Page 67

“Do you know where she’s now?” I asked. “Have you ever seen her after she left the orphanage?”

His eyes narrowed. “Patricia?”

“Yes. Patricia.”

That was her name. Patricia.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you remember anything about her?” I asked.

Kurt scrunched up his face, thinking hard, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. “She—she cried a lot. A lot. When Tany died.” He sniffed. “She cried so much. Her heart hurt real bad.”

I waited for him to go on.

“And she—she was always there. Always around you and Tany.” His eyes darted up to mine before he looked down again. “Patricia loves Yara,” he said, his voice quieter, like he was repeating something he’d heard before. “The other girls, they laughed at her. She’s angry because they laugh at her.”

He frowned, gripping his hands together. “They call her a sinner.” A crease formed between his brows. “Like a puppy. She follows you like a puppy, the girls say.”

He paused, rocking slightly where he sat.

“Does she? What else do the girls say?”

“Creep. They call her a creep. They’re bad.”

“They are,” I agreed. “Do you know where she is now?” I pressed again.

“Dunno,” he mumbled, looking away. I frowned.

“I just want to tell her I…”

“Dunno.” He shook his head and stood up. “Tany’s alone. I’m staying here for Tany.”

“Thank you for staying, Kurt.”

He walked away.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what Kurt said.

Like a puppy. She follows you like a puppy.

I was so lost in my own anger, in my rage, that I hadn’t looked at anyone or anything. The other girls must have laughed at her, taunted her for liking me?

I walked into my office and grabbed the evidence bag. I had kept it aside for a while, but I had to know more.

I walked toward the forensic lab, my steps heavy.

I pressed a hand against the cool glass door, my fingers curling slightly as I waited for Amy’s familiar face. The face peering back at me wasn’t hers. Of course, it wasn’t.

“Doctor West,” Jack greeted as he opened the door for me, stepping aside. “Need something?”

I paused just long enough for the silence to feel like it meant something. Then I stepped in, holding out the folded slip of paper.

“I need help testing this.”

He took it with a quiet rustle, unfolding the creased edges. His gaze dropped to the scripture printed in jagged ink.

“Is this from the Strangler’s victim?”