen and swung her cursor over the next few icons in line. 'Yes, it is.'
‘Whatever. Do you have access to everything of Julia’s on there?’
‘No. Just a few messaging apps and social media. I can’t see her standard text messages or call history or anything like that.’
‘Here,’ Ripley said as she tapped a knuckle on the screen. ‘EduCase. Have you tried that?’
Ella squinted at the icon. It looked like a pile of books. ‘What’s EduCase? That ain’t no messaging app I ever heard of.’
‘It’s what professors and students use. Where have you been recently?’
Ella stared her partner down. ‘What? Since when do you know?’
'Since my son's wife was a lecturer at George Washington, I've had to listen to her complain about it. Go on, check it.'
Ella opened it up. The tagline appeared: EduCase - virtual space for students to connect with professors and classmates.
Her pulse quickened at the revelation. A platform dedicated to academic discourse might be the missing link in the chain.
A sea of folders appeared, most of them system files that Ella couldn’t deconstruct in a million years.
She navigated through until she found the messages folder.
‘Got it,’ she said. Ella clicked in. Three names appeared. Three conversations.
‘Looks like Julia had a few friends, at least,’ said Ripley.
Ella wasted no time. She opened the first message, a conversation with someone named Jessica Harlow. It was brief, only a few back-and-forth exchanges. Ella dismissed it as irrelevant and moved to the next one.
‘Liam Hendrick,’ she said. She delved into the conversation and analyzed the words as they sprawled across the screen.
Ella fast concluded that the exchange was distinctly academic; a dialogue between a curious student and her professor.
Julia was simply probing into the intricacies of medieval history, but the tone was purely professional.
Ella scanned for any subtext, any hint of something more, but Professor Hendrick's responses remained squarely within the bounds of a teacher-student relationship.
‘Professor,’ Ripley said over Ella’s shoulder. ‘I’ll make a note to check him out.’
With a mental note of Hendrick's name for further background checks, Ella moved to the third and final conversation. This one was with Ken Myers. She scrolled down to the beginning of the exchange, the date marked as three weeks ago.
Ken M: Hey, it’s Ken from the lecture today. Thanks for helping me out!
Julia D: No problem. Great to meet you!
Ken M: If you want to pillage this Byzantine case study one night, just hit me up. I could use a hand.
Ella's eyebrows rose slightly as she read the opening lines of the conversation between Julia and Ken Myers. His approach was casual, but there was an unmistakable undertone of flirtation.
Ripley, over Ella’s shoulder, said, ‘Looks like Ken here is trying his best.’
Julia's responses were polite, initially distant, but as the conversation progressed, Ella noted a change.
Ken M: Want to text instead? EduCase is a pain in the ass, right?’
Julia D: Absolutely. Shoot me your number across.
The final message saw Ken send his number, then the exchange came to an abrupt close. Ella clenched her fist, wishing there was a way to see what followed.
‘Our boy Ken seems to be more than a classmate,’ said Ripley.
The conversation was a departure from the rest of Julia's academic interactions. It was personal, and a potential insight into her private life and possibly her last days.
‘Yes indeed,’ Ella said. She was already typing on the police database, searching for every Ken Myers within a ten mile radius.
Five names cropped up. Ella narrowed down by age, because she had to assume this Ken person would have likely been around Julia’s age, probably a fellow mature student.
She zoned in on one entry in particular.
‘Here. Ken Myers, thirty-two years old. Lives on Harbor Way, which is-’ Ella did an online search. ‘Four miles from our crime scene.’
‘Then we need to pay a little visit to this Ken guy. See if he knows anything about Julia’s last movements.’
Ella's heart thumped with the thrill of discovery. She clicked further into Ken Myers' profile, scanning his details. Then, a piece of information caught her eye, and her spine turned to ice. It concerned Ken’s place of employment.
‘Ripley, remember what you said in the car earlier?’
‘I say a lot of things.’
‘You said no one has piles of rats lying around, unless they live in a swamp.’
‘And I stand by it,’ Ripley said.
‘Well, there might be one other type of person who has rats lying around.’
Ripley leaned in. ‘Huh? Who?’
Ella pointed to the bottom of the screen, at Ken’s employment history. ‘Someone who works at a pet store,’ she said.
Ripley took a closer look.
Employment: PetPatrol, Route 7. Hired March 2023. Part-time.
In the quiet of her office, with the ghost of Julia Dawson whispering through lines of text, Ella felt the familiar pull of the chase. This was a connection they couldn’t ignore.
‘Oh Christ,’ Ripley said. ‘Get your jacket.’
Ella felt the pieces lock together. Not all of them.
There were still gaps. But enough to form a shape.
Ken worked at a pet store. Had access to rats.
Could buy them, transport them, and nobody would ask why.
He lived minutes from where Julia died. He'd been messaging her, moved the conversation somewhere private.
They had questions now. Had Ken and Julia met up after that conversation? What happened when they did? And if Ken killed her, if he bought those rats and trapped Julia in that cabin and watched her heart give out, then why? Rejected pass? Obsession?
Ella didn't know. Not yet.
But she'd find out.