Chapter 290
Word had it that the Langley Aunt was raising hell, refusing any notion of a settlement. She was out for blood–insisting that I face the full wrath of the law. Fortunately, Eric had a lawyer on speed dial, and since the injuries I inflicted were minor, and my intentions were to protect my child and myself–a mother’s instinct to halt a crime–there was no real dispute.
After Eric posted bail, I was taken into custody.
As I was being escorted out, the female officer looked at me with a mix of surprise and skepticism. “You’re quite the fighter, you know your way around anatomy? Your stabs weren’t fatal, barely reaching the fascia. You showed restraint.”
Truth be told, I was clueless. “Maybe I just don’t have the strength to push deeper?”
She eyed me, unconvinced. After all, I didn’t exactly struggle to wrestle the knife from a grown man’s grip.
I didn’t elaborate. The guy wasn’t seriously hurt, and that was a relief–I hadn’t reached the level of wanting to take a life.
“How is Colin?” I asked Eric urgently as we got into the car.
He nodded. “He’s fine. We’ve got a man on the inside at the mental institution, briefed and ready. If anything comes up, we’ll know immediately.”
I nodded back, my thoughts scattering.
“Let’s take Tangle Lane,” I suggested, a chill running down my spine at the thought of the recent murder there. I was a victim myself, after all.
Who was the person with the red birthmark on their inner arm?
I was certain, in the haze before I nearly died, I saw that arm, the birthmark unmistakable.
In my memory, that arm was frail… pale, definitely not Colin’s.
Dorian was skinny enough, but no birthmark adorned his arm.
I massaged my temples, a fierce headache setting in.
“Ma’am, Tangle Lane’s been cordoned off. We can’t drive through,” Eric said, parking the car near Nocturne’s entrance, explaining the police had sealed off the lane.
Stepping out, I caught a glimpse of Finn talking to a forensic investigator.
Onlookers gathered, their curiosity turning to fear as they scurried away, some even retching at the side, indicating a particularly gruesome scene.
“The killer thought they could cover their tracks by smearing spices on the body to attract stray dogs to the scene?” Finn scoffed. “Why are these strays congregating on Tangle Lane? Who’s feeding them? Find out.”
Finn shifted the focus to the stray dogs.
If the dogs had tampered with the evidence, then they were evidence themselves.
“This victim wasn’t from the orphanage but from the now–defunct mental institution. He was one of the psychiatrists there but left years ago, never treated Caleb, had no ties to him,” Cory reported, sprinting over to Finn.
Finn must have thought there was a conflict with Caleb. But there wasn’t.
@ i = F @ i – E E = 2 <
I stood behind the police tape, watching Finn.
Finn faltered for a moment, but upon seeing me, an understanding flashed in his eyes. “Phoebe Caldwell! Was she ever admitted to the mental institution as a child? Look into any connection between the victim and Phoebe!”
I stared blankly at Finn.
- Me?
A laugh escaped me, but it was hollow, devoid of humor.
My head began to throb as if it would explode, haunted by a sinister echo I couldn’t shake.
“You love your dog, don’t you?”
“Such an obedient little thing…”
“Dare to bite me? I’ll kill it!”
The screams, the barking…
Suddenly, a stray dog brushed past me, jolting me back to reality. When I refocused, Finn was standing before me, his gaze laden with scrutiny.
