Fourteen
The tenth victim was the founder of a startup promising the cure for PTSD in the form of a specialized tanning bed, but it was based on junk science.
Thousands of veterans invested in the company, only to realize their shares in the company were worthless.
The Canceled Killer electrocuted the CEO in one of his own tanning beds.
—Crime Hive podcast
Oscar glared at the mess of my trailer, took off his sheriff’s hat, and ran a ragged hand through his hair. Mom, Dad, and Olivia were also standing in the Zen garden, concerned.
“What the hell…?” he said, glancing at the furious mess the Canceled Killer had left behind. “Is everyone okay?”
“We’re all fine,” Mom said.
“Can I clean it now or…?” Olivia could barely help herself. She was itching to clean up the shards of glass and torn pillows.
“Not yet,” Oscar said. “It’s a potential crime scene.”
He put his thumbs in his gun belt and shook his head.
“This is just like that Dateline,” Mom began, excited. Despite it being late at night, she still sported the perfect red lip. I think she slept with lip stain on. “The one where the abusive ex-boyfriend comes back and terrorizes this poor woman…”
“Mom, not helpful right now,” Oscar said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the mess again. “Why would he do this?”
“I was asking myself the same question,” I said. The Canceled Killer never let emotions get to him, but this scene, this hurried angry mess, screamed meltdown. And that made me nervous. More than nervous. Borderline terrified.
He was getting emotional. It made him more dangerous.
“I told you the killer is getting sloppy,” I snapped. “This isn’t how he usually behaves.” Cold, calculating? All day. Angry fits in Airstreams? No.
“Maybe he was frustrated you weren’t here,” Jude suggested, adjusting the frames of his glasses on his nose.
“And that’s just the problem.” I shuddered. If he was this mad that I wasn’t here, I didn’t want to imagine what he would’ve done to me if he’d found me.
“Or maybe he was looking for something,” Dad offered. Since he hardly ever spoke, we all pivoted to look at him.
“Is anything missing?” Oscar asked me.
I flipped open the secret table lid.
“Nope,” I said. “Even the trace tag is still here.”
“Trace tag?” Oscar picked up the small chip with his gloved hand. “Who the hell was tracking you?”
“I don’t know.” In the commotion and excitement of the day, I’d half forgotten about the tag. It felt like I’d found it a hundred years ago.
“What the hell, El? Why didn’t you tell me?” Oscar demanded.
“I thought there was a possibility you put it there,” I said and shrugged.
Oscar groaned. “That’s it. You’re going to stay at the sheriff’s station.”
“I’m not going to ‘stay’ at the station,” I said. “What are you going to do? Put me in jail?”
“At least then you’ll be safe,” Oscar said.
“I’m going to stay in the jail cell next to Wes?”
Oscar seemed to have forgotten Wes was currently in lockup.
“I wish the Canceled Killer would just come at me,” I groaned. “I’m beginning to think he’s just a little coward boy. Stalking around in the shadows. Playing stupid games. Chasing me around in his dumb car.”
“Reminds me of another Dateline…” Mom began.
“Mom!” both Oscar and I said at the same time.
“Fine, fine. Ignore the old woman who has spent hours watching true crime.” Mom fanned her face, offended.
“Maybe you should all go inside,” Oscar said.
“Yeah, you should all—” I began.
“I meant you, too,” Oscar told me sternly. “Stay out of this trailer until we can get it photographed and dusted.”
“What about my clothes?” I whined.
“Borrow some from Olivia,” Oscar growled. I glanced uneasily at Olivia’s pink crewneck argyle sweater. Olivia’s closet was almost entirely pink.
“I need to at least get my phone.” It sat on the counter near the sink, charging.
“I’ll get it,” Oscar said, yanking the plug out of the wall. He handed my barely charged phone back to me.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I said. “The killer was early.”
“Early?” Oscar asked.
“I still have time before he’s due to come for me,” I said, showing Oscar the countdown clock. “After leaving skull emojis, he always strikes after seventy-two hours.”
“Except for Allen Gordon,” Jude said.
“Yeah. That,” I said. Maybe I didn’t have any time at all.
Jude glanced around. “And where is Spider-Man?”
I pulled up the Spark app, but Mateo had turned off his location. “I can’t see,” I said. “Maybe the killer took him.”
“Yeah,” Oscar said. “Or maybe he did this.”
I thought about his spider-killing face and, for a split second, wondered that myself.
Oscar sighed. He was starting to look unnerved and very much out of his element.
My phone pinged. I glanced at the face of it, and saw Russo had finally emerged from his covert mission.
You been busy today?
Yep. Found a body—the mayor. Ditched a tracking device.
Chased the Canceled Killer in a white Wagoneer. Also, the
Canceled Killer ransacked my trailer. And Spider-Man is
missing. So is Allen Gordon.
My phone lit up with Russo calling. I answered, pressing the phone to my ear as I walked away from the group.
“What the hell? You okay?” Russo’s gruff voice came over the line, and I immediately felt better.
“I’m okay, yeah.”
“Tell me everything. Start from the beginning.”
I walked to the other end of the Zen garden, far out of earshot, and watched as Oscar continued to try to pick through the mess the killer had left behind. I brought Russo up to speed.
“Why didn’t you call me the second you found the body?”
“Because I was being held for questioning and my phone died,” I said. “Then I was busy with a damn car chase and a ransacked trailer. I am ninety-nine percent sure the Canceled Killer killed the mayor.”
“Mr. Handsy?” Russo asked.
“Yeah. And worse, my brother thinks I could be a suspect.”
Russo scoffed. “You? Why? ’Cause you tripped this guy?” Russo laughed. “If everybody in Chicago who did that was also a suspect in a murder case, the county jail wouldn’t be big enough.”
“No kidding. But the bigger problem is the Canceled Killer isn’t acting like himself. He’s nervous or off his game. Something. He’s getting messy. Why turn over my trailer? It doesn’t make sense.”
Russo fell silent. “Sorry, kid. I should be there.”
“Where the hell are you, anyway? Oscar needs your help here. He’s out of his depth.”
Annoyance replaced my relief as I realized that things would be a whole lot less scary if Russo were here.
“Milwaukee,” he said.
“What the hell are you doing there? And why aren’t I with you?” My life would’ve been a lot easier if I’d been two hours away and never found the mayor’s body.
“You couldn’t come with me,” Russo said.
“Why not? I thought we were teaming up?” I couldn’t help but keep the childish hurt from my voice.
Russo sighed. “The less you know about this the better.”
“I need to know,” I pressed.
“Fine.” Russo sighed. “I’m here interviewing Spidey Guy’s family.”
I blinked fast. “Why?”
“Because he’s a suspect. And I couldn’t very well have Spidey Guy’s casual hookup or girlfriend or ex-girlfriend, or whatever you are to him, here interviewing his family with me, now could I?”
As much as I hated to admit it, Russo made an excellent point. If I’d gone with him, a defense attorney down the line would argue I could’ve tampered with evidence, maybe. Or a prosecutor maybe wouldn’t want the testimony of family members influenced by an ex-girlfriend.
“What did you find out?” I asked.
“Some interesting things,” Russo said. “Spidey could be our guy.”
I still couldn’t imagine Mateo as a murderer. “Why do you think that?”
“He was pretty troubled as a kid. Always started fights. Had a pretty bad temper. Plus, the family pets always went missing. And he set fire to his neighbor’s garage when he was seven.”
That did not sound like the Mateo I knew. Not at all. Then again, I remembered the cold look on his face when he killed that spider. And, I bet, not all the girls loved a guy who liked to spar as foreplay.
“But FBI profilers say serial killers are all about power, dominance, and control,” I argued. That’s not Mateo. Even a little bit.
“And HotSpidey’s mother says he has issues with all three. Also, did you know he was a stuntman in a couple of spy thrillers a few years back? He worked pretty closely with some Navy SEALs.”
I was embarrassed to say I didn’t know that.
“He’s had a ton of combat training,” Russo said, which also made me wonder if he’d been holding back when we sparred. “And have you seen HotSpidey’s social media accounts?”
I hadn’t. Maybe there was a lot to the man I didn’t know. I felt like a fool.
“He’s got some pretty strong feelings about the canceled victims. Go check out his comments. His accounts are under Mateo Rivera.”
“I still just can’t… see him as the killer. He could barely get to his TGI Fridays shifts on time two days in a row.”
“Serial killers aren’t always great at holding down jobs,” Russo pointed out. “Jeffrey Dahmer couldn’t keep a job to save his life—or anyone else’s.”
Russo made a good point.
“Self-control and self-discipline aren’t usually at the top of any killer’s list,” he reminded me. “You gotta put aside your bias, kid. Let the evidence talk to you. And in this case for Spidey, there seems to be plenty of evidence.”
“I guess that’s true.” I couldn’t argue with that. And I had been wrong before. Russo laid doubt in my brain. Maybe I shouldn’t trust my instincts.
“But I don’t like how this guy is escalating,” he said. “Maybe it’s too dangerous to rely on the extra time on the clock.”
“No. Stay there. Get your evidence,” I said. “I’ll tell Oscar to be on the lookout for Spider-Man, and I will be, too.” And if I did see him, I planned to make him regret ever showing up in my town.