Snared (Elemental Assassin #16)(38)

I barked out a short, brittle laugh. “Well, now you have a clean sample, thanks to my spider runes.”

He gave me a grim look. “Yes, I do.”

I curled my hands around the edge of the table, feeling the cold metal dig into the still itching and burning spider rune scars on my own palms. Fletcher had been wrong. Sometimes you just couldn’t brace yourself for the worst. Because I had never expected something like this to happen, not even in Ashland.

“So he kidnaps them, puts makeup on them, and kills them,” I said. “What else does he do to them?”

Ryan shook his head. “Nothing. He doesn’t do anything else to them. At least, not before the end.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t do anything else to them?” I asked. “Surely there has to be more to this than some creep painting women’s faces. He has to take them and make them up for some reason.”

He waved his hand over the photos. “There are no signs of physical abuse. No cuts, no burns, nothing like that. He restrains them, probably with a heavy rope, judging from the bruises around their wrists and ankles, but he doesn’t torture them.” His mouth twisted. “The beatings the women endure are horrific enough all on their own.”

Ryan looked at Bria, and she nodded, telling him to continue.

“If I had to guess, I would say that he ties them down to a chair. But he takes care of them. He feeds and bathes them on a regular basis, judging from my examination of the bodies.”

“So he kidnaps these women and holds them hostage. How long?” I asked. “How long does he keep them?”

“That’s a bit harder to determine. But judging from when some of the women were reported missing and when their bodies were found, the weather and the temperature at the time, and the varying rates of decomposition, I would say that he keeps them for at least four days. Sometimes a week or longer.”

So all of these women had endured at least four horrific days of being tied down, knowing that they would never see their friends and family again, knowing that they were going to be killed sooner or later, whenever the urge struck the monster who’d taken them.

That sort of helplessness was its own kind of cruel, cruel torture.

My gaze dropped to the photos of the dead women again, and for a moment, I could hear each and every one of their frantic cries ringing in my ears, screaming, begging, pleading for their captor to release them. Promising to do whatever he wanted if only he would let them live. If only he would let them go home to their families. A cold shiver crawled down my spine. I shook my head, but I couldn’t get rid of those dark, wailing echoes.

“But why even take them in the first place if he doesn’t actually do anything to them?” I asked. “If he just wanted to kill women, he could do that easily enough. Snatch them off the street, drag them into some dark alley, beat them, and leave their bodies behind. Not keep them prisoner for days on end.”

Ryan raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know why he chooses these women, what they represent to him. My theory is that they remind him of someone close to him, someone he maybe even loved once upon a time. Whatever happened to that woman, and if he killed her too, well, that’s anyone’s guess. But I think that he’s trying to replace this person in his life. And when the women don’t measure up to his standards or don’t act the way he wants them to, that’s when he flies into a rage and kills them.” He hesitated again. “I think that he paints their lips last, right before he starts beating them. Then, of course, the strangulation is the final death act.”

“Why do you think that he paints their lips last?” I asked.

He grimaced. “Because I’ve found traces of lipstick on all of the women, especially in and around the wounds on their faces. Like it transferred from their lips to the fists of the man beating them and back again first thing, before he did anything else to them, before he strangled them.”

That made sense, but there was another question that I needed to ask. “Are you sure that it’s a man?”

Ryan nodded. “Yes. Most serial killers are men, and the size and the pattern of the strangulation marks around the women’s necks also indicate a man. A very strong man, judging from the fractured bones in the victims’ faces.”

“So you think that it’s most likely a giant or a dwarf,” I said, picking up on his train of thought.

“I do. Or perhaps even a vampire who drinks giant or dwarven blood on a regular basis. Whatever else he is, this man is exceptionally strong.”

My gaze moved from one woman’s photo to the next, their faces all cold, still, and frozen in death. Not just strong but smart too—a dangerous, devious kind of smart that had let him kidnap and murder a dozen women, maybe more, without getting caught.

I turned to Bria. “How long have you known about this?”

“About six months,” she answered.

“And why didn’t you tell me about it before now?”

“Because you’ve got enough on your plate dealing with the underworld and everything else. You didn’t need to be worried about a serial killer too.” Bria crossed her arms over her chest and gave me a pointed look. “Besides, I know you, Gin. You would somehow think that it was your fault that this guy was kidnapping and killing women.”

“Isn’t it my fault?” I growled. “He’s doing it in my city. What’s the point of being the big boss if I can’t stop horrible things like this from happening?”