This was Amanda’s parents’ place, and all those vehicles had to belong to her siblings.
Her siblings…
Anger knotted in his chest, and he clenched his hands into fists on top of the steering wheel. She had a real, functioning family who did dinners together on Sunday. Idyllic. Fictional—in his experience.
He found himself hating the detective even more. He wanted to strip everything from her, let her know true pain when he killed every one of her siblings and her parents.
But he calmed as he remembered that Amanda didn’t have a perfect life, the perfect family. She’d lost her husband and daughter, and her mother was a killer, just like him.
He felt a little warmth shoot through him. Amanda should understand him. The instinct to kill probably flowed through her veins, just like the woman who had given birth to her. And yet she wasn’t on his team as he’d first thought. She was working against him to shut down his stories from getting out. She’d turned that newswoman away. He really couldn’t forgive her for that.
She had to know that she was making herself an enemy. The severed tongue—how could he have been any clearer that he wanted no more interference? Had he messed up somehow, sent another message entirely? Or was the detective not as good as she was portrayed in the newspaper back in January? Another option, and this one sent rage through him, was that the detective had purposely done her part to ignore him and deny him satisfaction.
That possibility was worse than all else. She had seen him but chose to disregard him and assign him little value and importance.
What more could he do to make it evident that he was serious and that it was his time to be glorified? He deserved to be seen for what he was—someone who made a positive contribution to this world.
He was no longer that child doing whatever he could think of to make his parents pay attention to him. He’d found his path through his pain, and now he had his life mapped out. He knew what to do to make a difference in this world. And he was doing it.
The detective obviously didn’t understand that, but she would. He would see to it.
Forty-Two
Amanda had eaten two pieces of cake before leaving her parents and hugging everyone goodbye. Kyle hugged her, but he had clearly done so because he’d caved under the pressure of everyone watching. He had whispered into her ear, “Mom may have forgiven you, but I haven’t.”
It had taken all her willpower not to cry then and there, but she made it to her car. She let the tears fall as she drove from her parents’ to Central. Best she get the tears out of the way before she met up with Trent at seven thirty—something they’d arranged before they took a break for dinner.
Her phone rang, and Jacob Briggs popped up on the vehicle’s onboard display. She answered immediately. “Tell me you have good news.”
“Interesting way of answering your phone.”
“I could just use some good
news right about now.”
There was silence on the other end.
“You’re not calling with any,” she surmised.
“You’d be right about that. Sorry.”
“Nope. You would have done all you could.” She had every confidence if there was a way to track the blocked number that had called Fraser Reyes, Jacob would have found it.
“I did. Wish it met with better results.”
“Makes two of us. Thanks, though.”
“You’re welcome.” Jacob ended the call.
She pulled into Central, and a message from Trent came in. She parked and read it.
Be there in about thirty minutes. Sorry.
Okay. she sent back and pocketed her phone. The time in the top left-hand corner of her phone told her it was seven thirty now.
She went to her desk and found a handwritten scribble on a sticky note that the canvassing officers’ interviews from that day were already in the system, available to read.
“Good to know,” she said to herself as she sat at her desk. If talking to oneself was the first sign of insanity, she was in trouble.