Chapter 6
SIX
The stench of blood on concrete never failed to make his stomach turn. Seth knelt beside the body, his skin damp and itchy inside his latex gloves. Police lights flickered behind him, purple on the victim’s skin.
Dark blonde hair. Twenties. White. Slim.
Her eyes were more blue than green, but everything else was the same.
He glanced back at Claire, who sat in the backseat of an open police cruiser with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, clutching her stomach.
Her face was still pallid, her expression queasy and shocked.
Chief Wells blocked her view of the body while they spoke, but Seth managed to hook Claire’s attention.
He wondered if she noticed it too—the uncanny resemblance she bore to this woman.
That made two.
Turning back to the victim, Seth observed the wound on her throat.
He’d viewed Eliza Johnson’s crime scene photos extensively, but nothing compared to seeing this evil with his own eyes.
The cut was cleaner this time, but like with Eliza’s crime scene, the absence of blood on the ground suggested the victim had bled out somewhere else and was dumped here.
He moved to the other side so he could examine the other arm.
Using a flashlight, he illuminated the words—IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME—carved into her flesh.
The scene was almost identical to Eliza’s, save for the location; Eliza had been left in the parking lot of a pharmacy downtown, but this was residential.
With a sigh, he stood and peeled off his gloves, grateful to feel the air on his skin, and tossed them in a trash bag brought in by the cops.
They’d frozen the scene, but the coroner and her team would be another hour.
He went over to Chief Wells as the police car Claire was in drove off in the opposite direction of the trailer park.
“Where is she going?” he asked.
“Station with Officer Yess. He’ll take her official statement.
” Chief Wells hooked her hands to her belt.
She had more warmth than any other police chief he’d met—sixties, kind eyes, a curled bob streaked with gray.
Heavy earrings weighed down her earlobes, gold against dark skin.
“Quite the first day you’re having here, Detective.
Sure you don’t wanna head back to Kansas City? ”
Seth ignored her comment, glancing back at the victim. “What can you tell me about the victim?”
“Her name’s Kelsey Campbell. Twenty-three, if my memory serves me. She’s one of the instructors at that Pilates studio downtown. Her parents died a couple years ago, car crash, real tragedy in town. They left their house and everything to her, and I think she’s been living there alone since.”
“A Pilates instructor? Was she also an addict?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but could be. People have different ideas of what a heathy lifestyle can be.”
He turned toward the hazy lights around them.
Up the street, people dressed in their pajamas and robes had trickled onto their lawns, rubbernecking.
He refocused on the body. From her face and hair, she looked a lot like Claire, but when he followed the trail down her chest, he noticed what set them apart.
“The one with the boobs.”
Seth faced Chief Wells. “Dillon Beamish. We need to bring him in.”
“What, right now? What for?”
“I know for a fact that he knew Eliza Johnson, but lied about it. I think he knew this woman too. A neighbor saw someone matching her description looking for Dillon last month, said it seemed like trouble.”
“That’s not enough for me, Detective. I know Dillon Beamish. Bit of a rough kid, but I’m not about to haul somebody out in the middle of the night without a good reason.”
Frustration coiled through him. He wished he could tell her what Claire had told him, but he wasn’t about to break her trust that easily without even having the evidence to support it.
“Claire said she was out biking,” he said. “She left Dillon at home for at least the past hour, probably more. That alone gives him no alibi. Plus, when was the last time you went to their place? Dillon Beamish is an abusive boyfriend on the best of days—who knows what he’s like on the worst.”
Chief Wells looked at him like she thought he was full of it.
“Dillon might not be my favorite egg in the basket, but I’ve never seen Claire with bruises.
Ron’s a good friend of mine, he’d tell me if there were troubles like that.
After what that poor girl went through with Brad Bailey being an addict and all, Dillon’s a damn peach. You don’t know these people like I do.”
“He punches holes in the drywall. He neglects her emotionally and probably cheats on her.” Seth leaned in closer. “And both of the victims look a lot like Claire. One could be a coincidence. Two is an emerging pattern.”
“There’s no shortage of white girls with that kind of dark blonde hair in this world, Detective. Doesn’t mean it has anything to do with Claire, or Dillon.”
“It’s more than that.” He bit his tongue. “I’m not saying to arrest him, but tell him what Claire saw and see if he’ll come down. Pitch it so it’s about finding the body, not that he’s a suspect. Once we have him in a room, I’ll go for a confession.”
“I’m fine with that plan, but it can wait until morning.”
Seth could hardly believe what he was hearing.
“This murder just happened, Chief. She’s still warm.
He could be washing the blood off his hands right now.
” When Chief Wells was still not convinced, he said, “If you won’t bring him in, I’ll do it myself,” and turned to storm off. But Chief Wells’s voice stopped him.
“Hold on, Detective. I’ll send a pair of my guys. We aren’t partial to treating our own townsfolk like this, but when push comes to shove, we’ll get it done.”
“Thank you.” He was glad, because he had something else to deal with before this went any further. “And tell Yess not to let Claire go yet—I want to talk to her on the record.”
Under the harsh lights of the interrogation room, Claire’s face was gaunt and shadowed, dotted with splotches of red.
She leaned forward on the chair with her arms wrapped around herself.
As Seth entered the room, the cramped beige walls closed in.
Interrogation rooms were always claustrophobic, but this one took the cake.
Even he struggled to breathe in there, the airflow like liquid in his lungs.
God, he needed a cigarette.
“How are you doing, Claire?” he asked, grabbing the back of the chair across from her. “Can I get you anything? Water? I hear the apple juice isn’t half bad.”
She blinked at him. “Why am I still here?”
“I have a few more questions, then you can go.” He settled into the chair. “Did you recognize her?”
Meekly, she nodded. “Kelsey. She’s younger than me, but she went to my high school.”
“And Dillon? Did he know her?”
“Not that I know of. You’re still looking at him? He was passed out cold when I left him… he couldn’t have done this.”
Seth sighed. After everything, Claire at least deserved the truth. “You should know, we’re bringing him in for questioning tonight. He’s not under arrest, but I’m hoping he’ll confess once we have him. You can’t be his alibi this time.”
She trembled, her silence heavy. He leaned in, adopting a more casual posture.
“I know it’s not easy to come forward, but Claire, this changes everything. I haven’t told anyone what you told me yet, but I’m giving you a chance to tell the truth on the record. You can report what you know about Dillon. You can report what you saw in his car.”
Her gaze flitted to the camera in the top corner of the room.
“It’s not on,” he assured her. “We’re alone.”
Another moment stretched between them before Claire, in a choked voice, said, “I—I can’t help you. I can’t be part of it, not like this. Dillon couldn’t have killed her, it’s impossible.”
“You don’t know that. You were with me tonight. And the night Eliza died, you were asleep.”
The gears in her head visibly clinked together. “But why? Why would he do this?”
“I don’t know. We already know he lied about knowing Eliza, and there’s a chance he knew Kelsey too. You mentioned you think he hates you. Maybe this was never about Eliza Johnson. Maybe it’s about—”
You, he was about to say, but a guttural voice sounded on the other side of the door.
“Let me go, you fuckin’ pieces of shit, let me go!”
Claire’s face fell. They both knew who that was.
“I’ll be right back,” Seth said, then darted out of the room.
Claire sat there with her hands clamped together, her skin covered in gooseflesh.
Minutes ticked on, and Detective Winslow was still not back.
She hadn’t expected the cop shop to feel so freezing—hadn’t expected this room to feel like her prison.
Every second dragged out, scraped against her sanity.
Every image of Kelsey’s body made her want to be sick again, so she pinched her eyes shut and hoped that when she opened them, it’d be over.
But it never ended.
Those walls still confined her.
It was a feeling of isolation she hadn’t felt in years.
Then, finally, the door opened. Detective Winslow entered, holding a file folder.
“Sorry about the wait, Claire.”
“I want to go home. Please.”
“Soon, I promise. We found Kelsey Campbell’s phone.” Winslow sat across from her with a new type of fire coming off him. “Were you aware Dillon was in contact with her?”
A zap to her heart.
Dillon and Kelsey.
As in Dead Kelsey, the girl Claire saw tonight, the one whose eyes were like—
No.
“You said you knew about his infidelity,” Winslow pressed. “Did you know about Kelsey? They were talking on Snapchat tonight, hours before she was murdered.”
Dread filled her stomach. If Kelsey’s username was in Dillon’s phone, she didn’t think to check for it earlier. Why would she? “No. Forgive me, but I’m not in the habit of keeping tabs on his Snapchat menu.”