Todd Ritter - Death Notice

“I hate it,” Nick said. “But you can thank The Philadelphia Inquirer for it.”

“Why do they call him that?”

“Because like Betsy, he’s good with a needle and thread. His victims had their wounds sewn shut postmortem. Then they were dumped in a public place.”

“How many victims are we talking about?”

“Three so far. The first was found in a park in Philadelphia last year. Another washed up on the shore of Lake Erie nine months ago. The third was found up north in November at World’s End State Park.”

“And you and your task force have been leading the investigation?”

“We have. Three murders. All across the state. And now it might be four.”

It was obvious what Nick was implying, and the thought of it made Kat’s spine stiffen.

“This Betsy Ross Killer—you think he’s the one who murdered George?”

“Perhaps.”

A strong, primal fear pinned Kat to her seat. A murder taking place in Perry Hollow was bad enough. But knowing it could be the work of a serial killer made it all the more horrible. What if he was still in her town? Or worse, what if he lived there, blending in with everyone else?

“Will you be able to confirm that?”

“I hope so,” Nick said. “I need to examine the body. See if there’s a similarity in the stitches and the wounds. Maybe my guys will be able to pick up something from the evidence. So far, Betsy Ross hasn’t left a lot of it behind.”

“And what can I do?”

“Just sit tight,” Nick told her. “If we find something, you’ll be the first to hear about it.”

Even as fear held her in place, Kat felt a new emotion tugging her body. It was the urge to protect, and it was stronger than fright.

“That’s not good enough,” she said. “I have to do more than sit tight.”

Perry Hollow was her town. It was where she grew up. It was the town her father swore to protect and serve decades before Kat swore to do the same thing. And while she appreciated all the help she could get, she wasn’t going to just stand by and hope others caught a killer for her.

“I understand your position,” Nick said in a voice that veered perilously close to patronizing. “But you need to let us do what we’re trained to do.”

“This isn’t a turf fight,” Kat said. “Or some jurisdiction bullshit in which I can’t get along with outside cops. Men care about that stuff. Women don’t. We just want to get the job done.”

She watched as Nick considered her policemen are from Mars, policewomen are from Venus argument. Eventually, he asked, “What did you have in mind?”

“George Winnick’s wife, Alma, reported him missing this morning, at about the same time I found his body. Now, I know that when a married person is murdered, the spouse is automatically the main suspect. But Alma didn’t do this. She’s just not physically capable. But she might have heard something or seen something. And I’m the best person to talk to her. She’s old-school. She won’t trust you or someone from your team.”

The man sitting next to Kat clasped his hands together, extended his index fingers, and placed them against his lips. Then he nodded.

“I like the way you think, Chief,” he said.

Kat nodded back. She was still frightened. And still exhausted. But she was also pleased with herself. Because for the first time since meeting him, she had finally impressed Nick Donnelly.

When Kat entered the police station a half hour later, Louella van Sickle was waiting for her. Lou, who had been the department’s dispatcher since before Kat’s father was chief, was a grandmother of twelve and looked after Kat like she was one of her own.

“I got you lunch,” she said, holding up a burger and fries from the Perry Hollow Diner. “You need to eat something.”

Kat should have been starving. Other than her lone sip of coffee, she had consumed nothing all day. But eyeing the burger and fries, she knew she wouldn’t be able to eat a thing. Seeing George Winnick’s corpse hours earlier and then hearing about the Betsy Ross Killer’s crimes left her stomach feeling nothing but queasy.

“I’m not hungry.”

Lou gave her a disapproving look. “The crime scene diet never works.”

“This is the overwhelmed single mother diet,” Kat said. “I heard it works really well.”

“Speaking of that,” Lou said, biting into one of the rejected fries, “do you need me to pick James up from school?”

Kat, who had been steadily working her way to her office, froze in the hallway.

“What time is it?”

“Two thirty.”

School let out at three, and no matter how hectic her day was, she made it a priority to be waiting at the curb when class was dismissed. It was her sole routine. If she didn’t show up, it would throw her son’s whole day out of whack.

“I’ll get him,” she said. “But it would be a huge help if you could call Mrs. Lefferts and see if Amber is able to watch James after school.”

Lou cocked an eyebrow. “Amber Lefferts is still your babysitter?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Kat said. “Trust me, I’ve thought it myself.”

“At least you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Kat reversed direction and headed back the way she came. As she neared the front door, she asked, “Is there anything else before I go?”

Lou’s expression—a combination of knowledge and regret—told her there was.

“Someone from the Gazette is here,” she announced. “I put him in the break room. He’s been waiting for almost two hours. Says he needs to talk to you about George Winnick.”

Kat sighed. “If it’s Martin Swan, tell him I don’t have time to make a statement. I’ll give him something as soon as I get a chance.”

“It’s not Martin, Chief. It’s Henry Goll. The obituary writer.”

The name sounded familiar to Kat, although she couldn’t come up with a face to match it, which bothered her. Perry Hollow was a small town, and although she didn’t personally know all of its residents, she at least had an idea of what most of them looked like.

“He said it was important,” Lou added.

Kat switched directions again and marched into the break room. Seeing her, Henry Goll stood rigidly, arms folded across his sizable chest.

“Henry? I’m Chief Campbell.”

The reason Kat couldn’t match Henry Goll’s name with a face was because she had never laid eyes on him before. She would have remembered it if she had. He was tall—over six feet—and powerfully built. When he stepped toward her, his muscles moved smoothly beneath his khaki pants and black polo shirt.

His facial features were strong, too—square chin, Mediterranean nose, a thick head of black hair. He could have been a real looker, Kat thought, it if wasn’t for the massive scar that sliced diagonally across the lower half of his face. The upper part was also marred, dominated by a large burn mark covering his left temple and most of his forehead. His skin was pale—startlingly so—making the defects stand out all the more.

Kat extended a hand. When Henry shook it, she willed herself to look him directly in the eye and act as if everything about him was normal. Because of James, she understood the importance of treating someone different just like everyone else.

She smiled when she spoke. “I hear you have something that might interest me.”

Henry didn’t smile back. “Is there someplace private we can talk?”

Kat glanced at her watch and saw that she had five minutes. She needed to keep the conversation short, but Henry Goll appeared to be in no rush.

“I apologize,” she said, “but I need to run out for a little bit. Family matter. Could this wait until later?”

Henry pulled a creased sheet of paper from his pocket and thrust it into her hand. Kat scanned the page, seeing George Winnick’s name and little else.