CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Ella sat slumped against the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak, disconnected from the activity around her.
As a team of medics, forensic technicians and uniformed officers secured the scene, Ella stared into the void.
She was acutely aware of every movement, yet felt removed, as if observing through a thick pane of glass.
Ripley appeared in front of her, sat down, and joined her in staring blankly into the unknown. She placed a hand on her knee, which was Ripley's way of saying everything that words couldn't.
Ella followed the rhythm of the technicians, officers, and medics weaving in and out of the cabin. The crime scene machine was a heartless operation to witness, with each character performing their role in a narrative that Ella wished she could rewrite.
‘I should have saved him,’ Ella said.
‘This was a carnival game, Dark. Ring toss. Rigged to the nines.’
Ella wasn’t so sure. ‘Do you think?’
‘You’re the profiler. Do you really think he’d risk leaving a victim alive?’
The idea was a cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. 'I don't know. I'm starting to think I don't understand this guy at all. I really thought I was onto him, but then he… pulls this little trick.'
‘How did he get Derek here? That’s what we need to know.’
‘Abduction. Derek wasn’t lured here. The killer blitzed him somewhere between his house and the church.’
‘Why Derek? Why not someone else from the group? Or the Scarecrow app? Why go to the trouble of abducting someone like Derek? If the victim wasn’t important, why wouldn’t he just choose someone small, young, weak?’
Ella attempted to compose her thoughts, to add the night’s events to the unsub’s behavioral profile, but each time she reached for those threads of logic, the night’s trauma pulled her down.
The images – Derek’s twitching body, the gleaming needles, Derek’s last breath – played on a relentless loop in her head.
The theoretical became intertwined with the personal.
‘I don’t know. Derek must have been easily accessible to the unsub.’
Ripley leaned closer to her partner and cut through her fog of grief with all the subtlety of a chainsaw. ‘Dark, snap out of it. Now isn’t the time to feel sorry for yourself. That comes later.’
Ella regarded her in a moment of abrupt clarity.
‘You played a rigged game and lost,’ Ripley continued. She paused, ensuring her point had taken root. ‘So what? Nothing you could have done about it. Derek was dead the moment he got here. Don’t mourn the dead at the expense of the living.’
Ella straightened up against the oak tree and returned her partner’s grip.
Ella closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to find a point of calm within the storm.
She visualized her mental block not as an impenetrable barrier but as a veil to break through.
She’d come this far, followed the breadcrumbs, and that achievement alone was proof that the truth was within reach.
‘Don’t ever try your hand at motivational speaking,’ Ella said.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘You’re as bad a motivator as I am an actress.’
‘Come on, Dark, you got this. How did you get here? Think of the journey, the pieces. Put them together.’
Ella replayed everything from start to finish.
‘Our unsub has to be someone from the group and the Scarecrow app.
He lured at least two victims via Scarecrow and abducted Derek Graham and possibly Julia Dawson off the streets.
Users can't communicate with each other through Scarecrow, so our killer is a therapist masquerading as a member of the phobia group.
And not only that, but it has to be someone who was there when I spilled my needle fear to everyone. '
‘I didn’t know you had a fear of needles.’
‘No one does.’
‘Right, then we need to get back to the precinct and go through every group member. Or go to the next meeting and interview everyone there. Lock the doors if we have to, take them all hostage.’
‘No. Whoever our unsub is, he wasn’t at the group meeting tonight, which means he might not be there every session.’
‘But surely someone this capable will already know that you’ll suspect the group members. He might not know you’re a cop, but even as a victim, your first reaction would be to tell police you suspect a group member.’
Ella shut her eyes and put the events of the past few days in chronological order. There had to be something hiding in there, something she’d missed. ‘Which brings me to another question – why am I still alive?’
‘How do you mean? You weren’t the intended victim. Derek was.’
‘But all of the other victims were killed using their personal phobias. Derek’s phobia was…’ Ella trailed off, now seeing the full picture.
‘What?’ asked Ripley.
‘Drugs,’ Ella finished. ‘Shit, this was supposed to be two victims in one. Me and Derek were both supposed to pass out from fear.’
‘But you weren’t drugged,’ Ripley said. ‘He drugs all of his victims first.’
Under the canopy of whispering leaves, Sheriff Bartram emerged from the shadowed doorway of the cabin and made his way toward Ella and Ripley. In his hand, shielded by the sterility of an evidence bag, was a cylindrical piece of plastic.
‘Guys, we got something,’ Bartram said. He held it up to the moonlight.
Ella squinted at the object within. A rounded slab of grey with a black ring at the tip.
‘The hell is that?’ Ripley asked.
Ella jumped to her feet, took the item out of Bartram's hands, and inspected it. 'It's a camera.'
In that moment, a profound calm enveloped Ella. She turned the bag over in her hands, examining the camera as if it were a puzzle to be solved.
‘You okay, Dark?’ asked Bartram. ‘Your guy filmed this whole thing.’
‘Yes he did. Sweep it for prints then get it to the precinct.’
Bartram took it off her. ‘This guy’s a sick freak.’
Ella turned to Ripley. ‘I need to get back to the precinct, quickly. Meet me there when you’re done.’
‘You’re going?’
‘Yes.’ Ella pointed at the camera in Bartram’s hands. ‘Our killer just revealed a lot more about himself than he realizes.’