Silent Mayhem: The Mayhem Series: #3 by Sue Coletta

Author:Sue Coletta [Coletta, Sue]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
Published: 2019-04-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Monday

6:45 p.m.

I was not a fan of Mondays, but I only had fifteen minutes till the end of my shift. After examining crime scene photos of Amanda Orme—her head found on one part of Revere Beach, her body on another—I searched social media for clues.

Why would the killer tattoo double-sevens on the body?

Levaughn also theorized two killers might be working in tandem, one in Massachusetts, one in New Hampshire, but the more I dug, the less convinced I became. Lieutenant Holt continued to cut several rolls of red tape. Without the two states sharing information, the killer, or killers, could walk.

That I couldn't allow. As it was, I could barely lay my head down at night after making a deal with the devil aka Mr. Mayhem. No way would another serial killer escape justice on my watch.

The complex MO—the number seven tattooed on the victim's chest, an inverted seven tattooed right below the hipline—indicated one killer to me. But if there were, in fact, two, they must have a way to communicate. Stalking social media seemed like the easiest way to prove it, but without a positive ID on the latest victim, my job turned grueling and repetitive. There's only so many political rants, video life stories, and garden photos I could take.

Before the end of my shift, my fingers tapped the keys one last time.

If Amanda Orme's Facebook posts were any indication, she seemed a little twisted in the head. Lots of murder memes. Casual jokes about serial killers. I mean, c’mon! The chick’s favorite holiday was Halloween for chrissakes. Unless it was all an act. Hard to tell these days.

Fifteen minutes later, I logged off and bustled past the desk sergeant and out the main entrance.

Halfway to my jeep, a crow swooped out of a nearby tree, and I ducked. The gold band on his ankle indicated he was Mayhem’s pal, Poe. I was about to tell him to beat it when the back of my tongue swelled. Gasping for air, I latched a hand around my throat. Poe flew closer, encircling my head as if waiting for me to pass out. Or worse, suffocate to death.

I stumbled toward my jeep.

Long gouges scratched the paint while I missed the hole for the key about a million times. In the window, my reflection stared back at me. I stuck out my tongue—the back near my tonsils was as black as the eagle feathers Mayhem left for me. Poe squawked, carried on and on, his caws burrowing deep into my bones. I couldn’t tell if my suffering excited him or if he feared for my safety. Probably the former.

One thing was for sure. He knew something I didn’t.

I managed to open the driver’s door and collapse inside. Poe landed on the hood. As he stormed closer to the windshield, he cocked his head, as if taking mental snapshots of my condition to report back to Mayhem. Was he waiting for me to die? Did Mayhem lace the feathers with venom? Maybe that’s why he told me to carry one with me at all times.

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