I pulled my favorite leather jacket over the purple button-down shirt that I'd worn the day that I had gotten sick. Noah and I were going to travel to Brooklyn to ask Layla Lawrence some questions about the murders. I'll admit that I was nervous. I'd never interrogated someone, at least not as an officer of the law, where there were rules involved. I'd decided, begrudgingly, to allow Noah to take the lead since he'd been in the game for longer, much longer.
"Are you coming?" Noah called through the door to the bathroom where I'd been getting ready. Thank God for Noah getting me the bare makeup essentials from the drug store, or else I would have been interrogating someone with the face of a witch from Hocus Pocus.
"Yes! Don't rush me!" I snapped back. "After all, you can't rush greatness."
"Fine, fine," Noah said. "That being said, we do want to prevent any more murders - "
I'd opened the door, cutting off his words. "You were saying?"
Noah opened his mouth, but closed it again, deciding that the inevitable argument wasn't worth it. "Can we just go?"
"Best idea you've had all day," I said. I pulled my hair out from under the collar of my jacket and shook it out, giving it the usual mussed style.
Noah and I rode the elevator downstairs to the parking garage in near silence. The only comment made was Noah thanking the elevator attendant. Only when the doors to the elevator opened, revealing the parking garage with Noah's car in it, did he speak.
"Why is it that you took so long to get ready?" Noah asked, clicking the unlock button on his key fob.
"Because I haven't put makeup on in several days so I've forgotten how to apply it," I said matter-of-factly as we climbed into his car.
"I knew that I shouldn't have gotten that make-up for you," Noah said shaking his head in exasperation.
I frowned. "You should be glad. I looked like Bette Midler from Hocus Pocus," I said as we backed out of the space.
"Nah, you're prettier than she is," Noah disagreed.
Involuntarily, my face heated up and my heart fluttered. "Shut up."
Noah shrugged. "Do you think Layla is our killer?"
"I don't know...." I said quietly. I'd never heard of her in my experience as a serial killer, but new killers emerged quite frequently.
"I don't think that she did it," Noah said as we turned out onto the one-way street outside his apartment building. "She doesn't seem to be the type."
"She does have an Instagram page dedicated to Jack the Ripper, the famous serial killer," I said, fully aware of my playing Devil's advocate.
"Seriously? Plenty of people have fan pages," Noah argued.
"Not about serial killers!" I shot back. No one that I knew of from my serial killing days had ever made a fan page about me, but I didn't really go looking for them. "All I'm saying is that Layla Lawrence is not your average twenty-six-year-old."
"Point taken," Noah said as we sat stopped in traffic for the fifth time since we'd left his building three minutes ago.
"I hate New York traffic," I proclaimed.
"You and literally everyone in this city. "Noah replied, wincing as someone next to him honked, maybe at him, or maybe at someone else.
"Is it much better in DC?" I asked, just trying to make conversation.
YOU ARE READING
The Anatomy of Killer
General Fiction"You know how they say that the shot heard around the world was the one that started the Revolutionary War? Yeah, well they were wrong. It was the shot fired directly at my chest by a man that I thought was my friend" I was given a second chance at...
