Page 16 of The Editor’s Choice

My mind jumps from thought to thought as I scrub my body, clearing away the remnants of the day. From the manuscript to the murder to Jade. Always back to Jade. Her smile, the fiery attitude, and those eyes. The more I dive into her thoughts and feelings, the less I feel like I know. Her depth is astounding, though I know she isn’t fully letting me in. Her past has broken her in ways that are unimaginable, leading her to not completely trust anyone anymore. I want to watch all the people who have hurt her suffer, far beyond her level of suffering even.

Shutting off the water, I shift my focus back to the task at hand. Once I’ve toweled off, I wrap the black towel around my waist, leaving the bathroom. Quickly dressing in a white T-shirt, black jeans, and a pair of black tennis shoes, I grab my phone and keys before heading out the door.

In under thirty minutes, I’m sitting at the picnic tables, awaiting Sara’s arrival. I’m a few minutes early, hoping to have some time to clear my mind before she gets here. The crisp fall air is refreshing, filling my lungs and lifting my spirits slightly. I love the way the leaves change colors, showcasing the beauty in death. It’s always been my favorite season.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asks, sliding onto the picnic table bench across from me. There’s a tiny hint of a smile playing on her lips, almost wistful. Her eyes are far away when she makes contact with mine, like she’s in another place in her head. They clear quickly and I wonder if I imagined what I saw there.

“So, I did some digging,” she begins. “Looked through some surveillance footage from the visitor’s center at the overlook, talked to the staff. Nothing interesting popped up there. At least not at first,” she says, pulling out her laptop. Opening a file, she turns the screen toward me. “Do you know that car?” Hitting play, the screen plays a fairly grainy video of what appears to be a newer model luxury car. It’s silver and sleek. A man and woman get out of the car and head toward the trails, out of the camera view.

“No,” I answer, confused. “I don’t think I recognize it.”

“Well. The woman getting out of the car is Emily. This video was the last I was able to find of her alive. She was found early the next morning on the trail,” she continues, letting the words hang heavy between us.

“Fuck.” The gravity of the situation hits me in the chest, pushing the air from my lungs. This was the last time anyone saw her alive. And whoever that guy is, he was the last person to see her before she was murdered. “There’s no audio?”

“Unfortunately not. It’s just a video feed. Thankfully the cameras were up and working so I had a place to start,” she says. “I was able to enhance the footage enough to get a license plate number on the car. However, it was a rental from a company about an hour from here. I called the company and was able to get the name of the renter. It was rented to a ‘John Black’. Pretty sure that’s an alias. Just sounds fake,” she continues, shrugging.

“How did you even get the name? I thought that was protected information,” I question, honestly just curious about the morality of her methods.

She shrugs again. “I may or may not have told the manager at the car dealer that I was a detective here in Haven County and needed the name of the renter for ‘official business’. He gave me the name pretty quick after that.” This causes a sly smile to spread across her face, bringing a little light into her eyes.

“You’re not a detective, though,” I point out.

“Well, no, not with the police department or anything like that. I never said I was with them. Just that I was a detective, which is technically true if you ask me.”

I’m a little surprised by her willingness to bend the rules, but I’m also thankful for it. We’ve got a lead, no matter how likely it is to be a dead end. At least it’s something.

“He gave me the name and license number for the renter. As I figured, it turned out to be a fake name. The guy rented the car in cash, which normally isn’t allowed, but he offered them double the regular rate, so they bent the rules for him. Which sucks for us,” she says, an edge to her tone now.

“Damn it,” I mutter, hitting my fist against the rough top of the concrete table. “What now?” I was feeling better, but now that hope seems to be fading as quickly as it came. Without knowing who was driving that car, we’re not any closer to finding her killer.

“I was able to enhance the image a bit. It seems that she was comfortable with this guy. Is there anything that stands out to you about him?” she asks, pulling up the enhanced image. Emily is smiling at the man as she’s rounding the front of the car to meet him. She looks relaxed. She definitely knew the guy and felt safe with him.

“Can you zoom in on just him without distorting it?” I ask, trying to take in every tiny detail. With a few clicks, she is able to zoom in on the guy. There isn’t much to go on honestly. He’s average height, build on the athletic side, wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a ball cap. There’s nothing to go on from the image. At least not until I spot one small detail that might lend us a hand.

A tattoo. The guy has a tattoo peaking out from under his right shirt sleeve. It’s impossible to tell what it is in this frame, so I ask Sara to move the video forward slowly. Right before he meets Emily at the nose of the car, he pushes up the sleeve to scratch the top of his arm, revealing the majority of the tattoo.

“Stop! Pause it right there. Can you zoom in on it again?” I ask, nearly vibrating from the anticipation. I can’t sit still now, invading Sara’s space until my face is in front of the screen, blocking her view almost entirely.

“Fucking move,” she demands, annoyance clear in her voice. “I can’t do a damn thing with you in my way,” she explains, ignoring my protests.

Reluctantly, I take my seat beside her again. It takes what seems to be hours, though I’m sure it’s only seconds, before the image has been zoomed in and enhanced again. It’s still grainy, but the tattoo comes into focus. It’s a beautiful piece, even if it is decorating the body of a killer.

A raven is tattooed across the top of his arm with some sort of symbols. I’m not sure what they are without the picture being clearer, but there’s more than just the raven. I take a picture with my phone before shoving it back in my pocket.

“I’ll ask around and see if anybody recognizes the tattoo,” I say in explanation. Her sigh lets me know that wasn’t needed and she understood my intentions already. “Were you able to find out anything else?” I ask, suddenly ready to be finished with this meeting. It feels as if there are ants crawling inside my veins, though I was perfectly fine moments ago.

“Not anything of importance,” she says, shrugging. “Everything else came up as a dead end. A few exes, a couple disgruntled family members. Other than that, everyone I’ve been able to reach seemed to really love her. Which just makes this even more weird if you ask me.” Her eyes are focused on the creek, just a few yards from our picnic table. As if snapping back into reality, she closes the laptop and quickly stands from the table. “I’ll be in touch in a few days,” she offers, locking her gaze with mine momentarily.

“Sounds good,” I respond, lacking much enthusiasm now. I feel as if the energy has been siphoned from my body. It takes every ounce of willpower I have left to stand from my seat and shake hands with her. “Thank you so much for all you’ve done,” I say, sincerely grateful for the effort she’s putting in for total strangers.

“No worries. It helps me sleep at night, knowing I find closure for people. Or at least try to anyway. It doesn’t always work out that way,” she finishes, letting the statement hang in the air between us. “Talk to you soon.” She turns and slowly walks toward the entrance to the park, rarely looking up from her feet. I watch her for a few moments before pulling my phone from my pocket.

That tattoo looks so damn familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on where I’ve seen it before. The all-too-familiar heavy sense of dread settles in the pit of my stomach again before I lock the screen and stand from the table, brushing off the back of my pants.

An hour later, I’ve gotten nowhere on figuring out what the symbols actually mean, but I’ve done enough research to know they’re Nordic symbols of some kind. Hopefully that helps narrow down who it belongs to. I send the picture over to Jade with no explanation and start on some edits again in the meantime.

Chapter Ten