Speak No Evil_ A Novel - Allison Brennan [97]
So why did he feel so odd?
The high he’d had after Becca plummeted, and he didn’t know what to do. He watched his special tapes over and over. They didn’t help.
He watched the slide shows he’d made of Angie and Becca. That was a little better, but then the show he had of Jodi reminded him of his failure.
When his father disappeared, he knew it was his mother’s fault. She was loud and disrespectful, and she slept with other men. Even then as a child, he’d known it. He’d seen it. For years he’d blamed his mother and wished he had the courage to kill her with his bare hands, watching her eyes bulge, squeezing her throat until every bone in her neck broke.
But it was his fault, too. His failure as a son. If only he’d been older, smarter. If he’d followed his father and begged him to take him, too.
For a long time he’d thought his father was back in prison, but his mother denied it. Said he wasn’t coming back and to forget him. How could he do that? How could he forget his own father?
His dad would understand the feelings. The pictures that popped into his mind all the time.
When he looked in the car next to him and saw a pretty woman, he could imagine her naked and bloody beneath him—a vision so vivid he believed he could touch her and feel warm blood on his fingers.
Or when his mother was around and he dreamed so distinctly of going into her bedroom and cutting her throat. He’d wake up after that smelling blood, certain he’d done it, needing to check that he hadn’t somehow killed his mother in his sleep.
He never had.
Or when he saw his brother and wondered if he had the same feelings, that maybe if he talked to him and explained everything clearly, he would have a partner. Someone to help. Someone who understood.
But he didn’t dare go after his mother, and didn’t dare tell his brother. It was just him, alone. He had to figure everything out.
He stopped the slide show and stared at a picture of Becca dressed in plastic wrap. She wasn’t dead, but waiting. Becca had been the best. Why? Why had he felt complete with Becca and not Angie or Jodi?
Because she wasn’t a slut. She wasn’t like them. She was pure and beautiful and whole.
He needed to find another girl like Becca. Elizabeth Rimes, his MyJournal penpal in Georgia, would be perfect, but she was too far away.
He needed someone here in San Diego.
But soon he’d go to Elizabeth. And they’d have a real relationship, date, see each other like boyfriend and girlfriend. He’d be ready for her then, because he’d have gotten all these strange needs out of his system.
So if he couldn’t have Elizabeth tonight, he knew exactly who could replace her.
Already, he felt better.
TWENTY-SEVEN
IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL SATURDAY afternoon, but Carina and Nick were sitting in the windowless task force room painstakingly reviewing all three autopsy reports for any odd detail or stray piece of evidence that might offer them another direction in which to look.
But there didn’t appear to be anything other than the differences they’d already noted. Until Carina saw something odd in the personal effects record.
“It says that only one earring was found with both Becca and Jodi.”
“Is that unusual?”
“I can see how an earring might fall out, especially with a body that has been manhandled, but one earring in both victims? Angie had six ear piercings, three on each side, and she still had six posts in her ears when she was found.”
“Maybe the killer kept an earring as a souvenir,” Nick guessed.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“It’s good news. It connects him with his victims.”
Patrick walked into the room. “What does?” he asked.
“Angie was missing a navel ring. Becca and Jodi were each missing one earring.”
“That’s creepy,” Patrick said.
“You can say that again. So what brings you down here?”
“Good news, bad news,” Patrick said.
“What else is new,” Carina grumbled. “Give me the good news first.”
“I have proof that Scout used a Sand Shack public computer.