The Perfect Victim

"Close the door."

 

She jumped at the sound of his voice. "It's too dark." The last thing she wanted to do was close herself up inside that trailer.

 

"Close it, dammit!"

 

She shut the door, enveloping them both in total darkness.

 

For a moment, the only sound came from the wind, cutting around the trailer like an angry sea. She couldn't shake the thought that this was the place where Agnes Beckett had been so brutally murdered. Images from the crime scene photos played before her eyes, sending a chill up her spine. "Turn on the flashlight," she whispered.

 

A tiny beam of light cut through the dark like a blade. "Better?" he asked, directing the beam to the floor between them.

 

Addison breathed out a sigh of relief. She could just make out his features in the dusky light, and she didn't miss the concern etched into them. "Thank you," she said, berating herself for allowing her imagination to get the best of her. She couldn't fall apart now. Not when they were finally where they needed to be, and there was a very real possibility of finding some new piece of evidence.

 

"You okay?" Randall asked.

 

"I'm fine." To prove it, she threaded down the narrow hall, determined to do a thorough search of the premises. Ahead of her, murky light flowed in from the living room windows.

 

Her suede pumps were silent on the carpeted floor as she moved closer to the living room. She stopped when the trailer shuddered with a particularly hard gust of wind. "Can we turn on the lights?" she asked.

 

"No."

 

Behind her, she heard Randall trip over the small rug she'd barely managed to avoid. "How are we supposed to find clues without light?"

 

"If the neighbors see a light in here, they'll jam the phone lines calling the sheriff."

 

"Somehow I knew you were going to say that." Addison passed by a threadbare recliner and end table, spotting an ancient-looking TV on her left. She paused where the bar divided the kitchen from the rest of the trailer. There were canisters and dishes of different shapes and sizes on the counter. The cord of an old toaster dangled over the edge like a dead snake.

 

"We can start here." Randall propped the flashlight against the toaster so that it shone away from the front window.

 

"What are we looking for?" Addison opened the refrigerator, wrinkling her nose against the stench of rotting food.

 

"Anything and everything. Papers. Newspaper clippings. Just don't leave anything out of place."

 

"Like someone's going to notice."

 

He opened the first cabinet, sliding a container of salt and assorted spices aside. "And keep your gloves on."

 

Addison searched the top of the refrigerator, finding nothing more than a few outdated coupons and a month's worth of dust. As she searched, she tried to get a sense of the woman who had lived there. Everything she touched—the wooden spoon, the hot pad—she held for a moment, wishing in vain they could tell her something.

 

Methodically, she and Randall worked their way through the kitchen and living room, toward the rear of the trailer where the bedrooms were located.

 

"It looks like the police went over the place thoroughly," she said.

 

"She didn't have much."

 

Addison had known beforehand the search was a long shot. She should have been prepared for the disappointment. But she wasn't, and that she'd come up empty-handed again hit her hard.

 

"I didn't really think we'd find anything." She hated the resignation in her voice, and that she was lying to keep the disappointment at bay.

 

"Yes, you did."

 

Raising her gaze to his, she searched his face, surprised to see understanding. She wasn't sure why she let that affect her, but for a moment she had to blink away tears.

 

"Don't give up hope," he said gently. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

 

"I was hoping for a break."

 

Surprising her, he reached out and pressed his palm against her face. He was so close she could smell his aftershave. Memories of their lovemaking the night before played wickedly through her mind. She wasn't sorry she'd let it happen. The time had been right for her. He'd definitely been the right man. Too bad he had his sights set on another life in another state.

 

"I'll check the master bedroom." She turned away before she had the chance to do something stupid, like cry or let him kiss her.

 

"I'll take the other one."

 

She started for the larger of the two bedrooms, nearly bumping into the broken chair leaning against the wall.

 

"Careful." The beam of his flashlight played over the chair.

 

"You'd think the cops would be more vigilant about—" Her voice died in her throat when the flashlight beam illuminated a wide, dark stain on the paneled wall. At first, Addison thought it was rust from a leaky roof or hot water heater. But when she looked down and saw the stain spread out on the carpet, her blood ran cold.

 

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