Ten minutes later, I pull into Lorenzo’s basement garage and hear sounds coming from down the concrete hall. I follow the noises, a folder of printouts tucked under my arm.
When I walk into the med bay, Chiara’s got both hands braced on a metal table, her panties around her knees, and her legs spread. Lorenzo has his fingers against her clit and he’s working it quickly while he whispers into her ear. I stop dead and watch them, a smile spreading over my face.
As she comes, her body bucks against his and he wraps a hand around her throat. Lorenzo doesn’t stop fingering her even as her orgasm passes.
“Again.”
“No, please, I can’t, it’s too much—” she sobs.
“Do as you’re fucking told,” he growls, pinning her in place with his arm and mercilessly rubbing her clit. She writhes in his grip, desperately trying to get away from him. A moment later the agony on her face morphs into pleasure and she comes again.
Finally, he releases her and she collapses over the table on both forearms, breathing hard.
“Perfect, princess.” Lorenzo puts on black gloves and reaches for a white tube, and with a careful finger, he smooths salve across the cuts on her thigh. So gentle now. So careful of his girl. He covers the cuts with a sticky bandage, then draws her underwear up over her ass and settles them into place.
“Knock, knock,” I call, sauntering into the room. “Lorenzo, I hurt myself too. Is it my turn?”
He tosses me the white tube with a lazy grin. “Knock yourself out.”
I throw the salve back to him. “The others are upstairs. I want to talk to you all about something.”
Chiara comes over to me with flushed cheeks and a happy smile, and plants a soft kiss on my jaw. I love seeing her like this, but I wish she didn’t look so happy right now. In a few minutes, I’m going to destroy that blissful expression.
When we’re all gathered in the lounge on the sofas, I put the folder on the coffee table. “Thane and I have been working on a theory. This is going to be a tough conversation. If anyone needs a break at any point, just say so.”
Cassius frowns and so does Salvatore, but no one says anything. I open up the folder and lay out a series of printouts on the coffee table. Newspaper articles with gruesome headlines.
BODY DISPLAYED AT TWISTED MURDER SCENE.
TORTURE VICTIM SURVIVED FOR DAYS BEFORE DEATH.
MISSING WOMAN FOUND MUTILATED AND BEHEADED.
Finally, I lay a map on the table with cities marked with red dots. A dozen or so cities clustered around Coldlake.
Salvatore leans forward and reads the map upside down. “Washington. Pittsburgh. Philadelphia. Chicago. Coldlake. What do the dots mean?”
Chiara has picked up the newspaper articles and is skimming them. “Are the dots murders?”
I nod. “Unsolved murders, all within the last twenty years. All the victims were women who were abducted and then found dead, and all had been tortured or their dead bodies were displayed in some grotesque manner.”
Chiara glances up at me. “Do you think these deaths are connected to your sisters?”
“I think it’s a possibility.” I look around at the others. “Think about it. Whoever killed our sisters, they knew what they were doing. You don’t just wake up one morning a law-abiding citizen and—I’m sorry for bringing up Ophelia, Salvatore—make someone scream herself to death. Ophelia was the first to die, but that wasn’t a first-time kill.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Salvatore says, his voice hoarse.
Cassius is reading an article about a woman found hanging from children’s play equipment in a park. “Your theory makes sense to me. Evelina’s killer knew what he was doing and kept her alive as long as he could. He enjoyed every fucking second of what he did to her.”
“The police haven’t connected any of these murders, just so we’re clear,” I tell them, gesturing at the printouts. “This is research I’ve been working on with Thane. It might be nothing.”
Lorenzo narrows his eyes. “Or it might be something. Thane’s been helping you?”
“Thane’s been great. I think he feels bad that he didn’t notice that the pictures of Nicole were fake.” Or his professional pride is hurt and he’s trying to make up for his mistake. That’s more likely. Either way, I’m glad for his help.
Chiara keeps reading. “I don’t see anything about the killer leaving black flowers behind when he abducted the victims in these articles. Or putting black flowers in the women’s mouths.”
I nod. “Yes, you’re right. That’s something special about the Coldlake murders. Our sisters were killed to send a message to us. Someone wanted us to suffer. I’ve been wondering if these other murders were done purely for pleasure.”
“You think a serial killer came to Coldlake and murdered our sisters?” Lorenzo asks.
“I’m saying it’s a possibility. That, or the killer is from Coldlake and they made it a rule never to kill in their own backyard, but they hate us so much that they made an exception.”
Chiara looks sadly at the newspaper articles. “All these unsolved murders. Do you think the police didn’t care about these women, either?”
“Maybe. Or maybe they tried and didn’t get anywhere. Murders go unsolved when there’s nothing to connect the victims to the killer. Usually, the husband did it or it was a jealous lover. A co-worker. Someone in the victim’s circle. When it’s a total stranger, the cops don’t know where to turn.”
“Or they just don’t give a fuck about the victims and don’t even try to investigate,” Cassius mutters.
“You’re right, there was no investigation for our sisters. But that doesn’t mean there’s no evidence.”
Lorenzo perks up. “Oh?”
I look around at each of them. “The day our sisters’ bodies were found, photos would have been taken of the crime scenes. Evidence put into little plastic bags. DNA swabs taken. A pathologist must have done an autopsy on each of our sisters, even if it was only cursory. Some reports would have been filed. It’s standard procedure. What should have happened next was the detectives looking at the evidence and starting to investigate.”
“But they didn’t,” Salvatore mutters.
“No, they didn’t. My guess is all that evidence has been languishing in a box for nine years, gathering dust.”
Chiara stares at me over a printout. “If that’s true, then the killer’s identity might be in that box. Their DNA. Their fingerprints. CCTV recordings. If we got our hands on it, we could investigate their deaths ourselves.”
“We’d have to see what evidence there is first, assuming it hasn’t been accidentally on purpose destroyed.” I smile at her. “But yes, you’re right. That’s exactly what I want to do. Acid and Zagreus are connected to private investigators. Lorenzo knows medical people. Between us and Strife, we could launch a pretty good investigation on our own. If Strife can be persuaded to help us.”
“Strife owes me a favor,” Chiara points out. “A big one.”