Speak No Evil_ A Novel - Allison Brennan [40]
Repent now, sinner, or you’re going to Hell.
I used to be addicted to sex. You can be cured.
Fucking whore.
Nick frowned at that last comment. He clicked on the ID and suddenly the page went blank.
404. Page not found.
He surfed around a bit, was able to view other pages, but Angie’s was gone.
The police must have worked with the MyJournal company to take down her journal. It was both a relief and frustrating to Nick. After reading the Butcher’s personal journals—handwritten, not online—he’d developed a feeling for how these sick predators thought. How they communicated. He’d hoped to read more of the comments and come up with something solid to take to Detectives Kincaid and Hooper. A profile of sorts, proof his brother was innocent. If he could use his experience with serial killers to narrow down the suspects, maybe they could get ahead of the game.
Hell, he would have given his right arm for something solid on the Butcher before twenty-two women had died.
Nick poured another cup of coffee, then sat back down at the computer to download a map to the police station. He was here to help Steve, but he felt for Angie Vance. She’d been confused, desperate, and very sad. No one in her life had seen that she needed help, maybe because she was so good at hiding her pain. But wasn’t that why he’d become a cop? To help young people straighten out their lives before it was too late?
It was too late for Angie, but he could damn well do something to help find her killer.
Behind him, a woman cleared her throat.
Nick stood slowly and turned. A tall, slender girl holding her own steaming mug leaned against the door. She had straight golden-blond hair that touched her waist, and worry lines creased her pretty face.
“How did you get up here?”
“I live next door.” She gestured to the half-railing that separated Steve’s apartment from his neighbor’s. “What happened to Steve? There’s a rumor around campus that the police were here searching his apartment. That they think he killed Angie.”
“And you are?”
“Ava James. You’re his brother, Nick, aren’t you?”
Nick nodded.
“Steve talks about you all the time.”
Nick hid his surprise.
“Where’s Steve?” she asked.
“Inside.”
“Poor guy. I can’t believe the police would ever think he’s capable of killing anyone.”
“Did you know Angie?”
She squinched up her nose as she sat on one of two Adirondack chairs Steve had positioned to view the ocean. “Yeah.”
“How long were she and Steve involved?” Nick asked, stepping onto the deck.
“A couple weeks. It didn’t mean anything to her, but Steve always falls quick.” Panic hit her face. “I shouldn’t say that to the police, should I?”
“Ava, you need to tell the police the truth. Lying will not help Steve.”
“It just looks bad, but it’s not bad,” she said quickly. “Steve got over her when she broke up with him, like he always does.”
Nick froze. “Always does?”
“Yeah. Jodi, then Katrina, then Deena, then whoever. Since I moved in eighteen months ago he’s fallen in love at least a dozen times.”
“Are they all from the college?”
“Of course. That’s where we hang out. There or at the Sand Shack or a couple other places. Deena works at the Starbucks next to the college. I liked her the best because I think she really cared about Steve, not like Jodi and Angie and the others, who just wanted to screw around with an older man.”
“What about you?”
She blushed, glanced down. “Steve and I are just friends.”
“Friends.” Nick felt ill again. If Ava was twenty-one, Nick would eat his Stetson. And all the other girls . . . how old were they? College age? Twenty? Eighteen like Angie?
Steve had told him Angie was the only one. That he didn’t make a habit of dating college girls. His brother had lied to him. He was the other “S” on the “Tribute” entry, no doubt about it now. Nick hadn’t realized that he’d harbored faint hope that his instincts were wrong.
What else had Steve lied about? And if he lied to him, his own brother, he had