Final Kill (IKK Crime Series Book 3) by S. T. Ashman

Author:S. T. Ashman [Ashman, S. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-10-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter

TWENTY-TWO

Liam

The rapid-fire clicks of camera shutters echoed around the cramped, run-down bedroom. Cowboy stood beside me, chewing gum obnoxiously loud. The two-bedroom apartment in Dorchester looked like a bomb had gone off inside it. Clothes and dirty laundry were strewn across the floor like discarded memories.

In the center of the room, a large mahogany-framed bed dominated the space. On it, a woman lay motionless, her faded T-shirt and sweatpants soaked in blood. Her eyes, wide open, stared into nothing.

Next to her, slumped against the bed frame, was a man. A bullet hole gaped in his skull, a gun still loosely hanging from his limp hand. His head drooped forward like that of a rag doll, his chin resting on his chest.

I knelt beside the woman, my gloved fingers just inches from her vacant blue eyes. The sour stench of blood and sweat clung to the air, thick and oppressive. I leaned closer, meeting her empty gaze. “You get a shot of her face yet?” I asked.

A forensic tech, wrapped in a white coverall and booties, snapped his camera once more and nodded. “Got it.”

With a slow, deliberate movement, I closed her eyes. The finality of it settled in the room like a weight. For a moment, she almost looked peaceful—if one ignored the exit wound on the side of her head, where the bullet had torn through her skull.

I stood, my gaze shifting to the man on the floor. He wore boxers and a wife-beater. The blood-soaked fabric clung to his skin.

Taking a deep breath, I glanced at Cowboy. His jaw worked the gum as if he were a cow chewing cud. Rose was tied up in a meeting. That left the two of us to represent the FBI here.

“Lie to me,” I muttered, already knowing this wasn’t going to be clean.

Cowboy cracked his neck, gum still popping between his teeth.

“Just tell me it’s not the Night Stalker,” I clarified.

Cowboy shrugged. “All right, it’s not the Night Stalker.”

I sighed, my frustration mounting. If Leah found out about this…

“Fuck,” I muttered, placing my hands on my hips.

“Thirty-six-year-old Caucasian female,” Cowboy read from his notepad. “Regina King. Worked the register at a local grocery store. Around one a.m., an unidentified white male in his thirties—”

“Cowboy, I know damn well it’s the fucking Night Stalker.”

“Oh. Right. Okay. So around one a.m., a not unidentified white male called Terry Patterson, AKA the Night Stalker, entered with a key and argued with the victim. Neighbors didn’t call it in ‘cause apparently arguing wasn’t out of the ordinary for those two.”

“Did anyone hear the gunshots?”

“Nope. Probably ‘cause he didn’t shoot her until morning. Jackhammers and trucks from the construction site outside drowned out any noise.”

I’d noticed that on the way in. It was loud as hell.

“Still waiting on some tests,” Cowboy continued, “but looks like he shot her around ten a.m., then turned the gun on himself.”

Suddenly, Rose burst into the room, her strides quick, her gaze sharp as it landed on the Night Stalker’s body. She caught her breath.

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