A Flicker in the Dark(50)

“No weed for you, then.”

“No,” I say, smiling. “That would have to wait a few years. But I don’t think that’s what Lena was really after, anyway. I think she wanted to get caught. To get his attention.”

“Did it work?”

“No,” I say. “That kind of thing never worked on Cooper. It kind of had the opposite effect, actually. He sat me down that night and talked to me about not doing drugs, the importance of good role models, blah, blah, blah.”

The sun is peeking out now, and almost instantly, the temperature seems to rise a few degrees, the humidity getting thick like churning milk. I feel my cheeks start to burn—I can’t tell if it’s from the sun on my face or from sharing this intimate memory with a stranger. I don’t really know what drove me to tell it.

“So, why did you want to meet me?” Aaron asks, sensing my desire to change the subject. “Why the change of heart?”

“I saw Lacey’s body this morning,” I say. “And the last time we met, you were telling me to trust my instincts.”

“Wait, back up,” he interrupts. “You saw Lacey’s body? How?”

“She was found in the alleyway behind my office. Stashed behind a dumpster.”

“Jesus.”

“They asked me to look at her, try to identify if anything looked different from the last time I saw her. If anything was missing.”

Aaron is quiet, waiting for me to continue. I exhale, turn toward him.

“She was missing a bracelet,” I say. “And back when I was at the cemetery, I came across an earring. An earring that belonged to Aubrey. At first I thought it probably just fell out of her ear when her body was being dragged or something, but then I realized that it was a part of a set. She had a matching necklace, too. I never saw Aubrey’s body, but if she was found without that necklace—”

“You think the killer is taking their jewelry,” Aaron interrupts. “As a kind of prize.”

“That was my dad’s thing,” I say, the admission, even after all these years, still making me nauseated. “They caught him because I found a box of his victim’s jewelry hidden in the back of his closet.”

Aaron’s eyes widen before he looks down at his lap, processing the information I just gave him. I wait a minute before continuing again.

“I know it’s a stretch, but I think it’s at least worth looking into.”

“No, you’re right.” Aaron nods. “It’s a coincidence we can’t ignore. Who would have known about that?”

“Well, my family, obviously. The police. The victims’ parents.”

“Is that it?”

“My dad took a plea deal,” I say. “Not all of the evidence was presented publicly. So yeah, I think so. Unless somehow the word got out.”

“Can you think of anybody on that list that would have a reason to do something like this? Any police officers who got too obsessed with the case, maybe?”

“No.” I shake my head. “No, the cops were all—”

I stop, a realization settling over me. My family. The police.

The victims’ parents.

“There was one man,” I start, slowly. “One of the victims’ parents. Lena’s dad. Bert Rhodes.”

Aaron looks at me, nods for me to continue.

“He … didn’t handle things well.”

“His daughter was murdered. I don’t think most people would.”

“No, this wasn’t normal grief,” I say. “This was something different. This was rage. And even before the murders, there was something about him that was just … off.”

I think back to Lena, jimmying my brother’s locked door. Her involuntary admission, that slip of the tongue. Pretending not to hear when I pressed her for more.

Your parents lock you inside your room?

Aaron nods, blows a steady stream of air through his pursed lips.

“What did you say the other day about copycats?” I ask. “They can either revere or revile?”

“Yeah,” Aaron says. “There are two different categories of copycats, generally speaking. There are people who admire a murderer and want to mimic their crimes as a form of respect, and then there are people who disagree with a murderer in some way—maybe they have an opposing political belief or just think they’re overhyped and want to do it better—so they mirror their crimes as a way to draw attention away from their predecessor and toward themselves. But either way, it’s a game.”

“Well, Bert Rhodes reviled my father. For good reason, but still. It seemed unhealthy. Like an obsession.”

“Okay,” Aaron says at last. “Okay. Thanks for telling me this. Are you going to bring it to the police?”

“No,” I say, probably too quickly. “Not yet, at least.”

“Why, is there more?”

I shake my head, deciding not to mention the other part of my theory—that the person taking these girls is talking to me, specifically. Taunting me. Testing me. Wanting me to the put pieces together. I don’t want Aaron to start to doubt my sanity here, to discount everything I just said if I take it a step too far. I want to do some research of my own first.

“No. I’m just not ready for that yet. It’s too soon.”