Girl, Deceived, page 4
‘Logan Nash?’ Martin asked.
Ripley realized she was vocalizing her thoughts. The rest of the world weren’t yet familiar with Logan’s name. But now that she had started, there was a part of her that wanted to share, to unload some of the weight she felt about it.
With a hesitant breath, Mia began, ‘Logan Nash is the man responsible for killing my partner’s dad like two decades ago. We were at his arraignment this morning.’
Martin's eyebrows knitted in concern. ‘And this guy’s walking free?’
‘For now,’ Mia said bitterly. ‘Out on bail. There's a possibility he might not even be convicted. His lawyers are good, and his pockets are deep.’
Martin's face darkened, and Mia could see the gears turning in his head. ‘How do you mean? How did this happen?’
Mia looked deep into Martin's eyes, noticing the genuine interest that sparkled in them. The world around her seemed to blur slightly, the restaurant's ambient noise fading away, leaving only the two of them in a private cocoon. It was a sensation she wasn't familiar with, especially not with the few romantic partners that came her way. In her line of work, conversations often became one-sided, her experiences too heavy, her stories too grim for most to digest.
‘My partner sought him out, outside of FBI boundaries.’
‘She went rogue?’
‘Yup. She had to, and I lent her a hand. There was no active case, no evidence that could even build a case. But Ella risked her life to find this guy, got him to confess, but all her hard work was cast to the wind today.’
Martin placed his wine down, then waved his hands, 'Hold on a second. You helped your partner with her rogue investigation?'
Ripley panicked, worried she’d said the wrong thing. ‘Yes, I did. You were an agent. Don’t tell me you didn’t break the rules a few times.’
‘Of course, but what I mean is… if you and her both have intel on this Nash character, surely your combined testimonies have some weight? It’s not like you’re a pair of nobodies. You’re the federal elite.’
Mia leaned back, twirling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. The candlelight cast long shadows on the table. ‘It's not as simple as that,’ she said, her voice soft, edged with weariness. ‘Logan Nash has been operating in the shadows for decades. He's meticulous, almost unnaturally so. The evidence Ella gathered was mostly circumstantial. And without hard evidence, without a solid case, our testimonies alone won't be enough, especially against his army of lawyers.’
Martin leaned forward, his brows furrowing. ‘But you said Ella got him to confess? Surely that counts for something?’
Mia shook her head, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. ‘It was off the record, without proper protocols. And given Nash's influence, he could easily claim it was coerced or even fabricated.’
There was a pause as Martin digested the information. ‘So what's the plan? You can't just let this guy slip through the cracks.’
‘We're not. We're building our case from the ground up, gathering every shred of evidence, every lead, every connection. We won't let him escape justice this time.’
Martin nodded slowly, his blue eyes intense and thoughtful. ‘I understand the need for discretion, but if there's any way I can help... I still have contacts at Virginia PD, you know. Maybe some of them could be useful.’
Mia looked at Martin, her heart swelling with gratitude. She had known him for a short time, but his unwavering support was overwhelming. ‘Thank you, Martin. That means a lot. We may take you up on that.’
‘I mean, it’s been a while, but you the law enforcement bond. It’s for life. And trust me, guys are willing to let a few details slip if it means getting a killer off the streets.’
Ripley knew it all too well. Corruption worked both ways.
Martin took a moment, his expression softening. ‘You know, when I was forced into retirement, I thought I'd lost my purpose. I went from being on the frontlines, making a difference, to just... watching from the sidelines. It's why I threw myself into other things.’
‘Frontlines to sidelines,’ Ripley repeated. ‘Honestly, I can’t wait for that. Bring it on.’
‘How long left?’ Martin asked.
Conversation halted as a waiter removed their plates and placed down dessert. Mia's eyes drifted to the delectable treat in front of her, a rich molten lava cake accompanied by a scoop of vanilla ice cream. She took a deep breath, savoring the scent before looking back at Martin.
‘Four months, then I’m out.’
‘As mysteriously as you arrived.’
Ripley laughed, despite the mouthful of cake. ‘Oh yes. And I want to go out without any loose ends.’
‘What loose ends do you have?’
‘This Logan Nash business is the main thing. I refuse to leave Ella stranded. Oh, and mountains of paperwork. Then I’m good to go.’
Martin nodded, picking up his spoon and digging into his own dessert. ‘It's funny how our priorities change over time. Back in the day, I couldn't imagine doing anything else. But now...’ He trailed off, looking contemplative.
‘Now you'd kill for a day without any drama or adrenaline,’ Mia finished for him.
‘Exactly,’ Martin replied, looking amused. ‘Though I must admit, I do miss the camaraderie, the teamwork. That sense of purpose and belonging.’
Mia nodded, understanding completely. ‘There's something about being in the thick of it all, knowing that you're making a difference, that's irreplaceable.’
‘Do you think you’ll miss it?’ Martin asked.
‘No. I’ve paid my adrenaline toll. Now I just want something simple, maybe with someone who remembers to put the trash out on Wednesdays.’
‘Trash day is Thursdays.’
‘See?’ Ripley said. ‘I don’t even know what day the garbage men come.’
Martin chuckled, the deep sound echoing in the restaurant's ambiance. ‘Well, if you ever need a domestic god in your life, I might be your guy.’
Mia raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk playing on her lips. ‘Is that an offer?’
He feigned an innocent look, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘Maybe. I can cook too.’
Mia laughed, her worries momentarily forgotten. ‘Deal. Just keep carbs low. I've got my post-retirement figure to think about.’
Martin prodded his gut, two rungs below athletic but still not dad bod levels despite his age. ‘Oh, that all goes. Trust me.’
Mia stretched, feeling a contentment she hadn't felt in a long time. ‘You know, it’s not often I can talk shop without someone turning pale or asking me if I’ve seen too many crime dramas.’
Martin settled back into his chair. ‘Guess I’ve seen enough to desensitize me. Plus, it’s always good to have a reminder that there’s someone else out there, someone who knows the cost of the job.’
Mia nodded. ‘It’s a life, you know? One that few can truly understand. The highs and lows, the adrenaline rushes and the heartbreaks. It takes a toll.’
Martin reached across the table, taking Mia’s hand in his. ‘But it’s worth it. For every moment of pain, there’s a moment of triumph. Of knowing you made a difference.’
Mia looked deep into his eyes, seeing the weight of his experiences mirrored there. ‘Thank you, Martin. For understanding.’
He smiled, radiating a genuine warmth. Mia couldn’t help but feel that this was the start of something new. With the impending closure of her career, she felt grateful for a new connection in her life. And who knew? Maybe Martin really was her ticket to a calmer, more domestic future.
She just had to rid herself of Logan Nash’s overbearing shadow and provide Ella a smooth transition into solo field work.
Just as Ripley was drifting off into a world of imagined possibilities, a shrill ringtone pierced the air, jolting her out of their reverie. Mia's hand instinctively shot to her bag, fishing out her buzzing phone. The name William Edis flashed on the screen.
She sighed, her heart sinking. If Edis was calling at this hour, it meant only one thing: a new case. She shot Martin an apologetic look, ‘I'm sorry, I have to take this.’
Martin nodded understandingly, ‘Of course, duty calls.’
Mia answered, trying to keep her voice even, ‘Edis, what's up?’
‘HQ. How fast can you be here?’
She glanced at Martin and the half-eaten dessert on her plate. ‘I'm at dinner right now. What's going on?’
Edis's voice was clipped, a sure sign of urgency. ‘Double homicide just came in, and it’s a strange one. Your expertise is needed.’
Mia hesitated for a brief moment. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to stay, to savor this rare moment of happiness. But duty, as always, had the stronger pull.
Ripley sighed, running a hand through her hair. ‘Give me twenty minutes.’
‘Make it fifteen, and make sure Miss Dark gets here too. I need my top guys for this,’ Edis said before the line went dead.
Ripley slowly rose to her feet, the weight of responsibility bearing down on her. She looked at Martin, her eyes apologetic.
‘I’m so sorry, Martin. I have to go.’
Martin waved a dismissive hand, ‘Don’t worry about it. I understand.’ He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘We can always reschedule.’
She nodded, grateful for his understanding. ‘Thank you for tonight. It meant more than you know.’
Martin stood up as well, reaching out to grasp her hand. ‘Come back in one piece, please.’
Ripley chuckled, the sound tinged with a hint of sadness. ‘I always do.’
With that, she grabbed her coat, giving Martin one last fleeting glance before heading out the restaurant. As she made her way to her car, she couldn’t help but feel a tug at her heart. As much as the FBI had afforded her, moments like these reminded her of the sacrifices she had made, the personal connections she had missed out on.
But duty came first, and she had a responsibility to the victims, to her team, and to herself.
Ripley already had the phone to her ear.
Her partner picked up on the third ring.
‘Ella, cancel your plans and meet me at HQ in fifteen minutes.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Before Ella could reach the door, a familiar voice broke the silence. ‘What happened to fifteen minutes?’
William Edis’s office was located on the highest floor, a strategic placement that showcased the chain of command in the bureau. Even at this late hour, the light behind the frosted glass burned brightly – more evidence that the hushed whispers about Edis sleeping in his office these days may indeed be true.
Ella spun around and found Agent Mia Ripley waiting by a large potted plant that had seen better days. Mia looked impeccably poised as usual; black dress, brown boots, red hair pulled back into a tight knot with two curly strands framing her face.
‘Fashionably so.’ Ella scrutinized her partner from head to toe, acknowledging her uncharacteristic eye shadow and contouring effort. Ripley usually kept the makeup to a minimum. ‘Edis interrupted your date. How dare he.’
Ripley raised an eyebrow. ‘People my age don’t date.’
‘No?’
Ripley knocked on the door to Edis’s office. His silhouette stirred from within. ‘No. We find someone with as little baggage as possible and hope for the best.’
Ella smirked, trying to read her partner's face. ‘Is Martin making the cut?’
Ripley shot her a wry smile, ‘A lady never tells. But let's focus, shall we?’
Before Ella could respond, the door opened wider, and they were greeted by the bulky frame of Director Edis. He looked more exhausted than usual, with dark circles marring his otherwise stoic face. The hair continued to recede, and his typical clean-shaven chin had been replaced with four-day stubble. There was a new scar just above his right eyebrow, a story Ella hadn't yet heard.
‘Agents,’ he acknowledged with a nod.
‘Director,’ Ella replied, her tone formal. Ripley gave a curt nod in agreement. He gestured towards the leather chairs along the wall. Ripley and Ella took their seats as Edis returned to his position behind his massive oak desk- a testament to his years of service; every scratch and ding a mark of another case, another long night. Right now, Edis was partially hidden behind a mountain of brown folders and cups of half-drunk coffee.
Ella could feel the tension brimming. ‘Director,’ she began, ‘what's so urgent that it couldn't wait until tomorrow?’
Edis grabbed two of the folders and threw them over to the agents. ACTIVE CASE #H17231 according to the stamp in the top right corner.
‘This morning, I received a call from the sheriff of Maywood PD in Los Angeles. Last night, they found a body and…. I don’t really know how to describe it.’
Ella dove into the folder, heading straight for the crime scene photos. Photos always told a better picture than words ever could.
And when she saw the first close-up photograph, her breath caught in her throat.
A blonde woman, mid-twenties at most, had been brutalized in a way Ella wouldn’t believe was physically possible unless she had the evidence right in front of her.
‘He stabbed her. With a… shotgun?’
Ella blinked twice, as if trying to clear an illusion, but the gruesome sight remained the same. Every sight Ella had consumed over her thirty years of life had been committed to memory; a photograph that occasionally faded but always remained accessible. Her mind was a vast database of criminals, victims, motives, and methods. Yet, as she skimmed through her mental files, she couldn’t locate a single incident – or anything even similar – of a killer stabbing someone with a shotgun.
Edis held up his palms. ‘Don’t ask me the logistics of it. I don’t understand it either.’
Ella glanced over at Ripley, equally lost in the photograph. ‘Ripley. Any ideas?’
Ripley took a deep breath and leaned closer to the photograph, analyzing every detail. ‘I've seen many things in my time,’ she began, ‘but this... this is a first.’ She gently tapped the photograph, her face betraying her internal processing. ‘There are signs of ritualistic intent here, or at least someone trying to send a very specific message.’
In the photo, the young woman had been impaled through the chest with a black Beretta shotgun. She was still standing, resting against the corner of what looked like an apartment door.
‘She was attacked outside her own home?’ Ella asked.
‘Yes,’ said Edis. ‘But that’s not all. Look at photograph number six.’
Ella followed the instruction. She leafed through the pictures and landed on number six. The image hit her like a knife to the gut.
Resting on the ground near the woman's feet was a plain white mask. It was simple, featureless, and utterly eerie in its lack of definition. It looked as if it had been carefully placed there, positioned to be seen but not overshadow the central horror of the scene.
And Ella recognized it a mile off.
In fact, most people would, she thought.
‘This is a Michael Myers mask,’ Ella said.
Edis nodded gravely. ‘It is. From the Halloween films.’
Ella felt an unexpected thrill. From a young age, she had been an ardent fan of the world’s cheapest genre. Late nights huddled under blankets with a flashlight, diving into Stephen King novels, and weekends spent at the cinema, consume the horror classics.
The Michael Myers mask had instantly transported her back to those simpler days. The sense of excitement, the heart-pounding fear, and the relief that came from knowing it was all fiction. Now, here she was, faced with a real-life horror scenario. And although the danger and the stakes were very real, a part of her was animated by the challenge; a melding of passion and profession. It was as if all those years spent analyzing horror plots, understanding the psyche of on-screen killers, and predicting their next moves had been training for this very moment. She caught herself feeling this odd exhilaration and quickly reigned it in.
‘Never seen it,’ Ripley said. ‘Give me a crash course later, Dark.’
‘Will do.’
‘Edis, you said you got the call about this murder this morning. Why have we waited until now to investigate?’
‘Because until an hour ago, this was an isolated incident. However, Maywood PD got an anonymous call to check out an abandoned shack, barely two miles from this crime scene.’
Ella turned to the second section of the case file. Victim number two.
‘And I’ll warn you in advance,’ Edis continued, ‘This one is tough to stomach.’
Ella steeled herself. She was no stranger to gruesome scenes, but if Edis was warning her, then it must be pretty bad. She found the first picture, then had to take a deep breath before continuing.
‘Jesus,’ Ripley said.
Ella took it all in. A young brunette woman, similar age to the first victim, lay disemboweled on a dusty wooden floor. Ella clenched her teeth.
‘Maywood PD found this scene waiting for them. They believe this victim was killed first, but was found second.’
‘He doesn’t want his handiwork to go unnoticed,’ Ripley said.
Ella nodded as the questions rushed to the forefront, the most pressing one being; what connected these two crimes?
But when she turned the page, she had her answer.
‘Another mask,’ she said.
‘Another mask,’ confirmed Edis.
Only this time, it was a different horror icon. ‘Pinhead from Hellraiser.’
In the dull glow of the crime scene photo, the Pinhead mask took on a ghostly pale shade, with eerily realistic features and deep-set eyes that appeared to be in a state of perpetual contemplation of some forbidden pleasure or torment. But what made Pinhead, or rather the mask of him, so unmistakable and grotesque, were the silver needles embedded within. The grid-like pattern of lines that adorned the face was punctuated by thick, shiny pins, which from Ella’s angle looked like the genuine article. The mask was placed with precision, much like the Michael Myers one. It was not carelessly discarded but rather set down as if the killer wanted it to be part of the overall scene.
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