The Butcher and the Wren(51)



He walks again, floating through the rooms in this house and taking snapshots to commit to his memory. He will use these memories to tether him to who he is. He doesn’t have plans to die today. He finds himself back in the living room, where the evidence of his anger still remains. He doesn’t clean it up, preferring to leave it there as a message and a threat. He hopes they wonder whose blood this is, even just for a moment. He hopes the crunch of shattered glass disrupts their neatly planned raid.

Reaching into his pocket, he fingers the ring once more. His gaze shifts to the coffee table in the center of the room. Its position is center stage, and he places the ring on its surface in a spot that’s impossible to miss. It’s stationed alone on the surface like a single boat lost as sea. He smiles, stepping back to see the effect for himself.

Welcome back, Emily.





CHAPTER 34





WREN SITS IN THE BACK of the room now. The police station is a chaotic scene, with officers being given orders in every direction. Leroux and Will entered the building thirty minutes earlier with a search and arrest warrant in hand. They got a positive identification from their previous witness and the bartender who served Tara her drinks.

“All right, does everyone know what they should be doing and where they should be?” the lieutenant booms over the circus around them.

Leroux sits in the chair next to Wren, leaning forward with his arms resting on his thighs.

“You got your kit?” he asks abruptly.

As if shaken from a deep sleep, she jumps.

“Yeah. Yeah, I have my kit in the car. Why?”

“Because you’re coming with me. If there are bodies to process, we can call in more techs with the vans, but I want you in our car.” Before she can protest, he shakes his head. “I promised Richard I wouldn’t take your shit. This is nonnegotiable.”

“Can’t argue with that!” she says, putting her hands up in surrender.

Leroux stands, extending a hand to help her up as well.

“That’s the attitude I want you to have even after all this is over.”

She pushes him with whatever strength she has left, and he feigns a stumble.

“Don’t count on it, John.”

The back seat of the car is not Wren’s favorite place to be. It’s always led to almost instantaneous motion sickness since she was a child. Today is no different.

“I can’t tell if I want to throw up because of your driving or because we are about to ambush the guy who tried to hunt me in his backyard,” she says as she opens the window. She rolls her eyes, letting the breeze calm her stomach a bit. “You guys can laugh. Please laugh.”

Leroux and Will both release a chuckle.

“Jesus, I never saw this being my job,” Will says, wiping his eye.

Leroux looks confused. “No? You never saw yourself catching a prolific serial killer? Isn’t that kind of the point?”

“Well, yeah, of course. But it’s never been quite this dramatic, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. This whole thing has been very True Detective.”

Wren chuckles now.

“You think I went into the death industry for this kind of drama? I mean, yeah, I’m a cliché for spending my life speaking for the victims of brutal killers after almost becoming one myself,” Wren jokes, and rubs her hand across her face. “But I chose the morgue for a reason. It’s quiet and controlled.”

They sit together in comfortable silence, riding along the isolated back roads of Jefferson Parish, heading toward the Montz area. Leroux was able to find the address of the Rose property easily enough, and now they’re on their way to it. The home sits on a large swath of land outside of the well-trodden paths frequented by outdoor adventurers year-round. As the tree line becomes thicker and the roads bumpier, she can tell they are approaching their destination. She can feel the sickness rise again in her throat as she grips her medical bag and rubs her rings with her thumbs.

When they pull into the long, winding driveway leading up to 35 Evangeline Road, the air seems to thicken. All three of them silently take in the isolated surroundings, following the two other police vehicles ahead of them. Without warning, the home comes into view. It’s like a shot of adrenaline to the chest. Wren’s heart beats fast and hard. Her breaths become quick and shallow, and her face heats up. A panic attack is nearing, but she manages to use the breathing techniques she learned from therapy sessions long past to slow it down. She takes in the air through her nose and slowly releases it through her mouth.

The home has been taken care of as well as it could be in the middle of swampland. It’s old, but the yard is well maintained and clean, with a new-looking Nissan Altima parked in the driveway. A stretch of bayou and cypress trees sprays out from the back of the property as far as the eye can see. Docks and boardwalks sparsely dot the landscape, but most of it is untouched and natural. It’s both beautiful and horrifying, the perfect hunting ground for a monster.

Leroux turns his body to face her in the back seat, a look of concern across his face.

“We’ve got a lot of bayou to cover. You still okay, Muller?” he asks.

She nods, knowing she doesn’t look okay, and confirms, “I’m fine.”

He waits for a second to look for hesitation in her face.

“Okay, we’re going to have a team go in and clear the place first. If he’s in there, they will detain him. They’re going to make sure we don’t walk into any kind of ambush, especially with you,” Leroux briefs and takes in a sharp breath. “We aren’t letting you out of our sight.”

Alaina Urquhart's Books