“Neither exist,” Matthew told their boss. “The killer created them expressly for the purpose of luring potential victims. So far, we haven't been able to trace the person who created the accounts but we’re going to continue to peruse that avenue and hope he slips up eventually.”
“So far, we don’t have any forensics, and we have no witnesses. We know he has someone else, but we don’t know who. We don’t know how he’s choosing his victims even though we know the where and that it has something to do with fairytale princesses. We don’t know where he’s keeping them. We don’t know how long we have before he kills his next victim, but we know the time between abduction and murder is shortening. And we don’t know why he’s killing them.”
That was an awful lot of don’t haves and not a single have.
Rylla had no idea how they were going to find this man.
And that meant more women were going to die.
July25th
10:33 A.M.
“The media are calling him the Fairytale Killer,” Matthew said as they turned the corner into the street they were looking for.
“Yeah, I heard, and I'm not surprised, especially given all the hype of the Nursery Rhyme Killer a few months ago,” Rylla replied. The psychotic killer had terrorized the city for weeks and left a trail of bodies in his wake.
“I hate when the media give names to killers, but this one certainly fits. I've never worked a case where the killer was obsessed with fairytales, it kind of puts a dampener on the whole fairytale thing. I had kind of looked forward to reading them to my kids when I had them but now, I’ll never be able to look at them the same way.”
Rylla flinched involuntarily at the mention of kids and hoped her usually perceptive partner wouldn’t notice. She didn't like thinking of children and parenthood. She pasted on a smile and nodded agreeably. “Yep, he’s certainly managed to ruin fairytales.”
Matthew shot her a look that said he knew something was up, but since they had pulled to a stop outside a freshly painted Colonial, he didn't comment. Instead, they both climbed out of the car and walked to the front gate of Georgia Lars’ house.
Georgia had been reported missing late last night when she never returned home after work. Her best friend and roommate had contacted her work and when she discovered that Georgia never showed up, she immediately called the police.
The last time anyone had seen Georgia was when she was preparing for a date with a man she had met on the internet on an online dating website.
The Happily Ever After Club.
She had gone on the date, and no one had seen or heard from her since.
Rylla surveyed the house. It was nice, quite large, painted white, double-story, dormer windows, and a neat and tidy front yard with several fancy topiary trees made into the shapes of animals in a line just behind the fence. “She either loves gardening or she hires a fantastic gardener,” she commented.
Her partner nodded. “Rose petals.” He pointed to the path that led from the front gate to the front door. “But I don’t see any rose trees.”
“Maybe the killer left them, it was supposed to be a date after all. He makes a trail of petals, rings the doorbell, then goes to wait for her either at or in his vehicle.”
“He could have still waited at the door for her.”
“Then why leave the trail of petals?”
“Okay, agreed. And I guess opening the door and finding dozens of rose petals leading you to the man you think is your prince charming is pretty romantic.”
“Maybe something to store in mind for when you meet a woman,” Rylla teased as they opened the front gate and headed for the house.
Matthew grinned. “I'malwaysromantic. But one thing I've learned is it isn’t big gestures, it’s little things that usually end up meaning the most.”
She couldn’t help but smile, Matthew had definitely hit the nail on the head.
They knocked on the bright red front door, and a moment later, it was opened by a beautiful woman with smooth pale skin and long dark hair. Although Georgia had been shorter and a little rounder, there was no mistaking the family resemblance, this was Marissa Tress, Georgia’s older sister.
“Good morning, Mrs. Tress, I'm Detective Franklin, and this is my partner Detective Greer. May we come in?”
Marissa's brown eyes were scared and sad, but her face was composed, and she nodded and held the door wider open. She didn't say a word as she led them through the house and into a small and cozy den. The house’s décor was simple and elegant, white walls dotted with artistic paintings, minimalistic furniture, lots of vases full of flowers, and nothing lying about out of place.
“May I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea? Water? Soda?” Marissa asked, just one small tremble in her otherwise even voice.
“Coffee is fine,” Rylla answered.