Where Bodies Lie by D.K. Greene

Author:D.K. Greene
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: without a happy ending, what makes a serial killer, graphic murder details, father son killers, serial killer club, killer pov, fbi serial killer, serial killer pov, fbi behavior analysis, serial killer in america, main character is bad
Publisher: D.K. Greene
Published: 2020-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

Thirty

For several weeks, Peter’s been buying groceries, gift cards and small prizes around town at odd hours. He’s secretly been casing stores, trying to choose the one he’ll use for his test. It was hard to commit to any one supermarket, but he finally decided on a giant twenty-four-hour grocer alongside a quiet suburban highway west of the city. He’s discovered they only stock shelves at night.

Besides the store employees working the night shift, manufacturers also send merchandizing employees in to build product displays and stock their individual shelves in the middle of the night. Peter’s been to this store several nights over the last week, chatting up cashiers and pretending to shop.

Tonight, when he pulls in behind the store, he sees the Alphabet Apes company truck. He parks beside it and climbs up the delivery ramp to let himself in the back of the store.

Peter learned a long time ago, the easiest way to blend in is to act as if you belong. It was something his foster care director told him when he was fifteen, transferred to a Washington home because he’d been rejected out of one too many families in the Oregon system.

“Just pretend you’ve lived there your entire life and the other people are the ones who are new,” she’d told him. “If you act like you’ve got all the answers, no one will know any different.”

He pulls the badge from the print shop out of his pocket and loops the lanyard around his neck. The plastic ID slaps against his chest as he walks. He grabs a clipboard off a stock-room shelf, tucking a sheet of labels under the clip. Following the storage racks, he’s deposited in the bulk foods section at the back of the store. Peter cuts through the barrels of loose pasta and organic rice. He wanders the aisles until he stops in front of a pallet stacked six feet high with unopened cases of cereal.

A fit, youthful man in jeans and a t-shirt opens the cases by hand. He punches the taped seam, causing the box to snap open, then rips its flaps apart. In one fluid motion he spins the case on its head, lifts the cardboard, and exposes twelve fresh boxes of cereal on the pallet. Without looking, he tosses the empty cardboard shell to the side, wraps his arms around the entire stack of cereal at once, and deposits them on the shelf with the practiced precision of a machine.

“Excuse me,” Peter says. The man doesn’t look over his shoulder. He grabs another carton off the pallet, marks it off the list beside him, snaps the tape open with a punch, and proceeds to rip, dump, and shelve the cereal.

Peter takes advantage of the momentary failure in their conversation to compare his badge to the one clipped to the merchandiser’s hip. They’re not the same by a long shot, but he hopes the guy doesn’t look close enough to rouse suspicion. His eyes move from the man’s hip to his ears.

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