Dead of Night by Brandilyn Collins

Author:Brandilyn Collins [Collins, Brandilyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, General, Fiction, Suspense, Christian, Christian Fiction, Women Artists, Mystery Fiction, Large Type Books, Police Artists
ISBN: 9780310251057
Published: 2004-01-01T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

I drove to the morgue feeling worn and off-balance, as though I’d been trapped in some cosmic, existential play.

Hadn’t this same scene happened just a day before? Driving back and forth, back and forth, from the tragedy-smeared town to my own crisis-stained home. My prayers that morning hadn’t seemed to do much for me. I could swear they hit the ceiling and bounced back. I knew that wasn’t true, but still…

I need to trust You, God. That You heard and understood.

Gerri’s words haunted me: “Things can get worse before they get better.” That one sentence slithered through my head, flicking its tongue. I could not ignore it any more than I could ignore a deadly snake in my path.

How can things possibly get worse?

My cell phone rang. I took my eyes off the road just long enough to check the ID. “Hi, Ralph.”

“Morning.” The detective’s voice thickened with weariness. He cleared his throat once, twice. “Sorry.”

Oh, Lord, please help him. Poor Chetterling. Here I was, worrying about myself, while he carried so much responsibility. “I’ll bet you didn’t get any sleep last night. Again.”

“You lose. I caught a couple hours.”

“Chetterling, that is not enough sleep! Do you think you’re some automaton who can just go forever? What good will you be on this investigation if you go under? You have to get some rest.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Thanks, Mom.”

Mom? Okay, fine. I was just trying to take care of the guy a little, when he obviously couldn’t do it himself. What was it about Chetterling, anyway? As much as I cared for him, he had this ability to tick me off at the most unexpected of times.

“Annie, look, I’m sorry I didn’t catch you before you left home. Frankly, I forgot to call. We’ve got a tentative ID on our Jane Doe. We’re checking dental records, so should know pretty soon.”

“Oh.” The news shamed away my petty thoughts. An ID.

What a relief to hear I may not have to create this next drawing. But identification meant more people—family, relatives, friends—stricken with shock and grief. Meant the circle of those affected by the Poison Killer’s heinous crimes grew ever wider.

“Really sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. I’m almost in town, and I’ve got something to pick up at the office anyway. So I’ll just swing by there, maybe hang around town until you hear the news. If it turns out I’m needed at the morgue, I’ll be ready to go.”

“Okay.”

“Ralph, wait. Who is she, do you think?”

He sighed. “Trenise Willoughby. Nineteen years old. She just graduated last year from Foothill High School.”

Foothill High School. The news dropped a rock through my stomach. “That’s where my kids go! Stephen may have known her.”

“Could be. Although she apparently didn’t hang around with the best of crowds.”

How tactful of Chetterling. Stephen didn’t hang around with the best of crowds either, and he knew it.

I hung up the phone, my jitters reinforced. Selfish though it may be to think of my own family’s needs, I hoped Jane Doe turned out to be someone other than Trenise.

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