with an almost leisurely gait, melting into the darkness of the woods as if they were one and the same…
Chapter 14
The call to 911 had set off a flurry of activity. Police converged on the scene as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon. A light drizzle had started, nature's attempt to wash away the horrors of the night.
The entire stretch of road and surrounding forest was quickly cordoned off, a maze of yellow police tape creating a barrier between the world of the living and the scene of death. Officers with dogs combed the area, their faces grim and determined. It wasn't long before Nick and Christian arrived, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and dread as they took in the scene before them.
The victims' bodies, already zipped into black bags, lay like accusatory fingers pointing at their failure to prevent this tragedy. Nick's eyes were immediately drawn to the sleek blue BMW, a sick feeling of recognition twisting in his gut.
A colleague approached, his face ashen. "Two young men," he reported, his voice barely above a whisper. "Killed in the same manner as before." Nick nodded, a leaden weight settling in his chest. He already knew, but he had to see for himself.
"I need to see them," he said, his voice rough with emotion.
"Of course, sir."
The officer led them to the body bags, unzipping them with a sound that seemed obscenely loud in the hushed atmosphere. Nick's worst fears were confirmed as he looked down at the lifeless faces of Bradley Force and Steven Cooper. Christian, standing beside him, let out a strangled gasp.
"Dear God," he breathed, his face pale. "We're dealing with the devil himself."
"It certainly seems that way," Nick replied, his voice hollow.
Their grim contemplation was interrupted by the excited shout of an officer emerging from the woods, a dog straining at its leash beside him. "Detective Larsen! We've found something!"
In a small clearing not far from where Steven's body had been discovered, they found a freshly burned object, its original form rendered nearly unrecognizable by the flames.
"Get this to forensics immediately," Nick ordered, his mind racing. "And I want every inch of this area searched, including their car. Our killer might have slipped up, left something behind. The smallest detail could break this case wide open."
Christian, still visibly shaken, turned to Nick. "Do you think it's the same person who killed Rose? Is this really the work of a serial killer?"
"I don't know, Christian," Nick admitted, running a hand through his hair. "But I do know this isn't a coincidence or some twisted accident. There's a pattern here, a purpose. We just need to figure out what it is."
"What are you thinking?" Christian pressed, eager for any insight that might make sense of this nightmare.
"Nothing concrete yet. We need to wait for the forensics report. And we need to inform their families…" Nick's voice trailed off, the weight of that responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders.
"I'll take care of notifying the families," Christian volunteered, relief evident in his voice at having a clear task to focus on.
"Thanks, Christian. I appreciate it."
As Nick made his way back to his car, his mind was a whirlwind of possibilities and suspicions. The image of Jeffrey Saltano kept surfacing, refusing to be dismissed. The man had already tried to kill Bradley, convinced of his guilt in Rose's murder. But Steven? That didn't fit. And yet… Nick couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this story, layers of secrets and lies waiting to be unraveled.
Making a split-second decision, Nick changed course, steering his car towards Jeffrey's house instead of the precinct. The rain had stopped, but dark clouds still loomed overhead, mirroring the storm of emotions raging within him.
Nick's knock on Jeffrey's door was met with a series of muffled curses and the sound of stumbling footsteps. When the door finally swung open, the sight that greeted him was a far cry from the once-respected sheriff of Austin.
Jeffrey stood before him, a caricature of his former self. His face was puffy and red, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. He wore a black T-shirt that had clearly shrunk in the wash, stretched obscenely over his protruding belly. His beige pants were unzipped, adding to the overall picture of dishevelment and decay.
"Well, well," Jeffrey slurred, his breath reeking of stale alcohol. "If it ain't Nick Larsen himself. What's the matter, hotshot? Can't crack the case without old Jeffrey's help?" His laughter was a harsh, grating sound that set Nick's teeth on edge.
Steeling himself against the wave of disgust that threatened to overwhelm him, Nick pushed past Jeffrey into the house. "We need to talk, Jeffrey. It's about Bradley and Steven."
At the mention of those names, something flickered in Jeffrey's bleary eyes – fear? Guilt? It was gone too quickly for Nick to be sure. "What about 'em?" Jeffrey mumbled, collapsing onto the couch with a grunt.
"They're dead, Jeffrey. Murdered last night, same M. O. as Rose."
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