The Monster and the Magpie: A dark and engrossing thriller perfect for fans of Killing Eve by Brianna Fenty

Author:Brianna Fenty [Fenty, Brianna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books
Published: 2023-04-23T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EIGHTEEN HOURS

Seated alone in the interrogation room, Hope traced the spine of stitches forcing her lacerations into sideways smirks. She peeled off the dressings.

Oliver had forced her into the ER to get her patched before heading to the station. It was there on the stiff hospital bed, after the doctor had finished sewing the first wound shut, that Hope noticed the cuts were curved. They were blueprinted for maximum pain in every movement: prone to tearing and difficult to scab.

Hope’s handcuffs were hidden, at the time, under a moss-green hospital gown. The doctor had clucked in sympathy. He’d said, “Whoever did this to you is a real sick bastard, miss.”

She’d made eye contact with Oliver, and he’d looked away.

Across the hours spent wasting away in the interrogation room, Hope eventually graduated from listing in the chair, to pacing its length, to lying on the table and watching her reflection in the two-way mirror, wondering if Oliver watched back. The diffidence Hanna’s departure left behind had warmed, defrosting under a space heater of agitation. Hope’s brazen self was resurfacing and eager for a verbal spar, for something, anything, another face or body to occupy the space. Anything would be better than wallowing in her own thoughts.

She sprawled, whistling a commercial jingle that’d once advertised a rival coffee shop in Aberdeen. She’d suffered it over her years fixing lattes at the Bethesda Bean, unable to mute the corner TV because the remote had gone missing in action long before she’d been hired.

She whistled the tune, not a care in the world. Not on the outside, anyway. Never on the outside.

Not until this morning. Oliver already had the upper hand with all the evidence for Hanna’s assault and kidnapping lighting an airstrip in Hope’s direction. Now he was invincible. He’d seen the feeble core she usually donned claws and shamelessness to hide.

When he at last decided to grace her with his presence, this morning’s gentleness was so far gone it might as well have never existed.

“Get off the table,” he said.

“But I was just getting cozy.”

“Now.”

Hope sucked her teeth. She shook off the blanket, smoothed her skirt, and settled in the chair. A manila folder took her place on the tabletop.

“The medical examiner says those aren’t defensive wounds.”

“That’s cus nobody was defending anything.”

“Nor do they appear self-inflicted.”

“Your medical examiner’s degree doesn’t qualify ’em for much else than shoveling elephant shit at the circus. How good could they possibly be?”

“Excellent, in fact,” Oliver said, tapping a finger on a fat casefile. “We’ve had to call in a specialist from Denmark because of your antics over the past eighteen hours.”

“Well, would you look at that.” Hope’s voice dripped mock appreciation. “Detective Such-and-Such, back on the case, just like that.”

“Just like that.”

“What happened to the strapping fireman who carried me down the stairs this morning, swaddled in a blanket brought just for me?”

“On leave.”

“I didn’t know firemen got vacation time.”

“Well, Miss Rippa—” the transition from casual first to formal last name stung “—you seem to

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