by Regan, Lisa
There was a beep and then Mettner and Drake greeted her. She plunged ahead. “The photos of the male victims, look at them. The skull and pelvic bones in those are on the bottom, at the six o’clock position.”
“We see that,” Mettner said.
“Cover up the leg bones at the two o’clock position. Pretend they’re not there. All you’ve got is a circle with a line extending from the bottom and another line crossing it.”
Someone gave a low whistle. Then Drake said, “It’s the symbol for female.”
“Yes,” Josie said. “Now look at Terri Abbott’s, the only female victim, the pelvic bone and skull are near the top, at the two o’clock position.”
“Got it,” Noah said. “If we cover the bones at the six o’clock position, we’ve got the symbol for male. Holy shit.”
“They’re symbols. Male and female,” Josie said.
Mettner asked, “But why does the female victim get the male sign and the male get the female sign?”
Josie thought about Trinity’s Post-it notes. Symmetry. Something about symmetry. But what? Wouldn’t it make more sense for the males to be marked with the male sign and the female to be marked with the female sign?
“I don’t know,” Josie said. “But this is something.”
There was a long silence. Then Drake said, “This is brilliant, Detective Quinn, and it’s very likely you’re right about these being male and female symbols. Unfortunately, this doesn’t get us any closer to finding this guy.”
Josie slumped in her chair. He was right.
“But,” Drake added. “I’ll talk to my contact in the Behavioral Analysis Unit and see if they can make any sense of it or if they can think of a way to use this in our investigation.”
“Thanks,” Josie said, feeling defeated. “I’m going to head back in a few minutes. I’ll see you then.”
She packed up her things, said goodbye to Shannon and Christian, who promised to follow her back to Denton later that day, and got into her vehicle. As she drove a series of tree-lined rural roads out of Callowhill, her exhausted mind worked through what she’d just figured out. Had Trinity figured it out as well? Surely, she had. If so, where had that led? How had she gotten from the male/female symbols to drawing the killer out of hiding after so many years?
She tightened her hands on the steering wheel as the road narrowed ahead of her. To her right was a drop-off leading to a ravine and to her left were trees as far as the eye could see. A moment later, on her left, a truck came into view. It had been backed into a break in the woods on the shoulder of the road. Its white cab jutted out from the trees. Dirt covered the bottom of the door and someone had used a fingertip to write the words Wash Me in it. Josie gave a little laugh as she passed. From the corner of her eye, below the words, something else caught her eye. A symbol.
She was already well past the truck when its significance registered.
He likely drives a pretty nondescript vehicle but one that could accommodate his activities, so a van or a pickup truck but likely an older model, nothing that would draw a great deal of attention.
Her mind worked quickly through the possibilities. Could she be right? Or was the stress of the case and her lack of sleep making her crazy? Josie shook her head, as if to reorder her thoughts. It couldn’t be a coincidence, she decided. Everything that came next felt like it took hours, but in reality was only a matter of seconds. She spun her vehicle around and gunned it, heading back toward the truck. Using the voice command feature in her Ford Escape she dialed Noah. Before he could say anything, she said, “Noah, I think I’ve got him. The Bone Artist.”
“Josie, what? What are you talking—”
“Listen to me, there’s not much time.” She rattled off her location as best she could estimate it. “Looks like a white Chevrolet pickup truck. Older model.”
Before she could say anything else, a man stepped out of the woods and got into the driver’s side of the truck. He didn’t see her. He was tall, maybe six feet, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Brown hair peeked from beneath a baseball cap pulled low over his face. He looked up just before she reached him, and they locked eyes.
“He’s here,” Josie said. “And his face—there’s something—”
The man punched the gas and his truck lurched forward, spraying grass and mud behind it. He aimed directly for her, his front-end plowing into the front passenger’s side of Josie’s car. The impact jarred her, jerking her body to and fro. Her head smacked against the driver’s side window. Stars appeared before her eyes. Her hands clutched the wheel, trying to gain control of her SUV, but she couldn’t. The man continued to accelerate, his truck pushing her car all the way across to the other side of the road. Josie was vaguely aware of the impact as her car was crushed against the guardrail. Metal screamed against metal. The truck kept coming. Her car tipped, rolling down the ravine, glass popping and smashing. Her seat belt tightened across her chest, knocking the air from her lungs momentarily. She landed upside down, her car suspended between two large trees.
Everything around her seemed hazy. The windshield had shattered. Glass was everywhere. She tried to move. Her fingers reached for her seat buckle, punching the button to release her, but it wouldn’t work.
Noah’s voice floated from somewhere inside the vehicle, only adding to her disorientation. “Josie,” he shouted. “Josie! Are you okay? Josie!”
“Acc—accident,” she rasped.
His voice receded after that although she could hear him talking to someone else in the background, barking orders. “Stay where you are,” he said into the phone once more. “Help is on the way.”
Through her disorientation, her mind tried to tell her something very important. He was there. He was close. He tried to kill you. She sucked in a breath and blinked rapidly, setting off a firestorm in her eyeballs. Pricks of pain exploded across her corneas.
“Don’t touch them,” said a male voice as she reached for her eyes.
Panic stiffened every muscle in her body. She couldn’t open her eyes. The pain was too unbearable. She put her hands out as if to ward him off. Her voice was high-pitched when she spoke. “Get away from me. Don’t touch me.”
She sensed him coming closer. There was a grunt and then she felt and heard her door open. Her body recoiled but the man’s voice stayed calm. “You’ve got glass in your eyes,” he said. “Don’t rub them and don’t blink.”
A scream erupted from her body, and her arms and legs flailed when she felt his hands on her, tugging and pulling. Then there was a click and she was in freefall. Seconds later, she landed with a thud on the forest floor. Arms slid under her knees and shoulders and lifted her. Her body jostled against him as he carried her. He froze when Noah’s tinny voice came from above their heads. “Josie! Josie! Talk to me.”
Her body lowered and she felt the ground beneath her once more. She opened one eye slowly in spite of the pain, but he was a blur walking away from her. She tried to stand but dizziness assailed her, and she fell to her knees.
“Wait,” she gasped. “Wait. My sister.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around. Her hands searched for her shoulder holster, tried to remove her gun, but the damn holster wouldn’t unsnap. Or her fingers were shaking too hard. “Where is she?” Josie asked him. “Where’s Trinity?”
No answer. No movement. Her eyes burned.
“Is she still alive?” Josie asked. “Please, tell me if she’s still alive.”
He started walking again. Josie crawled after him, desperate as her only link to her sister receded from view. “Wait,” she screamed, tears streaming down her face, the burning in her corneas an inferno now, her vision a strange, misshapen kaleidoscope. “Take me with you! Take me with you!”
The footsteps stopped. His shape loomed ahead of her, a blur on the steep incline of the ravine. His words floated on the air, across the seemingly interminable distance between them. He said, “Not yet.”
Thirty-Eight
Josi
e crawled to the top of the ravine, to the shoulder of the road, using her hands to guide her and trying not to blink or to think about her fiery eyes. It seemed like hours until she heard a vehicle speeding down the road. She wanted to open her eyes, to see who it was. Help? Or was he back? Would he take her with him? Take her to Trinity? Moments later, she heard the squawk of a police radio and relief flooded through her. Hands lifted her. Questions were fired at her. She did her best to answer, but she could barely concentrate because the pain was so intense. Every part of her body hurt, especially her neck. Still, she did her best to give them a description of the vehicle and of the man.
“His face,” she said. “There’s something wrong with his face.”
A man’s voice said, “What? Like a scar?”
“No. Yes. Sort of.” What had she seen? It had been so fast. Had it only been a shadow or the angle from which she’d seen him when he first looked up and saw her? “A burn mark, I think, on the left side of his face. Red.”
“Got it. Let’s go.”
They took her to a hospital. Hands probed her. She was wheeled to and fro. X-rays and CT scans were taken. A gentle nurse flushed both her eyes again and again, water pouring over her entire head like a cold, painful baptism. Eventually she heard familiar voices. Noah, Gretchen, Shannon, and Christian. She wanted to talk to them, to reach for them, but the doctors kept them at bay. Next came rounds of eyedrops and a doctor prying open her eyelids and tweezing out tiny splinters of glass. Then she was in a bed, an IV in the crook of her arm. She heard Noah’s voice again and then an unfamiliar voice saying, “She’s got a concussion and some bruising. We got all the glass out of her eyes. She was lucky—she only sustained corneal abrasions which should heal well with proper care. She’s had a pretty traumatic day though. We’ll let her rest a bit.”
A moment later, Josie felt the familiar feeling of Noah’s hand sliding into hers. She fought the overwhelming fatigue creeping into every inch of her body, but it was too heavy. Squeezing Noah’s hand, she fell into a deep sleep.
* * *
Night had fallen outside of her hospital room when she woke. Noah snoozed in a chair next to her bed. Blinking against the dim light in the room, she tried to sit up. Her body felt like it had been put through a triathlon. The muscles in her neck and back felt stiff and achy. “Noah,” she said, her voice coming out as a broken whisper.
He jolted awake, leaping from his chair and leaning over the bed. “I’m here. You scared the shit out of me. You okay?”
She blinked several times, relieved that his face came into focus above her. “I’m fine. My eyes feel like someone poured sand into them.”
“Yeah, they’ll feel that way for a while,” he said. “The doctor gave me drops for you to put in them for two weeks—that should help.”
“Did you—did you get him?”
She could tell by his eyes that they hadn’t. “I’m sorry, no. Callowhill is small. They didn’t have the resources to rescue you and put on a full-scale search for this guy. We called in the State Police, but so far they’ve got nothing. There’s a statewide APB out for an older model, white Chevy pickup.”
“With front end damage,” Josie said. “He rammed right into me.”
Noah’s head reared back. “He did this to you?”
She started to nod but pain shot up the back of her neck into the base of her skull. She gasped and closed her eyes until the pulsating beats of agony subsided. When she opened them again, Noah stared at her curiously.
“His truck was backed into the woods so I couldn’t see his license plate. I thought I saw something on the passenger’s side door, though. It looked like, like—”
“Like what?” Noah asked.
But her mind was fuzzy as she tried to bring what she had seen into relief. “Shorthand,” she said finally. “Like the kind in Trinity’s car.”
“Maybe I should have the doctor come back in,” he said, his brow furrowed with concern.
“No,” Josie said. “Just listen.” She explained about the Wash Me message written in the dirt on the side of the truck and how she’d seen what looked like shorthand below it. She’d been well past the truck by the time the significance of the symbol and the nondescript older model pickup truck dawned on her.
“Why was he in Callowhill? He must be stalking you,” Noah said.
“Me or Shannon or Christian,” she said. “It’s hard to say. Is Patrick still at school in Denton?”
“He’s staying at our house with Lisette but yeah, he’s there and he’s safe.”
“I don’t know why the Bone Artist was here in Callowhill,” Josie said. “But he knew who I was. I turned around and started driving back toward him. As soon as he saw me…”
“If this guy has a television, or the internet, he’d know that Trinity Payne has a twin sister,” Noah said. “So yeah, he probably knew right away it was you.”
“He came after me. No hesitation. Ran me off the road, and then… My car,” Josie said. “The seat belt—was it cut?”
“Yeah,” Noah said. “What did you use to saw yourself out?”
“Not me,” she said. “He cut me out.”
“Josie, I’m a little worried now. Your head—”
“I know, I know. I have a concussion, but I’m telling you this is what happened. He came down to the car. He cut me out. He was carrying me and then your voice—the hands-free phone app was still on in the car. When he heard it, he put me on the ground and started to walk away. I asked him where Trinity was and if she was still alive and he wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“He was talking to you?”
“Yes,” Josie said, a shiver working its way through her entire body. “But then he heard you. He must have thought first responders would get there too quickly. He didn’t want to take the chance, so he left.”
Noah was silent for several seconds. Then he said, “You can’t be alone after this. Do you understand? Not until we get this guy.”
“I’m fine,” Josie said even as a steady pounding started in her head.
Noah smiled and smoothed a lock of hair away from her face. “I know, you’re always fine. Why do you think he wanted you? Did he say anything?”
“I don’t know,” Josie admitted. “He didn’t say anything.”
“This doesn’t fit with this guy’s pattern though,” Noah said. “To take two people so close together—three if you count Nicci Webb.”
“I know.” She needed more time to think it over. In that moment, her thoughts were still muddled. She looked around the room. “They admitted me? When can I leave?”
“Tomorrow. They want to keep an eye on you. Frankly, I think they should.”
She took a look around the room. A television had been affixed to the wall opposite her bed. Two reporters sat at a news desk. On a screen behind them was a photo of Trinity. Beneath it were the words: Network Anchor Abducted. The volume was set low, but Josie could still hear the reporters discussing the case.
“Am I in Callowhill?”
“About twenty miles away. This was the closest hospital. Tomorrow you’ll be released, and you’ll come back to Denton with me, Gretchen, Shannon, and Christian.”
She knew she couldn’t argue. Not only was she in no position to fight them, but she was in pain and exhausted. The television screen cut to Hayden Keating standing outside of the Denton Police station, talking into a microphone with an intense look of concern on his face. He kept referring to Trinity as “my partner” even though she hadn’t shared the anchor desk with him in two months. Josie shook her head, sending a spike of pain up her neck into the base of her skull. She turned back to Noah.
“Did you guys talk to Hayden Keating?”
“Yeah,” Noah answered. “He came to the station. He didn’t know anything useful. He asked more questions than we did.”
“Mettner’s still working the case?”
“Yes, with the assistance of the FBI. Gretchen is out coordinating with Callowhill PD and the Sta
te Police to see if we can find this guy or his truck.” He took out his phone and fired off a text. “I’m letting her know about the front-end damage. You said he had a burn on his face?”
“I think so. It all happened so fast. He had a hat pulled low, but there was something going down the left side of his face. Dark red or something. Before I had a chance to get a good look at it, he was ramming into me like a maniac. When he came down to the car, there was glass in my eyes. I couldn’t see. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You did great. Now get some rest. I’ll wake you if there’s any news.”
Thirty-Nine
They walked back to the house. The kitchen was cold and dark. No Hanna. No dinner cooking on the stove. In the foyer, Alex saw why. Frances’s body lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the steps. One of his legs was twisted at an unusual angle. For a moment, Alex thought he was dead. A pool of blood circled his head like a halo, and he wasn’t moving. Alex peered hard at him, trying to see if his chest was rising and falling, but he couldn’t tell. Then Frances blinked. Alex jumped back. Zandra giggled. Her laughter went on for several minutes. Alex looked over to see Hanna sitting barefoot on the steps. Her elbows were on her knees and from one hand dangled a metal bar which Alex recognized as a leg from one of her easels.
When Zandra’s laughter stopped, Hanna looked over, as if noticing Alex for the first time. Her eyes were wider than he’d ever seen them. With the bar, she pointed toward Frances. “He wasn’t like us,” she said.
Alex walked over and tried to take the bar from her, but she clutched it to her chest. “No,” she said. “They’ll think you did this. You’ll be in trouble. They’ll make you go away. I did this for you, do you understand?”
“No you didn’t, you selfish bitch,” Zandra said as she walked over to Frances and stared down into his face. She let a long string of spit drip from her puckered lips into one of his eyes, and giggled some more.