Nikki was ten minutes early and arrived at Dunin's house almost at the same time as him. The photographer got out of his car and glanced at his smartwatch.
"Am I late? I thought we agreed on seven."
"No, no, everything's fine," she reassured him. "I'm a bit early."
Dunin opened the back door and took a leather bag off the back seat. As they entered the house together, he explained that he had just come from a photo shoot with a Boston crime writer who had been interviewed by a colleague.
"Authors are much easier to photograph than most actors or musicians because they expect you to photograph them so they look at least ten years younger."
Nikki grinned. "I can well imagine."
Dunin placed the bag on the dining room table, opened it, and took out two cameras and more lenses. 'And what can I do for you?'
"Another little image search." She tried not to let him see how uncomfortable she felt about her actions.
"Miriam Labo again?"
"No, it's about a different actress. Jennifer Mcmillan. Do you know her?"
Dunin nodded. "Yes. Well, you can also get to know someone you photograph occasionally. But... has she also disappeared?"
"No, no," Nikki dismissed. 'She's fine.'
Dunin went to his computer, turned it on, and asked, as it booted up, "Is she involved in the case?"
"I'm sorry, but unfortunately, I can't give you any information about that. Ongoing investigations, my hands are tied." Her uneasiness increased by the minute. She would have liked to have broken off the matter and said goodbye to Dunin. What had she come up with about spying on her new friend? What the hell was wrong with her?
"Okay, so Jennifer Mcmillan. Would you like to add another name to the search criteria? Or a specific time?"
"No, a simple search for her will suffice."
A few minutes later, they had the results on the monitor. Nikki was surprised. There were only twenty-two pictures. Compared to the number of results the search for Miriam Labo had yielded, that was surprisingly few.
"That's not very much."
Dunin shrugged. 'Pictures of Mcmillan aren't as popular. Besides, I keep deleting many shots I don't like one hundred percent. I didn't do that with Labo after she disappeared. So every picture can eventually bring in cash.'
"I see," said Nikki. "Can we go through them?"
The pictures were very similar to those she had seen of Miriam Labo. Groups of people, sometimes larger, sometimes smaller, champagne glasses, smile for the camera.
In the penultimate picture, the detective said, "Just a moment, please."
It showed Jennifer standing with Upton and another woman Nikki didn't know.
"Ah, I see," Dunin said. 'So for her, it's also about the connection to Harry Upton.'
Nikki didn't answer, which the photographer apparently took as consent. She should be okay with it.
She looked at the picture more closely, studying Upton's expression first and then Jennifer's, looking for signs that something was happening between them, but she couldn't see anything. But she noticed something else.
"Can you please open the picture of Miriam Labo arguing with her?" She pointed at Jennifer.
"Yeah, sure, no problem. I have the pictures in the cloud. Just a moment."
It took only a minute to get the two pictures on the screen next to each other. Dunin also noticed what Nikki had seen. "They're from the same evening. McMillan is wearing the same dress and the same jewelry. And she has the same hairdo."
"Yes, that's what I wanted to see."
The pictures were undoubtedly taken at the same event. So, was Jennifer's conversation with Upton the reason for her argument with Miriam Labo?
"I find this police work really exciting. And what do you conclude from these two pictures?"
Nikki forced a grin. "Both women were at the same event on the same evening."
Dunin looked at her, irritated, for a moment, then smiled. "All right, I understand. It's none of my business."
Nikki thanked Dunin and, twenty minutes later, got behind the wheel of her car and set off for home.
xxx
The time has come. Everything is perfectly prepared, just as it was with us.
We are both naked. She is sitting on the same chair that you sat on. Again, My stool is only one meter away, so I can see her very closely. Every inch of her. The vessel is similar, too; getting her into the proper position was a little more complicated.
But now everything fits, and the signs are good. She does the same things you did. She even reacts similarly to you. She's almost perfect. Almost, but still, after the last failure...
I'm excited and eager to see what it will be like with her. The last few days were promising. There was promising, seemingly endless foreplay. It was stimulating and exciting, driving towards the redemptive climax. Sweet pain.
Now I'm with her, looking at her body and skin—the special places that have been so important in the last few days. Yes, now it's time. I can't and won't wait any longer.
She raises her head, looks at me, and senses that our big moment is imminent. I can see that in her eyes.
I bend down to her. She tries to jerk her arm back when she recognizes what I am holding. Silly.
It only takes a few seconds to make the first cut.
She groans, and this hoarse, guttural sound sends a wave of excitement through my entire body, so strong that I, too, cannot suppress a voluptuous sigh. She has stained me a little, but that does not bother me. Quite the opposite, it is arousing in a wickedly depraved way to feel her warmth creeping down my leg.
I step back and sink down onto the stool. I watch as the vessel slowly begins to fill. Again, she moans and whispers words that I cannot understand. I bend forward, my ear to her mouth, not taking my eyes off the vessel. How it fills, how the blood flows out of her...
Her words are just a hoarse whisper, still unintelligible. I can't help myself; I have to touch her. My hand finds one of the spots. As my finger enters, her moan becomes a scream right at my ear. I press my legs tightly together for a moment, then relax the muscles again. Yes, I feel I will succeed with her. I see the vessel filling up and push my finger deeper into her. A hot wave runs through my lower belly, concentrating in my lap. She moans, she screams. My free hand seems to have a life of its own as it comes between my legs, grabs hold, and squeezes.
If only you could be here right now.
xxx
Neither Mike nor Thune informed Nikki this time, but Captain Nick Simms himself.
"We have a woman's body. In a forest not far from the New York border. She must have been badly mutilated."
"Shit," his niece exclaimed. "Do we already know who she is?"
"No."
"What about Mike?"
"He was on his way to get coffee and breakfast for the team; he's already on his way to the scene. Forensics and Maggie have also been informed. You should get going, too."
Nikki pursed her lips and turned on her heels without arguing.
She felt a strange tug in her gut as if there was suddenly a vacuum in her stomach. She knew the feeling and knew that it wouldn't last long, but it would be replaced by sober logic.
She had felt it for the first time when she had been an officer dealing with murderous teenagers who called themselves Children of Hell and were apparently led by a girl who hadn't been caught yet.
She focused on the road and the traffic while licking her lips repeatedly. It looked like the case was now coming true to her worst fears. A serial killer. One who either worked off a list or lived out his fantasies about women, whatever they were.
In the first case, they might be dealing with a professional, otherwise definitely with a psychopath.
The new crime scene was at least six miles from where Leila Decker's body was found. Did the places where the perpetrator dropped off his victims have any significance? Or did he choose them based on practical criteria?
When Nikki arrived, two patrol cars and the crime scene technicians were on the scene. She wondered how the forensic investigators always managed to get there before them.
The woman was naked and lying under a tree. Even from a distance, it was clear that she had been just as severely mutilated as Leila Decker.
After she had identified herself and put on gloves, she approached the body carefully, paying close attention to where she put her feet.
She nodded to the officers who were just cordoned off the area with yellow tape and turned to Simpson, who was busy photographing the dead woman from different positions and distances.
"Good morning," the detective mumbled, clenching her teeth as she took a first look at the body.
Simpson lowered the camera for a moment and raised his eyebrows briefly. 'Not so much for her.'
The detective pursed her lips and nodded. "Did you find anything on her? An ID?"
"No, not yet. No clothes, no handbag, nothing."
The woman's face was hidden from their position. Her head was turned to the other side, and hair strands covered her cheek and chin.
Nikki let her eyes wander over the body, which was covered with injuries of different sizes.
This woman's nipples had also been cut out, and the injuries to her pubic area were particularly severe.
On the inside of her right arm, Nikki saw an approximately eight-inch-long, longitudinal wound.
She walked around the body without taking her eyes off it. When she reached a point where she could see the face, she squatted down and carefully brushed aside a strand of hair. "Damn."
The sound of approaching engines made her look up. Mike's unmarked car, followed by her mother's black SUV.
As Mike approached his wife, his gaze remained fixed on the scene of the find. He stopped next to Nikki, took a closer look at the dead woman's face, and said, "I had a feeling it was her. Holy shit."
Nikki nodded slowly. "You could say that."
"What's going on?" Simpson, with the camera, looked questioningly from Mike to Nikki.
"We know who the woman is," she explained. 'She's an actress. Her name is Diana Martiny.'
"Shall we bet on whether Harry Upton knew her?" Mike growled.
Nikki looked at her husband in amazement. "Of course, he knew her. She was Miriam Labo's best friend. And Upton had a long-term relationship with her, as we know."
"Oh, come on, Nikki... you know what I mean." He pointed at the dead woman. 'I bet he had an affair with her, too. Do you want to bet?"
Nikki didn't.
"May I?' Maggie pushed between the two detectives and crouched next to Martiny. Nikki hadn't noticed that her mother had arrived, too.
They took a few steps to the side, where Nikki saw a man standing next to a dark town car, arguing with two officers and gesticulating wildly. She recognized him immediately, too. It was Peter Carducci.
"What's he doing here?" Mike barked, also spotting Carducci at that moment.
"I don't know. First of all, I'd like to know why he's here."
"We'll find out in a moment," he replied grimly and stomped off. Carducci didn't see the two detectives until they almost stood before him.
"Ah, good, you're here. Would you be so kind as to explain to the officers that the press has a right to know exactly what happened here? And that they should let me through?"
Nikki raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. "Firstly, you certainly don't trample possible clues at the scene of a corpse, and secondly, I'd like to know what you're doing here at all?"
Carducci shrugged. "I was on my way to the office when I got a call from there. No idea where the information came from, but someone must be interested in the public being informed."
It was as if, in confirmation, another vehicle approached them at high speed. It broke just before them, the door flew open, and two men jumped out. One of them had a camera in his hands.
Mike turned to the officers, who were both still relatively young. "Nobody comes even a meter closer." He pointed to the young men still busy with the barrier tape. "These two are to support you. If that's not enough, call for another patrol car. And not a word about the dead woman to anyone from the press, is that clear?" The officers nodded.
"Tell me, do you still think Harry Upton could have something to do with this?" Carducci asked.
"We can't give any information about the investigation details," Nikki replied with the standard phrase, whereupon Carducci shook his head. "Just the thought that Harry Upton could be a serial killer --"
"Nobody said anything about a series of murders," Mike snapped. 'Now excuse us, we have work to do.'
With that, he left Carducci standing and went back to the dead woman. Nikki gave the editor-in-chief a last look and followed her husband to Maggie, who examined Martiny's arm.
Her eyes fixed on the wounded arm, her mind racing. She sensed that this information was a clue that could tell them something important, more than the mere fact that the killer had come up with a new modus operandi. But for now, it was just a feeling, nebulous and intangible.