had never been so hardened by the experience of her job that she didn't feel jabs to the heart at the sight of a murder victim. The cramped house in the rundown part of Seattle's southern city limits was now a crime scene.
On the way out, Emily noted that baby pictures stared down from the walls, and she spotted a basket of yarn and an unfinished sweater. Every outward indication of what Bonnie Jeffries was in life was at odds with her devotion to serial killer Dylan Walker. She was the Suzie Homemaker type, but robbed of the joy that comes with it.
Maybe that's just the kind of person he wanted. Someone he d be able to control?
Emily hurried to her car.
The story had been told often enough that Emily could almost live the rest of her life nearly believing that she'd moved back to Cherrystone to take care of her parents, the house, save her marriage, whatever had come to mind when someone asked why she'd returned.
But the reality was darker than that. As dark as night. Emily sat behind the wheel in front of Bonnie Jeffries's sad little house and knew that her past was about to catch up with her. She had toyed with the idea of leaving the scene and not making the call to 911. I could have left Bonnie for someone else to find. But who? And when? Bonnie lived a solitary life. Maybe shed lie on that bloody bed until the blowflies came and went, raising generation after generation?
Calling 911, doing her sworn duty to uphold the law, was her only possible choice. Yet it came with a price. As the swarm of vehicles converged all around her, Emily knew she'd have to face head-on what she'd fought so hard to leave behind.
'Emily Kenyon?' the voice came from behind her. Emily turned around to see a familiar face, an older one, but recognizable nevertheless. It was Christopher Collier, a detective she knew from her days in Seattle. They'd shared many of the biggest and toughest moments of her professional life. Seeing him would be tough, too.
'I couldn't believe it when I heard your name,' he said, coming closer with a friendly smile on his handsome visage.
'Hi Chris,' she said, letting the uneasiness that had gripped her pass. 'It has been forever'
'Yeah,' he said, reaching out to shake her hand. Like her, he had been nothing but green when they first knew each other at the academy. His still-dark and wavy hairline had receded and he'd added some weight, but overall Christopher Collier looked no worse for wear. 'I heard you got your shield. Read it in the Police Bulletin a few years back. Over in Spokane, are you?'
Emily nodded. 'Near there. In Cherrystone, where I grew up. It's quiet. Nice place for me and Jenna' Saying her name just then was hard, she hoped that it didn't prompt a question: 'Saw that there's an APB out for your daughter, Jenna. What's the deal with that?'
Thankfully, it didn't.
The pair went for the front door, as two blue uniforms started unfurling plastic ribbons, yellow crime scene tape.
'So you called this in? What's goin' on?'
She liked Christopher. In a very real way, it was a gift from the Almighty that he'd been the one to respond to the Jeffries crime scene just then. He wouldn't hurt her. He wouldn't bring up any of the unpleasantness that had made her flee Seattle. At least not to her face.
'Working a triple homicide back home' She could tell by the look on his face, he already knew about all of that, but she continued anyway. 'One of the victims had a connection with Jeffries and .. .' She stopped as they went inside the front door. 'Watch for the glass.'
He looked down and acknowledged the sparkling shards. 'So, what's this Jeffries woman's deal?'
Christopher Collier was a patient man, a broad-shouldered six-footer with a gentle countenance. He could be fierce when needed, but generally was the kind of man who deliberated on everything. Carefully. Thoughtfully. He never rushed. Emily liked him for that very reason. But as she struggled to come up with a good reason why she was there in a house with a dead body, it felt a little as though he was letting her twist in the wind. She told him about the Angel's Nest connection with her homicides in Cherrystone and how she'd seen Olga Morris-Cerrino, then Tina Esposito, which had led her to Bonnie's house.
Bonnie 's corpse.
She led Christopher into the hazily lit living room. 'I found her down there in the bedroom. My guess is that she was killed in bed. She sleeps days, works nights. The assailant got in by breaking that window and turning the knob.'
'Okay,' he said. 'Let's have a look.'
Emily stayed where she stood. 'Your case,' she said. 'I'll stay here'
The Seattle police detective disappeared into the darkness of the hallway. Emily heard him speaking to another of the detectives, a younger man, whom she did not know.
'Emily Kenyon,' he said, his voice somewhat lower than normal. 'She used to be one of us. Got her butt kicked hard by the Kristi Cooper case'
'I remember studying that case at the academy. That's her?'
'Yeah, she's okay. Been through a lot. I'll handle her. Let's look at the vic'
Kristi Cooper. Kristi. The name nearly stopped Emily's heart. If she lived to be one hundred years old, she'd still never get over what happened with Kristi. It was clear that others hadn't forgotten the name either. No one ever would. Jesus, the police academy taught that? As Emily remained frozen in the living room, a dead woman on the bed, a half dozen police officers and detectives moved in and out of the tattered brown bungalow. She found herself wishing she was invisible.
But she wasn't.
What in the world? Emily stood in Bonnie's overstuffed living room and tried to catch her breath. She shut her eyes tightly and opened them. Something so bewildering it couldn't be real. She couldn't believe her eyes. The coin purse on the credenza was pink and beaded with the design of a flamingo standing on one leg. It was so familiar. The flamingo was missing its eye. Couldn't be. She picked and pulled on the zipper and opened it. The missing eye bead was still inside.
Jenna was here.
Emily steadied herself, resting the palm of her hand on the back of the oak desk chair. She felt the floor move a little. It was the sensation that she'd endured during the Cooper case so many years ago. She hadn't felt the shifting floor like that in years. Not a panic attack. Her throat felt constricted and her breathing grew shallow. What happened here? Her sense of control fluttered. It was like the days after Kristi when she couldn't move, couldn't even drive. It was all she could do to get behind the wheel of a car back then, only to find she couldn't turn the key. No one who'd ever experienced a panic attack could ever understand how powerful it could be. Get over it. Pull yourself together. None of that worked.
As Christopher Collier started down the hall, Emily did the only thing that came to her fragile mind just then. She put the tiny coin purse in her jacket pocket. She breathed in deeply. She heard Christopher and the other detectives as they moved about the back bedroom. She heard a photographer taking pictures. What had happened here? What had Nick and Jenna done? She closed her eyes.
'You all right?' It was Christopher. His voice snapped her back.
'Fine. Thanks'
'You look as pale as a ghost.'
Emily tried to shake it off. 'I don't know. I guess you just never really get used to this stuff. Not if you're human,' she said. The pink edge of the purse protruded slightly from her pocket, and she gently pushed it out of sight. Her heart was a bass drum. She felt sweat work its way down her temples.
'Hear, hear.' Christopher tilted his head in the direction of the front door. 'Let's get you some air.'
'Thanks. Turn up anything back there?' she asked.
'Yeah. One thing. The kill was fresh. Probably within the last hour or so. The ME will know better. I'm just stating the obvious of course. The blood on the floor had barely coagulated. Slippery mess in there'
Emily didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say.
'When did you get here?' Christopher picked up the slack in the conversation, the light of a sunny day now flooding the yard in front of the dull brown house. A flowering cherry tree Emily hadn't noticed was like a mushroom cloud of pink over the garage. 'About what time?' His tone wasn't exactly accusatory, but it bothered her. But not
