The Nobody Girls (Kendra Dillon Cold Case Thriller Book 3) by Rebecca Rane (e book reader online txt) 📗

mother answered with her typical bad attitude. Like our staff was off or something, and she was slumming, doing normal things, like answering the door. I watched her, still can see her standing there. They said a woman was found, dead, murdered, in a bag, along I-75. Some farm field, I guess. She had a wallet on her, and Linda’s driver’s license was in there. Her back was to me, and the policeman was trying to be calming and talking to her. My mom screamed. She screamed like she gave a damn about Linda. I remember thinking she was such a hypocrite. They were telling her that Linda Kay was dead. And that it was an awful death. It was the moment I went from being a kid to an adult. I hadn’t seen my sister in a year. I knew she was living a dangerous life. But the idea that I’d never see her again, I still can’t get my head around it. I expect to see her, long hair, great earrings, swaying to ‘In My Room.’ Almost every day, I expect to see her.”

“Did they know what happened? Tell you about suspects?”

“My mother’s reaction didn’t leave the door open for more details or rational discussion. She screamed like I said. And the cops eventually left her there, in our foyer, falling to pieces.”

“Did you ever learn more?”

“No, we weren’t called to do anything else that I know of. I only knew that my sister was murdered. It was weird. She hadn’t been in my daily life for a long time. I’d been raising myself since she’d left, but I felt it. I wished so badly that I was with her, that I could have held her hand. Warned her to run or, well, your mind comes up with all sorts of things after the worst happens. Whoever did that to her was a sick monster.”

“Yes. I just want people to know that she was a person, that someone loved her.”

“That’s sweet. Someone did. I did. I loved her very much. It still haunts me that we didn’t know she was dead until the policeman came to the door. I just wonder now, how she would be, as an old lady like me, if she could have gotten clean, or whatever, if we could take trips together or go shopping. That kind of stuff, you know?”

“I do. I have a sister, a little sister. I do know.”

“When will this be on?”

“I’m not sure. I’m just starting to figure this out. A woman’s body was found a few days ago, similar to the circumstances as your sister. Decades-old, and well, I’m just starting on trying to find out more. You really helped.”

“Good, I’m glad. I wish I could tell you more about what might have happened. But I’m not naïve. My sister had a rough existence at the end, I think. I mostly just work to make sure I don’t forget the girl who loved The Beach Boys and this fringe jacket she had. When she made my cockeyed ear holes, she squealed as loud as I did. Can you imagine two girls screaming during an ear-piercing? It was hilarious. There aren’t many memories, and they are getting yellow with time, but I bring them out and roll them around. It helps.”

Wilma smiled; tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. But they did not roll out.

Chapter 10

The eyes, the breathing, the change in the air. These were all palpable things. They had an aura. He could almost see them. He could for sure smell them.

There was usually a frenzy of negotiation too. That was amusing. They were very predictable. Sexual favors? Money?

“Please, don’t hurt me.”

The hurt, that was what he liked to observe. He didn’t want the conversation or the bartering. Willingness to do just about anything had gotten them into this mess, hadn’t it? Had they learned nothing? He could teach them a little before this was over. This lesson would be a tiny bit too late, or a lot too late, depending on how you looked at it.

Sometimes they were loud, sometimes they were quiet. But he had to plan that they’d be loud. And he had to plan for more than one barrier. Number one, they were remote; you could scream like a banshee out here, and likely no one for half a mile or more would hear you.

But that wasn’t enough planning. He was able to silence them other ways, just in case. So nothing was left to chance.

He tried to use their own socks or sometimes their underwear or maybe something in their purses to jam down their throats. It was so effective because struggling to breathe was a full-time occupation. It put screaming for help way down on the priority list.

This one had a stupid stuffed animal in her bag. He used it. Her eyes were wide as she struggled to accept the reality of the situation.

The screaming wasn’t an issue at all. He managed it perfectly.

As expected.

Now, with the noise contained and the focus narrowed, he could enjoy the task at hand.

Slowly inflicting whatever torture came to mind. That was where planning stopped, and his own creativity flourished!

Planning allowed for spontaneity.

He set his timer. It was easy for time to get out of hand. He didn’t want to risk a passerby or, God forbid, sunlight. He liked this part so much he could lie to himself that he had more time.

When the timer went off, it was best he wrap things up, figuratively and literally.

He focused intently on the task here, so he could get back to work, and no one would be the wiser about where he’d been or what he’d been doing.

Unlike this woman, this thing, people actually did care where he was. They would notice if he was missing.

But not her.

No one cared about her. That’s what made her perfect.

Chapter 11

Wilma Kay’s interview was good. It had given them a picture of a Linda Kay. She’d