19. Kennedy #2
“Sir, it’s about the big toenail on the foot,” the officer said, turning the screen of a camera toward him. “See this tiny spot here, and also here? It’s nail polish. Most of it’s chipped off, but I’m absolutely sure that’s what it is.”
“Shit, I can’t believe I missed that,” Malachi said, shaking his head.
“It’s hard to spot, because the polish is a very light color, and her toenails have turned so pale. But you know what it looks like to me?”
“What?”
“This is exactly what my own toenails look like when I paint them for a wedding or something and then just forget about it for ages. I’ll still trim the nails, because I’m not a total troll, but I’m always too lazy to remove the polish,” the officer said.
“Anyway, my point is, this level of chipping and flaking off… it’s what mine look like after a few months of neglect. ”
“Months,” Malachi said, nodding slowly. “Not years.”
“Yes. There’s no way nail polish lasts years. ”
“It’s definitely Voss’s foot, though. The birthmark matches perfectly. So… the timing doesn’t add up.”
“Exactly. It doesn’t make sense,” the officer said, shaking her head. “Unless the Carver was painting her nails while he had her in captivity all that time. So… I don’t know. Maybe that’s it? Maybe he enjoys grooming his prisoners. Like pets.”
Malachi frowned and rubbed his jaw. “Maybe, yeah. Let the lab people know so they can get it tested to confirm,” he said. “It’s a really good catch. I still can’t believe I missed it.”
A car engine suddenly roared to life across the street, drowning out the rest of their conversation.
Then Malachi finally returned, his eyes falling on me like a searchlight.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Anyway, I wanted to know what your plan for the rest of today is. You’re not going out again, are you? ”
I shook my head. “We finished recording the fourth podcast episode earlier, so I was just going to stay home for the rest of the day and work on stuff for the next episode.”
“All right. If you do decide to go out again, just let someone know, okay?”
“I will.”
“Good.” Malachi patted me on the shoulder. “I have to go now. We’ll talk soon.”
He stepped away, and I let myself inside my house, stomach churning like mad. Now that I knew the Carver was escalating, all I could think was that my father might be next.
Just as I stuck my phone on charge, the screen lit up with a call from Freya.
“Hey,” I answered, voice slightly choked with fear. “Everything okay?”
“Are you okay?” she replied. “Some true crime TikTok person just posted a video from outside your house. They’re saying the Carver sent another package.”
“Yeah, it’s a total circus out there,” I muttered.
“She was saying it had eyeballs in it. But I had no idea if I should believe her or not, because she has a history of making up total bullshit for attention.”
“The package is real, but there weren’t eyes in it,” I replied, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It was Heather Voss’s foot.”
“Oh my god.” There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “This means the Carver is escalating, right?”
“Yeah. Probably.”
“Shit, Ken, I can’t even imagine how scared you must feel right now, with your dad still—” Freya abruptly stopped. “Well… I don’t need to say it out loud.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” I said, voice hitching slightly.
There was a pause on the other end, like she didn’t quite know what to say. Then she cleared her throat. “Okay, well… I don’t want to keep you if you need to lie down and scream into a pillow or something. But I do have some good news. Or a distraction, at least.”
I sat on the edge of the couch. “I’ll take literally anything at this point.”
“I reached out to Jacob King like we talked about,” she said. “He got back to me super-fast, and guess what? He’s actually free this afternoon.”
My brows lifted. “Really?”
“Yup. He said he had a few cancellations, so he can come by if we’re interested in recording something today,” she said.
“I know we don’t have a script for episode five yet, but I figured we could just wing it with him, because it might be cool to have an episode that’s more like a casual roundtable.
Off-the-cuff, less polished, but still insightful. What do you think?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess that could work.”
“If it ends up totally sucking, we can always scrap it and organize a proper scripted session with him,” she said. “But anyway, I figured I’d check with you before locking anything in. Are you up for recording another episode today?”
I glanced toward the window, where the flashing lights from police cruisers were still visible through the gaps in the curtains. “Honestly… yeah. I don’t really want to sit here alone, obsessing over everything, so recording something might actually help.”
“Great,” she said. “I’ll call Jacob back now and tell him to aim for two-ish.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you back at the studio in twenty minutes.”
“Yup. And Kennedy?” Her voice softened. “We’re gonna get through this, okay? One way or another.”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Thanks, Frey.”
Once we’d ended the call, I sat there for a moment longer with my eyes closed, taking deep breaths. Then I finally stood up, rolled my shoulders, and grabbed my bag.
Before I left the room, I leaned over my laptop and sent another email to the Carver, desperately hoping he’d start talking to me again.
Please just tell me what you want from me so that no one else has to die. PLEASE.
Shockingly, he responded almost instantly. But his message wasn’t exactly helpful.
I want you to be mine, Kennedy. I want you to open yourself to me, mind, body, and soul.
I stared at the screen, heart pounding, then fired off another message. That doesn’t explain anything. Be specific. What can I do RIGHT NOW to save my dad from whatever you’re planning for him? Or Brian Delgado?
After that, I waited for another five minutes, but no response came.
The Carver was gone again.