Jennifer Lynne is a homicide detective working on one of the most horrific serial killing cases New York has seen in the last decade. When she and her partner get a lead on the suspect, they catch him with his seventh victim. But things go south and...
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Not too long ago, I had a theory on how to catch the Devil Lake Killer. Other than the ritualistic aspect of his killings, the one thing he stayed consistent with was the location of where he left the bodies. I don't know if it's as simple as the name was what he was looking for, or if there is more significance for him. But I know that every couple of weeks, there would be a new body somewhere near the lake.
I thought if we stationed officers all around the lake, we'd encounter him at some point. I knew that we would. The plan wasn't flawless though. Because to catch him with a body, there'd have to be a body. Our plan counted on him killing another innocent woman, and there was no way I was - or still am - okay with that.
No fucking way.
So, I kept my mouth shut and hoped that nobody else would think of it too.
Sitting in the passenger seat of Drake's cruiser, I wonder what he would say if I told him about it. Would he have disappointment burning in his eyes, or scold me? And the heartbreaking thing about it is that I don't even need him to react to know. The expression on his face after I would say it would tell me for him.
"You know," he says as we reach a stoplight. He glances over at me and the light casts a red glow over his face. "I was surprised you didn't jump behind the wheel."
I press my fingers into my palm and my knee bounces at the thought. "I knew you'd want to take the lead," I say carefully because if I don't, what's on my mind will spill out. I meant what I said - I do, but if I'm the one driving, I'd most likely get the urge to turn on the siren and speed until we reach Jackson's address. And we both know that that won't do anyone any good. Not us and definitely not the girl he's kidnapped.
And Drake is a better fit for the lead anyways.
I look down at the folder in my lap and, with delicate fingers, I flip it open. Smack dab on top of the stack is the sketch the witness gave from today's abduction. All we had before was the partial description, and I remember it clearly - Caucasian, long face, short dark hair with tight curls. And now, it's been given life in the full sketch in front of me. It has all of those descriptives on point with more detail.
His chin is tight against his lower lip, he has a thick layer of stubble on the lower half of his face, and the look in his eyes is low and dead. I know it's just a drawing, but my body still shudders when I look at it.
"I can't believe that for the past five months, we didn't even have this," I whisper and hold up the new sketch. "Maybe we wouldn't be here if we had it back then."
Shit. I shouldn't have said that.
"Maybe," Drake replies. "But we're here now. And we know his name."
I feel my lip curl. "Yeah," The bastard has nowhere to run now.
After what feels like forever, we enter a dark and rundown neighborhood. The street is quiet. The rows of houses have little to no lights on as if they're all abandoned with no life inside. But with the car window cracked, I can feel a stiff and humid energy in the air. It's full and static.
