Chapter 19

"What's the victim's profile in your book?"

"It's all identical. The victim is a redhead, entering middle age, has no children, and is single. It's exactly like in the book. What matters is that he's choosing specific books, detective. Maybe that’s relevant to understanding his preference."

Adam nodded.

"The coroner thinks he's been here for at least two hours. The bastard left the body while the park was still open."

Confidence, I thought to myself.

I stared at the detectives.

"He's confident," I whispered. "He chooses men who could easily take someone down. Andrew was an athletic man, this one is strong enough to defend himself. No killer would do this unless they were sure they could dominate their victim. He doesn’t even bother to hide the body; he exposed them to be found. He wants them to know what he’s doing."

I took a deep breath.

"He won't stop."

"Probably not." Eleanor walked over to the body, crouched down, and pointed to the cut below the knee. "Do you see these marks? It's a much cleaner cut than the first one, which means the killer is refining the technique, learning."

I stared at the fine line that separated the halves of the limb.

"Reading is different from killing. He knows he needs to be quick and good," I whispered. I looked away from the body and turned to Adam. "Where is the message he left?"

Eleanor reached into her pocket and pulled out a clear plastic bag with a piece of paper inside, protecting it from the blood.

It was open, which allowed me to read without touching it.

"He was a social deformity, a human disease, a plague. Evelyn was sure of this, and yet, as she stared at the cluttered board of photos and notes filled with unsolved mysteries, she couldn’t stop wondering: if the killer was a monster for killing people he despised, what was Evelyn for wanting to do the same to him? The conviction slipped away, fading and getting lost in the corners of her tired eyes."

"What do you think this means?"

"What Evelyn was for wanting to do the same to him?"

"I... It's a passage from my book, but this time it's not about the crime. It’s about the protagonist, Evelyn." I shook my head, nervous. "She’s in several of my books, she’s a sort of Hercule Poirot."

Eleanor let out a bitter laugh.

"He must think this is all very romantic."

"What?"

"He found someone who can put his fantasies into writing, Coraline. Maybe this is the closest thing to love he’s ever known. What could be more romantic than gifting you the materialization of everything you created?"

"Are you really saying this?"

"He’s using the crime scenes to confess to you," Eleanor explained. "He left the first body at your bookstore and placed passages from your books at the crime scenes. He probably believes this will make you want him."

I couldn’t hear that for another second.

"I need to leave," I warned. "If I think of anything else, I’ll call you."

"Coraline, wait."

But I was already walking away. I felt him following me, but I kept walking without waiting for him, retracing the path I took to get there. Lucy was waiting for me when I returned. Somehow, she knew I was there and came to pick me up. She noticed my state as soon as she saw me. I got into her car and sat down, putting my face between my legs. I breathed deeply a few times before I could speak to her.

Lucy took my hand.

"You’re cold," she said. "Was it really bad?"

I stroked my arm, trying to soothe the chill on my skin.

The image of the corpse wouldn’t leave my head. He was exactly like the description I gave in my book, I remembered, because writing that scene had been so difficult, even visceral, and it was as if he had felt it, as if he had captured exactly what was contained in my words.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the car window. I lifted my face, startled, and saw Adam. He motioned for me to roll down the window.

"Coraline, are you okay?"

Lucy jumped into the conversation.

"Can’t you see?!"

The two exchanged looks, and just like that, I had disappeared.

"It’s always a pleasure meeting you, Miss," he said, his voice cold. "I’ve never met a woman so rude."

"And I’ve never met a cop so stupid," she shot back.

Adam almost had a fit next to me.

"Say that again."

I looked at Lucy just as she smiled.

"Stupid."

"Miss Armstrong, would you like to go to the station for contempt?"

"I..."

"Adam." I looked at him, interrupting the nonsense that was about to come out of her mouth. "I’m feeling sick and want to leave. Could you please overlook Lucy’s behavior?"

Staring at my friend, he clenched his lips tightly before nodding.

"Go ahead." Adam pointed at Lucy. "Be rude again and you’ll sleep behind bars."

She rolled her eyes.

Without waiting for him to move away from the car, she sped up and drove down the street.

"Those cops are idiots," she said.

I had to agree.

"I’ll die if I leave my safety in their hands."

"And who are you leaving it to?"

I looked ahead, remembering the message he had left.

"Mine."

"What?!"

"I won’t let him ruin my life."

I kept wondering what that passage really meant. Why, of all the parts in the book, had he chosen that one? The killer was mocking me, throwing in my face what I had told him in our previous phone call? How dare he compare the two things? I felt pity for him believing, even for a second, that we were the same. That we had something in common. It was pathetic that someone could be so wrong, because I would never see anything but devastation in his presence.

In the end, we were souls trying to consume each other in the darkness, eager to destroy each other in whatever way we could: he, with his delusional desires and his sick obsession with my stories; and I, full of a belligerent hatred that consumed my flesh. Well then. May the hungriest soul win.