Depraved: St. Cecilia Slayings Book Three

by Blanco, N. Isabelle

  Demons screeching in my ears, their demands like nails on a chalkboard, I rush back inside my condo, beads of sweat accumulating at my temples, and finally rip the offending chain off my neck. Once again, it burns in my palm, as though it were coated in acid.

  And without a second thought, I shove it in the back of the bottom drawer of my dresser and slam it shut, returning to my laptop with only a miniscule amount of the overbearing weight lifted from my shoulders.

  The voices, though, they haven’t gone.

  They chortle quietly, shaking their heads in amusement at my naivety.

  * * *

  The next morning, Captain Porter sends Ruby and I to the M.E’s office while Blackstone and Lee head to the Symphony Park victim’s home. Digby’s wife finally came in to confirm his identity, his occupation, and where he was the night he was murdered. Turns out Digby was a pediatrician for—yep, you guessed it—Boston’s affluent circle.

  A circle your precious Kiera is part of.

  My gut roils at the thought, at the reality that, her and I may never be able to pursue anything more than this—whatever this is—if I don’t put that damn killer behind bars.

  If she doesn’t kill you first . . .

  “Maverick?” Ruby’s voice filters through the grim prospect.

  A quick shake to my head and I’m turning toward her, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

  “Are you listening to me?” She’s glaring, amber eyes completely frustrated and unamused.

  “I missed some of it. I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

  “We’ve got a surgeon, an accountant, and now a physician. Two of the three we know for sure are linked to Boston’s wealth. I’m betting money the dude from Symphony Park is, too, as is this Digby. They have to be . . .”

  She’s still going but, once again, I’m not listening. I’ve tuned her out, my mind stuck on one specific detail from that statement—two of the three. We never checked who exactly Digby treated. Is that even possible? Considering patient confidentiality, I don’t think so.

  I have to try.

  May be futile, but I make a mental note to give it a shot later. I also have connections that might be of help, although it’s always best to get evidence via the legitimate channels.

  “Given the professions we’ve already seen, I’m going to say this one’s an attorney, maybe even a therapist. What do you think?” Ruby asks.

  Thankfully, she doesn’t realize I’d zoned out on her yet again.

  “Probably a therapist. They’ve all got issues in one way or another,” I quip, although jumping to conclusions on any case isn’t a good idea.

  “It was tragic but still kind of relieving to meet at least one spouse who cares her husband died. Does that make sense?”

  I nod. “It’s fucked up, yeah, but I agree.”

  “Then again, the second victim happened in a sex club and the first widow said her husband would be gone for days at a time. Hard to have an emotional connection with men who are constantly cheating on you.”

  My mind flashes to my mother and her sick devotion to my alcoholic, petty criminal, and, yes, philandering father. “Some women do it. They’re faithful to their partners no matter what.”

  “Yeah, I guess. You’re right.” Ruby types up something on her phone. “Do you think the M.E. will find anything different with the body this time around? Something that will help us get closer to that psycho bitch killing all these men?”

  I ignore the odd twist in my gut at her insult of the killer—I mean, come on, she is psychotic and possibly a bitch for what she’s doing—and take the turn once the light changes. “We can only hope. She’s been absolutely meticulous up to now.”

  “It’s almost a problem that the detail is at the church now. She’s graduating to dumping those bodies in different places and there’s no way to predict where the next one will be found.”

  I pull into the parking lot of the M.E’s office and cut the engine. “Exactly. And considering how soon this latest one was found, there’s no doubt she’s speeding up. We’re starting to run out of time to catch her.”

  “Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.” - Ephesians 6:11

  Doctor Conley is in full swing when we arrive, buzzing around the slab in the middle of his lab.

  The slab with the Slayer’s latest victim on it.

  The victim found at the park is face-down this time since the blade wasn’t removed on scene. Doctor Conley snaps on a pair of gloves and heads straight for him. “All the details are exactly the same. The point of insertion, the area between those exact two vertebrates.” He picks up a pair of pliers and leans over the man from the park. “And, as I’m sure you can already guess . . .” With a steady, gentle hand he slides the black blade out of the man’s neck, baring the stained red and pink, white design.

  The medical spotlight above the body seems to burn brighter, the world around us dimming in comparison. Noise recedes, reality as well, my entire focus becoming about that design.

  That fucking identical design to the cross now sitting in at the back of my drawer.

  Even knowing this, its weight is a phantom presence, and the urge to reach up and wrap my hand around it is undeniable.

  She’s mass producing those. Somehow she has some kind of laser stamp, of the equivalent to it, in the exact design as my family’s cross and only the Lord knows how many of those blades are in her possession.

  Waiting to be used to end innocent lives.

  “Looks like the slayer has left another gift,” the M.E says, literally sucking me out of the tunnel.

  I snap my gaze up to where he stands and hone in on the area he’s speculating, my heart thundering in my chest.

  “What is it?” Ruby inquires before my mouth can utter the words.

  Doctor Conley lets out an iffy sound as though he’s unsure, his head tilting from side to side as he adjusts the overhead light. “Looks like tally marks located behind the ear.”

  Tally marks?

  My face contorts. Why the hell would there be—

  “How many marks are there?” Ruby presses quietly. Clearly, she’s keen on something I haven’t caught on to yet.

  “Four,” Doctor Conley answers.

  Ruby gasps, loud enough to turn my attention on her. She seems rather horrified, her face paling as she processes whatever she discovered.

  Normally, I don’t take to caring or comforting my partner. She’s not a damsel in distress and can handle her own, even with the most disturbing scenarios laid out before her. She’s got a gut of steel, not squeamish in the slightest.

  But the glaze in her eyes right now . . .

  “What is it?” I wrap a hand around her arm and squeeze, pulling her toward me a fraction.

  Those amber eyes of hers meet mine, brow cinched almost dauntingly. “He’s the fourth body,” she whispers.

  Her observation hits me like a bucket of ice water. My entire body locks up and I feel my eyes bulge. This man, whoever he is, is the fourth body.

  “Is it a tattoo?” I turn my question on the M.E.

  Have to rule that out before we can start assuming the worst . . .

  “No.” He shakes his head. “It was clearly engraved in his skin. Based on the slight leakage of blood, I’m guessing the killer carved these into his skin immediately after he died. Or perhaps during it, right before the heart finally stopped.”

  My eyes bulge a little more.

  Could this be a new message? A way of telling us we may be inconveniencing her by blocking the church, but that she’ll continue upping the body count regardless?

  For a second, the only thing I can remember is the killer, in her full-body latex, standing outside my window.

  That stance.

  The head tilt.

  The mocking smile.

  How quickly she once again vanished, proving her infinite ability to taunt me.

  There’s no doubt that’s exactly what this
new carving is: her warning that she won’t be stopped. Her egotistical belief that she can’t be stopped. That she’ll be able to continue this, however far it goes, as long as she damn well pleases.

  My heart races with dread.

  Even worse, with a sickening excitement.

  Her dare is loud and clear in my face, thanks to those tallying marks, and every inch of me responds to it.

  Ruby’s already getting a closer look at it when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Mindlessly, I fish it out and let my stare drift over the screen. I only realize it’s my personal when the name on the screen registers.

  K. iMessage

  It isn’t an actual text, though. In fact, there aren’t any words at all. Instead, there’s an image attached and, based on the tiny thumbnail, I can tell it’s her.

  Her body, to be exact.

  My dick kicks inside my slacks and like the dumbass I am, I almost swipe my thumb along the notification in my haste to see exactly what the image is.

  Fuck my life.

  I can’t do this right now. That’s what I remind myself as I squeeze my eyes shut and suck in a deep breath through my nose. We’ve just discovered another piece to this puzzle and still need to verify his identity.

  This is not the time for me to be reacting like this.

  Battling the temptation to view the image in its entirety, I let my phone slide back into my pocket, sweat breaking out along my brow.

  “I’ll give you more information once the autopsy is complete,” Doctor Conley says.

  Ruby nods, straightening away from the body. “Also once he’s identified. Although he was found in the park, he seemed to be wearing some really expensive threads.”

  The M.E. nods at her. “Top of the line. Burberry suit. Prada shoes. The whole nines.”

  Another affluent victim, then. Of course.

  I turn to leave, making room to let Ruby pass me on the way to the door. “Let us know as soon as soon as you have an update.”

  “Obviously. Oh, and I’m not the detective here, but I’ve been doing this long enough to know what I’m sure you’re aware of as well. This killer is escalating. The marks are proof. If they aren’t caught soon, there’s no telling how bad things are about to get.”

  “Just make sure the new carvings don’t leak to the press,” I throw over my shoulder as I let the door close behind me.

  * * *

  “What are we going to do if this gets out into the press?” Ruby asks, downing the last of her third soda.

  We’re sitting at a small table outside of a cafe she loves to come have lunch at from time to time. “That’ll be for the Cap to decide. You know how it goes. Just gotta pray the M.E’s office manages to keep it under wraps. Public anxiety is rising too quickly on this.”

  “Agreed.” She places her glass on the table and stands. “Be right back. Bathroom.”

  After all those sodas she took to the head, I’m surprised it took her this long.

  I watch her go, giving it a few seconds after she disappears from sight, before finally giving into the gnawing impulse that’s been haunting me. Since we’re seated on the sidewalk, I take my phone out beneath the table and finally take a good look at the picture.

  Holy.

  Jesus.

  Mary.

  Joseph.

  I’m using each of those holy names in vain, in the wrong context if there ever was one, but the image staring back at me has robbed me of sense.

  Of strength.

  Of rationality.

  Sweet Lord, I’ve seen her naked, have tasted almost every part of her with my tongue, but it’s as if I’m seeing her for the first fucking time. Laying flat on her bed, hair splayed around her on the duvet, she holds the phone above her with one hand, giving me an overhead view of her body. She’s smirking devilishly—as always—and those full, pillowy soft tits of hers are exposed in entirety, but it’s the lower half of the image that has me contemplating leaving Ruby in the goddamn bathroom and rushing to her home.

  Black lace panties.

  Her hand slipped beneath them.

  She was fucking fingering herself.

  I stare and stare, nearly drooling while I’m at it, as though the image will suddenly convert into a video and show me every little thing she did to herself thereafter.

  Me: You know I’m on the clock, right? Are you trying to kill me?

  I don’t know how the hell I manage to type the message with my eyes boring into the image, but seconds later, her reply comes through, bouncing it further up the thread.

  K: I couldn’t help myself. I miss you…

  Yup, she’s trying to kill me. I can just imagine the subconscious pout curling her lips as she typed that, and it’s fucking killing me. It’s been days since I last saw her, and it feels like weeks.

  Me: I’m missing the shit out of you, too, baby. I need you this weekend.

  K: But the weekend is so far away.