“Thank you for your time, Mr. Denver,” I say as Donny and I stand, then hand him my card, which he takes. “Call us if you think of anything else.”
Just as we reach the door, he says, “They say the Scarlet Slayer paints a wall in red.”
I turn, looking back at him as he slowly faces us.
“That’s not something we’ve shared with the public,” I tell him, narrowing my eyes.
“You don’t have to share it. I’m from Delaney Grove. Those rumors of these deaths were spreading like fire before you ever announced the killer’s existence.”
I take a step toward him. He seemed surprised by the kill list earlier, yet now he sounds like he has information?
“You know what it means?”
He nods slowly. “Before Victoria died, she spoke to my son. Told him they’d painted the streets with their blood. Marcus wanted to paint the world with theirs.”
“Who else did your son tell that to?”
He shrugs. “Anyone who would listen, SSA Bennett. If Victoria had lived, she would have come back. She’d be this Scarlet Slayer you’re looking for. That girl’s fire always burned hotter and fiercer than anyone else’s.”
“But Victoria Evans died,” I tell him, pursing my lips. “And this killer is most definitely a man.”
He nods. “I’m aware. Not even Victoria would be able to have physically taken these men down.”
Then why even mention it?
He doesn’t stop us as we walk out, and Donny sidles up next to me.
“Besides Kyle, Victoria never really dated, and no one even knew Jacob ever dated Marcus,” Donny tells me, reading a text from Elise.
“Jacob wasn’t out about being bisexual when he lived in Delaney Grove, so that last part isn’t surprising,” I say absently. “What’s going on with his whereabouts?” I ask.
“Cameras failed us as expected. Low ball cap—predictably. He left on a private boat, apparently. Before we could ever get any cops out there. He told the hotel he had business, but didn’t say where. It’s hard to get anyone of authority to take him seriously as a suspect when he’s not here and he’s in a wheelchair.”
Convenient.
“Are we going to see Carl Burrows?” he asks.
“Yeah. I just want to stop in by the cabins and check on Lana first.”
Chapter 4
History is only the register of crimes and misfortune.
—Voltaire
LANA
For the past hour and a half since she woke up, Diana has been staring blankly, looking into my eyes to see if I still have a soul. I wonder what she sees in there besides a dark abyss.
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” she whispers hoarsely, though it’s about all she’s said since I explained the morbid reality surrounding us.
“They’re going to come for you,” I tell her, watching the cameras from my phone, flipping between different ones nearest to us.
I expected them to come as soon as it was nightfall. Their specialty is suffocating or strangling. Then they lie and say it was a heart attack when someone is Diana’s age. They call it a seizure or something when they’re younger.
“And you’re going to just kill them?” she asks in disbelief, her voice breaking. “Oh, baby. You shouldn’t be scarring your soul with their blood. You should be living the life you almost didn’t have.”
Coldly, I lift my gaze to meet her teary eyes. “They took everything, Diana. My brother and father still need peace. Do you remember Marcus? Do you remember the kind, bright soul that always sought to bring forth a smile from a stranger just to put more good vibes out into the universe? Do you remember what they did to him? Because I can’t ever forget it.”