Callie clutched her chest. It hurt to breathe. “What did Jag find when he got there?”
“He thinks it’s the first kill for this cycle,” Jenna said.
The city of Langley was more like a small town. It didn’t cover a lot of space on Whidbey Island, and his jurisdiction was generally limited, but the sheriff’s office often relied on Jag’s support.
And he never said no.
But a second dead body on the island within a couple of days of each other?
That never happened.
“What exactly did DeSantis say?” Jag rested his elbow on the open window. The chilly spring air filled the patrol car, cooling his nerves.
Jenna punched the gas, turning down Beach Drive. “A body was found in an Airbnb this afternoon after a neighbor complained about the smell. The rental had been secured for the entire month, so no one was checking on it.”
“Who actually found the body?” Jag asked.
“The landlord used his key when no one came to the door. The body was presented on the bed.”
“I don’t like how you used that word.”
Jenna adjusted her shades, which was funny because the sun wasn’t very strong this afternoon. “I’m only repeating what DeSantis said.”
“What do you think?”
Jenna glanced in his direction. “That your girlfriend stirred up some shit, and the killer isn’t happy she’s back.”
“This isn’t her fault,” Jag said with a tight jaw.
“No shit, Chief,” Jenna said. “I was saying that maybe she’s a trigger for a killer that she spent the majority of her career covering, but mostly I wanted to hear you admit she’s your girlfriend.”
“Five years, to be exact.” He chose to ignore the girlfriend comment. He could only hope that were the case. “But we also have to consider that it’s more likely we have a copycat.”
“Agreed,” Jenna said as she parked the police vehicle behind the sheriff’s car.
Jag stretched before he made his way up the walkway toward where DeSantis and two other uniformed officers stood.
“Jesus,” Jenna muttered, covering her mouth and nose.
Jag did the same.
“Thanks for coming,” Officer Carlos DeSantis said with an outstretched hand.
“Happy to help,” Jag said. “How long do we think the body has been in there?”
“It was rented on the eighth of the month,” DeSantis said.
“That was the day before Levi’s going away party,” Jag said.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Jenna asked.
“Probably nothing.” Jag planted his hands on his hips and scanned the immediate area, trying to get a feel for the neighborhood. Of course, he’d been in this general area many times. It was a quiet seaside town, just like every little place on Whidbey. “Just grounding myself.” He turned his head and took a deep breath of fresh air. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”
“Follow me,” DeSantis said. “I’ve called in the medical examiner and CSI. They are en route. I thought I’d wait to call Seattle PD until I talked to you since you were the lead on most of the Trinket Killer cases.”
He’d come out to the island to get away from all the insanity that the Trinket Killer had brought to his life, and he’d thought he found a nice quiet little life for himself.
So much for carefully laid plans.
Of course, he thought he’d be married by now with maybe a baby on the way.
Wishful thinking.
He pulled his dark shirt up over his mouth. There were no words to describe a corpse. People tried, using words like rotten eggs. Or urine-soaked clothes left out in the sun for days.
The stench was ten times worse than both of those combined, and it filled your lungs, clinging to the sides, taking hours to expel.
Jenna held the department camera and snapped a few pictures as they made their way to the back bedroom.
“The body was laid out on the bed. Left arm stretched out and right arm resting over the midsection. Head is turned slightly to the left. The victim’s long blond hair has been brushed and styled,” DeSantis said.
Jag could have done without constant commentary. He stepped into the bedroom and did his best not to breathe. He stepped to the left side of the bed and leaned over.
Sure enough, there was a rose gold raven trinket in the left hand, and the victim was wearing a mood ring.
And the victim’s face was bashed in, so he couldn’t even get an image to run through a recognition program.
All the other women had been twisted to their right, not left. Their bodies weren’t shaped exactly the same way.
Except for Renee and Stephanie, who also had impeccable hair.
But the one thing he noticed about Stephanie’s was that it wasn’t in a style she wouldn’t normally wear. Kara had said Renee’s hair was the way she wore it all the time.
He was going to have to compare hair styles of the living.
A memory tickled the back of his brain. He recalled Callie mentioning something about the hairstyles during one of their fights.
But did she mention it in the book?
Come to think of it, he didn’t think she had.
Why not?
A wave of nausea gripped his gut. He turned and took long strides toward the front door, Jenna and DeSantis riding on his heels. A million things raced through his mind, but he couldn’t make sense of them.
All he knew was that somehow the hair was connected, and it all led back to Renee somehow.
He glanced over his shoulder. Matt had rolled his vehicle to a stop in front of the house, just behind the CSI unit.
“Jenna, I need you to do me a favor.”
“What’s that, Chief?”
“Go to my place and tell Callie to pull up headshots of all our victims, even the ones from the mood ring cases. She’ll know what those are. Have her compare hair styles both while alive and then the crime scenes.” He scratched at the center of his chest.
“You don’t believe that this is a copycat at all, do you?” Jenna asked.
“Nope,” he admitted. “And I think you were dead on in the car
