I locked the door behind the agents and quickly rushed to my computer to finish the Facebook post for work, trying to forget the visit from the FBI. I succeeded in posting just a few minutes after the deadline but I knew it wasn’t my best work. Hopefully my boss wouldn’t notice. I reopened the document I had minimized earlier, comparing Cris and Adam to the TSK profile, and with sadness and frustration, grunted as I closed out of it without saving. It didn’t matter anymore.

I walked to the kitchen to make a fresh cup of coffee. While I selected my coffee pod, I mentally scoured every inch of Cris and Rosie’s house that I could remember, trolling for any clues I might have missed. I opened the utensil drawer for a spoon to mix cream into my coffee. As I thought back to the storage room upstairs where we had gone over the old family photo album, I stopped in my tracks. There, clear as day now in my memory, was a framed poster hanging on the wall. On the antiqued white poster, were neat lines of anchors, compasses, and nautical knots. I sucked in a breath and shut the drawer, slamming my finger in it.

‘Dammit!’ I screamed, hopping around clutching my bruised finger.

I opened the freezer door and grabbed a handful of ice, quickly shoving it in a Ziplock bag. I buried my finger in it, waiting for the cold to overtake the pain with numbness. After a few minutes when the throbbing subsided, I discarded the bag of ice and returned to the task at hand, wishing it had numbed my internal pain too. I grabbed the cup of freshly brewed coffee and returned to the living room. But as I turned on the TV, my mind wandered back to that poster. There was too much mounting evidence to ignore. Am I really saying it’s Cris? Should I call Hannigan and update him about the poster? And then, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I thought about Rosie again. Was she in danger? Or was that sweet, loving woman capable of enabling a killer? I was sick of being in the dark. I deserved answers and the only way I was going to get them was by finding them myself. Telling Hannigan about the poster wouldn’t be the fastest way to get results. I picked up my phone and dialed. I knew it was reckless but I didn’t care.

VICTIMS 22 & 23

Elizabeth Benton & Kelly Davidson

2012

CHAPTER 26

Beth was confused. Normally the man came around midday to have one of them make his lunch but today he hadn’t. They’d heard him out there cooking his own meal about half an hour ago. This change to his pattern was unsettling.

‘What do you think this means?’ she asked.