The Widower's Secret: A Sophie Quinn FBI Mystery Thriller - Book 3 by Georgia Wagner

Author:Georgia Wagner [Wagner, Georgia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

“The neighbors said the smoke alarm was going off,” Greer explained, handing Sophie a cup of coffee that still retained most of its original heat. “No one answered the door, so they called the fire department. They realized after they called that it was unlocked.”

A flash lit up the small apartment as the crime scene technician took another photograph. Another splash of unforgiving light on the figure seated at a licorice black card table, plastic plates cramped around stuffed potatoes, peppered asparagus, and a roast duck glistening in its own congealed grease.

The sounds of Baton Rouge’s rush hour traffic outside, honking horns and indistinct shouts, felt almost profane against the image of the pretty young woman propped in the chair in front of her. Her luscious, raven hair fell back nearly to the floor, so dark that it hid the stain of the blood from her slit throat.

“God, she looks like a kid,” Sophie murmured.

“Eden Garza, nineteen,” Greer replied. “She shares the apartment with her boyfriend, Marcus Baker. He’s still missing.”

“Just like the others were,” Sophie said.

“Just like the others,” Greer confirmed solemnly.

Sophie took in the scene as best she could. The local police had a detective and two support officers on scene. They had kicked out the local crime scene tech when the FBI’s technician arrived. And now that Sophie and Greer were here, that was six people sharing a space that was tight for even two.

Seven, Sophie thought, correcting herself as she examined Eden Garza’s arms.

“We have bruising,” she said. “She was tied up like the others. Looks more severe, though.” Sophie chewed her lip a moment, looking down to a wine stain on the carpet beside her, a toppled drinking glass upended over it. “She may have been attacked more quickly. Tied up before the drugs took effect.”

“Or she didn’t drink it at all,” Greer offered. “If she was struggling that badly.”

It was a thought, a potential difference. With serial killers, the ritual was so important, though. Was the drugged wine just a tool? Or was it significant to the killer’s obsession?

This close to the kitchen, Sophie could smell the acrid, burnt toast scent coming from the open oven. “Was that still on when the fire department arrived?” she asked Greer.

He nodded. “They think that’s what set off the smoke alarm. Whoever last used it, must have forgotten to turn it off when they left. We’re checking it for prints, but if it’s like the last two scenes, the killer was likely wearing gloves.”

Turning to face the living room, Sophie finally took a drink of the coffee Greer had given her. One cream, no sweetener. Perfect. Had he remembered? Sophie glanced at her partner. He looked as exhausted as she felt, his face a stubbled piece of marble as he sipped his own coffee.

“Thanks,” Sophie said, raising her cup to Greer.

He shook his chin subtly, his steel blue eyes not straying from the scene around them. “Don’t mention it.”

His body language was stiff. Reserved. Sophie remembered

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