behind it. She gasped. Bled dry and snagged on a piece of driftwood, April’s sightless eyes stared into the camera. Her hair, still half submerged in the river, flowed away from her with the current, still trying to escape the horror her body had succumbed to.
Those eyes. They could have been her own. The water had turned April’s copper hair darker and straightened out the curls. Hero ran her fingers through her own wet, straight, auburn locks.
Behind that unsettling picture, she found others, other women, some mug shots, one high school picture, and a few that looked like they’d been taken by friends or family.
Hero’s chest tightened as she rifled through them, not stopping on any particular one, but searching each pair of eyes for any signs of life. For redemption.
The folder ripped from her grasp and she jumped. “Hey!”
“Don’t.” Luca leaned and snatched April’s picture from her other hand. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
“Those were the other victims.” Hero knew they were. She’d seen some of those very pictures on the news before she’d been attacked. She studiously avoided the news now. Even NPR. “Where are their reports? Why isn’t anything else with them in this file?”
“I don’t need their reports.” Luca’s hand tightened on the manila folder.
“Why?” Hero demanded. “Because they’re dead? Or because they were whores?”
Luca’s features hardened.
Where would her report be if she hadn’t survived? Would she be tucked into a gruesome folder and shoved aside? She abruptly wondered which living picture of her would have made it into the discarded file that sat as far away from his body as possible. She’d never been arrested. And maybe it wouldn’t have even mattered. “Don’t you even look in there? Don’t those women still matter?”
Luca stared at her for a full minute, then ripped open the file and held up April Jensen’s mug shot. “ This is April Jensen. Her birthday is April seventeenth. She was thirty-six years old when she died, but she was still telling everyone she was thirty. She lived in an apartment off Rosemont Street. Parents’ names are Frank and LaVerna Jensen. Their birthdays are October fifth and January second. They live in a farmhouse south of Bend where Frank keeps a bunker full of illegal weapons, food, and Ku Klux Klan robes. He was on the suspect list until he had an alibi for the murders of Jessi Scott and Amber Wilcox. After a secretly rebellious teen life, April ran off with a black man, Antony Hines, who became her pimp. His DOB is August Eleventh and he lives in Vancouver. He isn’t John the Baptist, but I did enjoy putting him in jail for a while. April worked the streets for almost two decades and had a bad addiction to pain pills and to the men who would supply them to her. When she was a child, she wanted to be a veterinarian. She still collected horse figurines.”
He stuffed her picture back into the file and grabbed the high school photo. Gritting his teeth, he thrust it in front of her. “ This is Janelle Kennedy. She was born June fifteenth. She was proud of being a Gemini and had the sign tattooed on her lower back. Her mother died and her father was a stock trader for a bailout bank. His DOB is July twenty-seventh. He lost everything her senior year in prep school so she auctioned her virginity online for a few thousand dollars. In two years she made almost a hundred thousand dollars prostituting herself online and was a freshman at University of Portland studying economics. She wanted to transfer to OSU. She essentially lived down the street from me. Her father had no idea what she did and he now works for a tech support call center in—”
“Okay!” Hero held up a hand. “All right,” she said more softly. “I’m sorry. It’s just been… a really long day.”
Luca shocked the hell out of her by gently taking her wrist in his large hand. His skin was cool and dry against her flesh which still threw off
Those eyes. They could have been her own. The water had turned April’s copper hair darker and straightened out the curls. Hero ran her fingers through her own wet, straight, auburn locks.
Behind that unsettling picture, she found others, other women, some mug shots, one high school picture, and a few that looked like they’d been taken by friends or family.
Hero’s chest tightened as she rifled through them, not stopping on any particular one, but searching each pair of eyes for any signs of life. For redemption.
The folder ripped from her grasp and she jumped. “Hey!”
“Don’t.” Luca leaned and snatched April’s picture from her other hand. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
“Those were the other victims.” Hero knew they were. She’d seen some of those very pictures on the news before she’d been attacked. She studiously avoided the news now. Even NPR. “Where are their reports? Why isn’t anything else with them in this file?”
“I don’t need their reports.” Luca’s hand tightened on the manila folder.
“Why?” Hero demanded. “Because they’re dead? Or because they were whores?”
Luca’s features hardened.
Where would her report be if she hadn’t survived? Would she be tucked into a gruesome folder and shoved aside? She abruptly wondered which living picture of her would have made it into the discarded file that sat as far away from his body as possible. She’d never been arrested. And maybe it wouldn’t have even mattered. “Don’t you even look in there? Don’t those women still matter?”
Luca stared at her for a full minute, then ripped open the file and held up April Jensen’s mug shot. “ This is April Jensen. Her birthday is April seventeenth. She was thirty-six years old when she died, but she was still telling everyone she was thirty. She lived in an apartment off Rosemont Street. Parents’ names are Frank and LaVerna Jensen. Their birthdays are October fifth and January second. They live in a farmhouse south of Bend where Frank keeps a bunker full of illegal weapons, food, and Ku Klux Klan robes. He was on the suspect list until he had an alibi for the murders of Jessi Scott and Amber Wilcox. After a secretly rebellious teen life, April ran off with a black man, Antony Hines, who became her pimp. His DOB is August Eleventh and he lives in Vancouver. He isn’t John the Baptist, but I did enjoy putting him in jail for a while. April worked the streets for almost two decades and had a bad addiction to pain pills and to the men who would supply them to her. When she was a child, she wanted to be a veterinarian. She still collected horse figurines.”
He stuffed her picture back into the file and grabbed the high school photo. Gritting his teeth, he thrust it in front of her. “ This is Janelle Kennedy. She was born June fifteenth. She was proud of being a Gemini and had the sign tattooed on her lower back. Her mother died and her father was a stock trader for a bailout bank. His DOB is July twenty-seventh. He lost everything her senior year in prep school so she auctioned her virginity online for a few thousand dollars. In two years she made almost a hundred thousand dollars prostituting herself online and was a freshman at University of Portland studying economics. She wanted to transfer to OSU. She essentially lived down the street from me. Her father had no idea what she did and he now works for a tech support call center in—”
“Okay!” Hero held up a hand. “All right,” she said more softly. “I’m sorry. It’s just been… a really long day.”
Luca shocked the hell out of her by gently taking her wrist in his large hand. His skin was cool and dry against her flesh which still threw off
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