Chapter 114

Chapter 114
Chapter Title: The Girl in the Photo

Kathy

For a moment, I couldn't speak. My mind was wrapped around Kelly.

After all these years, I was finally getting some answers.

For years, I'd wondered why Kelly had been murdered. I refused to accept that she'd gotten involved with some shady people.

I wondered if she knew her killer or if she'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. If she'd been stalked. If the father of her unborn child had killed her.

I'd spent years blaming myself for not finding the person who took her from us. And now, for the first time, I knew I hadn't been chasing a ghost. Kelly's death was connected to people here in Crisfield.

But the relief lasted only seconds. Because there was another problem.

Kimberly.

My other sister was still missing.

But if Kelly's disappearance was connected to everything happening in Crisfield, then how had the killer found out that Kimberly and I were related to her?

My mind went to the matching gold bracelets Mom had given them.

Could that have been it? But that didn't make sense.

The killer couldn't have looked at a bracelet and immediately connected Kimberly to Kelly.

Maybe they'd suspected Kimberly was somehow connected to Kelly. Maybe they thought they were friends. Maybe they'd noticed her digging into Kelly's murder. Maybe she'd gotten too close to something she wasn't supposed to find.

And that was why they took her.

Not because they knew she was my sister, but because she was asking the wrong questions.

After a long moment, Reynolds broke the silence.
“Kelly played Fantine?”

I nodded.

Reynolds' brows lifted. “Then Lena wasn't talking about some random NYU student.” He looked at Healy. “She was talking about Kelly. Why didn't you say anything before, Hastings?”

“Detective, if this were me, I'd keep quiet too,” Healy said. “There's a killer on the loose. And he keeps silencing witnesses.”

“Well, I do know someone wants me dead,” I said. “Someone took a swipe at me when we were headed to Ocean City. I suspected it was Benny.”

“Shit!” Reynolds exclaimed.

“There hasn't been another attempt ever since Allison died,” I said. “Maybe the bombing at Lace and Timber, but that wasn't target-specific.”

“I guess Benny stopped once he saw his dead daughter and figured you were the least of his problems,” Healy said. His eyes dropped to the file in his hands. “Your sister was pregnant when she disappeared.”

I swallowed. “Yes.”

Healy flipped through the pages again. “There are signs of significant blunt-force trauma.” He turned the file toward me. “Bruising to the abdomen, chest, back, and arms. Some of it appears to have occurred before death.”

My stomach tightened. “Benny must have hurt her.”

“If Benny was involved,” Healy said carefully, “he didn't simply help dispose of the body. He may have participated in the assault.”

My eyes drifted toward Benny's ear.

Baby Murderer...

The words suddenly felt heavier.

Healy noticed where I was looking. “Father and daughter may have worked in tandem,” he said. “Benny could have beaten Kelly to subdue her, killing the fetus in the process. Allison may have been the one who ultimately killed her.”

I closed my eyes.

For years, Kelly had existed in my mind as my baby sister who had disappeared.

Now I had to picture her as a pregnant twenty-year-old, beaten and murdered in a place hundreds of miles from home.

“Who was the father?” Healy asked.

I opened my eyes. “I don't know.”

Healy looked back at the file. “There's no identified father in the case record. And no DNA comparison was ever made.”

“They didn't have a sample to compare it to,” Reynolds said with a shrug. “Could've been Cole.” He paused. “Could've been Hank. My money's on Hank."

Healy looked at him. “But Allison was close to both of them. Why would she murder the girlfriend of either man?”

Reynolds smirked. “That's easy. Allison had always been in love with Hank. Everyone at school knew except Hank.”

“Or he did know but thought it was gross,” I said. “The way I see it, the bond between those four was more brotherly and sisterly.”

“Except one of them didn't see it that way, Agent,” Healy said. He set the file down. “Many people die because of jealousy. I've seen many women suffer because of a jealous husband—long-term abuse that eventually leads to suicide or death at the hands of the husband himself.” He looked toward Benny's body. “Yet women who are jealous tend to eliminate the competition outright.” His gaze shifted back to us. “Allison had the means. And she had a father who probably expected his only child to inherit his place.”

“This is all speculation,” Reynolds said, waving his hands to stop us. He looked at me. “Remember what we saw in Allison's penthouse suite? She had a boyfriend. R. Ryder.”

“Yeah, but this happened eight years ago, Reynolds,” I argued.

“R. Ryder? As in Rocky Ryder?” Healy asked, surprised.

“Yeah. And the same name popped up in the serial case,” Reynolds said. “One of the missing women had R. Ryder listed as her emergency contact.”

“Someone must have been a fan of Rocky Ryder's work, or it could be someone related to him,” Healy suggested. “The sons, perhaps?”

“I'm afraid nothing points to them specifically, Doc,” Reynolds said. “But I bet the photo Lena mentioned is the one that will connect Hank and your sister.”

Healy frowned. “Photo?”

“Yeah. There's a photo of Hank with—” Reynolds stopped. His phone began vibrating. He glanced at the screen. “Tate.”

He answered and put the call on speaker. “What?”

“We got the safe open,” Tate said.

Reynolds grinned. “What was inside?”

“Oh, the usual. Money, gold, guns, and dirt on every person in Crisfield.”

Healy raised an eyebrow.

Tate continued. “But there's one thing that's weird.”

“What?”

“A photograph.”

Reynolds exchanged a glance with me. “Why is it weird?”

“It's half of a photograph. There's a girl standing beside someone, but whoever was beside her was ripped out.”

My heart began pounding. “Do you recognize the girl?” I asked.

Tate was quiet. “No, I don't."

Reynolds looked at me. “Anything else in the photo?”

“Cole Jones. He's standing behind her. I can't identify the location, though,” Tate replied. “There's also a message written on the back.”

“Go on,” Reynolds pressed.

“It says, Get rid of her.”

Silence filled the room.

“Was it signed?” Reynolds asked.

Tate snorted. “Sure. Every person who orders someone to kill someone for them signs their messages. Of course it isn't signed.”

Reynolds rubbed his forehead. “Bag all the evidence. And make sure you swear the techs to secrecy. Every person Benny had dirt on is a potential suspect.”

“Even the Senator?”

Reynolds paused. “What does Benny have on him?”

“He has a picture of Marissa Vega with the Senator. Dated over six months ago.”

Whatever Gray had told me... He was telling the truth.

Reynolds' expression turned grim. “No one says anything. Especially not to the press. Everything is strictly confidential.”

“It would be better if you were here,” Tate said. “You can bring your FBI girlfriend along.”

“We can't.” Reynolds looked at his watch. “We have to meet with Benny's Bagman over in Pocomoke. I'll send Nick over to help you sort through all that mess.”

“No, not Nick,” Tate whined. “He's such a crybaby. I'll just do everything myself.”

“I knew you would.” Reynolds paused. “And Tate?”

“Yeah?”

“Watch your back.”

“Always.”

The call ended.

Reynolds slipped his phone back into his pocket.
He looked at me. “Well, Doc, we need to go.”

“Pocomoke,” Healy said, raising his eyes toward the ceiling. “Thank God.”

“Huh?” Reynolds grunted, confused.

Healy pulled off his mask. “If a dead body shows up in Pocomoke, it's outside my jurisdiction.” He looked at me. “And wherever Agent Hastings goes, there usually is one.” He paused. “Mark my words.”

I wasn't amused.

Because somewhere in Pocomoke, an undercover FBI agent had valuable information.

And if the killer really was two steps ahead of us...

Gray might already be walking into a trap.

As we exited the autopsy room, Healy waved goodbye. "Take care, both of you, and come back. I really enjoy our little chats."