Chapter Nine — The First Body #3
Elliot watched them. For the first time that morning, anxiety arrived.
Real. Small. Cold. Not because of Lucas.
Because Elliot disliked variables he didn't understand.
Material. What material? Fiber? Soil? Blood?
Hair? Something from the river? Something transferred?
He ran through possibilities quickly. Vance watched him think.
That was dangerous. Elliot forced himself to stop. Bell leaned toward him.
“Do you consent?”
Elliot looked at him. Then Vance. If he refused, suspicion increased. If he agreed, uncertainty remained. He knew his car. He knew what should be inside it. Should.
“Yes.”
Bell's expression changed slightly.
“Elliot.”
“It's fine.”
Vance stood.
“We'll document consent.” Bell looked irritated.
Ronan would be worse. Elliot almost smiled again.
Didn't. The search lasted forty-three minutes.
Ronan spent thirty-eight of them pacing.
Elliot sat in the waiting area beside Bell while officers moved around his car outside.
Through the glass doors, he could see trunks opened.
Seats photographed. Floor mats removed. An evidence technician crouched near the rear passenger door. Elliot watched. Bell noticed.
“You're allowed to be nervous.”
Elliot looked at him.
“I'm not.”
“That wasn't an accusation.”
Elliot returned his gaze to the parking lot. Bell spoke again.
“You understand police don't need to believe you're guilty to investigate you.”
“I know.”
“And cooperation doesn't guarantee they'll stop.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you consent?”
“Because there's nothing in my car.”
Bell studied him. Elliot smiled faintly.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Elliot laughed.
“You people love that word.”
Bell didn't ask who you people meant. At 11:18, the technician closed Elliot's trunk. Vance returned.
“You're free to go.”
Ronan approached immediately.
“That's it?”
“For today.”
He looked at Elliot.
“Did they find anything?”
Vance answered.
“We don't discuss preliminary evidence processing.”
Ronan's jaw tightened. Bell touched his arm.
“Leave it.”
Ronan looked like he wanted to do the opposite. Elliot found that strangely comforting. They walked outside. Cold air hit his face. His car remained where he'd left it. Nothing looked disturbed. Ronan stopped beside him.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Actually?”
“Yes.”
Bell handed Elliot a card.
“Call if anyone contacts you again.”
“Thanks.”
“Before answering.”
Elliot smiled. “Understood.” Bell left. Ronan remained.
They watched him drive away. Then Ronan turned.
“You're not going anywhere alone tonight.” Elliot laughed.
“What?” “You heard me.” “You're adorable.” “I'm serious.” “Why?” “Because there's obviously a fucking killer targeting people around Bellweather.” Elliot looked toward the station.
“Targeting?” “Mason and Lucas knew each other.” “So do hundreds of people.” “Both had the same freshman thing.” Elliot's attention snapped back.
“What?” Ronan hesitated. He hadn't meant to say that.
Elliot saw it. “What freshman thing?” “Dylan said Lucas had an argument over a video.” Elliot remained still.
“Same freshman?” “Don't know.” “Why didn't you tell me?” “Because every time I tell you something, you turn into Detective Fucking Pikachu.” Despite himself, Elliot laughed.
Ronan didn't. “What?” “You were keeping information from me.” “I was trying to stop you obsessing.” Elliot's smile faded.
“You don't get to decide what I know.” Ronan stared.
“That's rich.” “What does that mean?” “Nothing.” There it was.
Again. Elliot's body tightened. “Say it.” Ronan looked away. “Forget it.”
“No.”
“Elliot.”
“You keep acting like I'm hiding something.”
Ronan's eyes returned.
“Are you?”
Silence. The police station stood behind them. Cars passed along the street. Somewhere nearby, a siren started and faded. Elliot looked at him. Everyone had secrets. Ronan. Claire. Dylan. Detective Vance. Mason had. Lucas had. Elliot simply had better ones.
“Yes.”
Ronan froze. Elliot stepped closer. Ronan's voice lowered.
“What?”
Elliot smiled.
“You.”
Confusion. Then understanding. Ronan looked toward the station.
“Jesus Christ.”
“You asked.”
“You're such an asshole.”
“You love me.”
Ronan stared at him. Then shook his head.
“You cannot say shit like that outside police headquarters.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm trying not to die of stress before thirty.”
Elliot smiled. Ronan caught his shoulder and steered him toward the car.
“Home.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don't.”
Elliot laughed. For several minutes, everything felt manageable again. Then his phone vibrated. Claire. He opened the message. A screenshot from local news. His smile vanished.
brEAKING: POLICE CONFIRM HARPER DEATH IS HOMICIDE
Beneath the headline sat a photograph of Lucas. Elliot stopped walking. Ronan noticed.
“What?”
Elliot turned the screen. Ronan read. Neither spoke. The article had been posted forty-seven seconds earlier. Bellweather Police confirmed
Saturday
that
twenty-two-year-old Bellweather University student Lucas Harper died as the result of homicidal violence.
Officials declined to release the specific cause of death.
Investigators are now formally examining potential connections between Harper's killing and the October homicide of Mason Kerr.
Two murders. Not one murder and one disappearance.
Two. Bellweather had its serial killer now.
Whether police wanted to use the phrase or not.
Ronan swore quietly. Elliot looked toward the gray sky.
A flock of birds moved above the courthouse roofs, shifting together before disappearing behind the police station.
He felt something unexpected. Not fear. Not satisfaction.
Pressure. Everything had changed. One dead college student could be explained as personal.
Two created pattern. Patterns created attention. Attention created mistakes.
Elliot looked at his reflection in the dark window of his car.
Ronan stood beside him. The police station behind them.
For the first time since Mason Kerr had died, Elliot understood that the problem was no longer whether anyone would notice something was happening.
Everyone had noticed. Now they would start asking the right questions.
And somewhere, eventually, one of those questions might lead to him.