There is nothing better than a Sunday morning in the summer. The birds chirping, the coffee brewing, the day warm, but not blood-boiling hot yet. Lazy and promising.

I woke up invigorated. Ryan was gone, but that wasn’t alarming. He might have gotten called back, or he’d gotten bored. I didn’t think he actually slept anymore, so without the ability to change the channels on the TV he must have gotten impatient. In my pajama shorts and tank top that had a picture of a squirrel with “Nuts” written above it, I took my coffee mug and my laptop into the backyard and sat at the table. My new water feature was bubbling cheerfully and the sun wasn’t blinding me yet. It was relaxing, and I loved the tiny plot of privacy I had carved out in the city.

Checking my email, I saw I’d gotten a response from Cameron Russo, the Torso Murder author. He said he’d be happy to talk to me anytime, so I hit reply and asked if we could speak that afternoon. I decided it made sense to create a list of questions for him before we spoke so I could get the most bang for my buck, and so I didn’t waste his time asking about facts I could readily find myself. What I wanted wasn’t so much a recounting of the murders themselves or the body count tally, but an assessment of the investigation.

Number one question?

If these murders were committed today, do you think the perpetrator could elude law enforcement?

That was the crux of it all. Because if the answer was no, then it seemed to me only a true narcissist could be the killer. Someone who thought highly enough of themselves to assume they wouldn’t get caught. Or that was arrogant enough to dump body parts in the river in full view of fifty condo units and a handful of restaurants.

I wished I had a cat. I felt the need to talk out loud and a pet would give me someone to bounce ideas off of. Not that they would have much to contribute to the discussion. I wondered if I would hear anything from the police. Probably not. Even if they found something, they wouldn’t tell me.

Glancing at my phone I saw I had a text from Nick.

Are you okay? Worried I didn’t hear from you last night.

I’m fine. I’m sorry, I forgot. I was so tired.

I felt somewhat guilty for forgetting to text him. It was inconsiderate, and we did have a bond of sorts given our gruesome discovery. I would be beside myself if I asked someone to text me they were safe and they didn’t.

I understand. They found something. They’ve blocked off the scene again and I’ve seen them pull several things out of the water. Not sure what they are though.

So we were right?

That made me shiver despite the warm sun. My bucolic morning evaporated. I craved my vape and then realized I hadn’t used it in days. Go, me. I was ridiculously proud of myself for that.

I don’t know for sure, but something is definitely going on. Lots and lots of cops.

I’m going to look online and see if the news is reporting it.

I did a quick search, but there wasn’t a news story yet, which struck me as odd. That area was in clear view of hundreds of housing units. Granted, it was Sunday morning, but I couldn’t believe there weren’t curious bystanders.

Nothing online.

Nick didn’t respond. I figured he was either looking online himself, or he was out on his balcony observing. I had an email back from Cameron Russo saying he could talk now, so I decided to go ahead and call him, spurred by the activity currently going on by the river.

I introduced myself as an aspiring crime novelist. “Thank you so much for agreeing to speak with me. Mark was adamant that you’re the expert on the Kingsbury Run killer.”

“I think expert is too strong of a term, but I have done as much research as is possible, given that the original police reports are lost, most likely forever at this point.” Cameron Russo had a nice voice, mid-tone, and smooth. He sounded somewhere between forty and sixty. I heard “not young, not old” in his speech.

The official records being gone was something I hadn’t known. “I can’t imagine how something like that gets lost.”

“Please don’t fall for the conspiracy theories. I think it’s as simple as in an age of physical paperwork, pre-computers, they were filed somewhere and now no one knows where. Or someone pitched them, not knowing they were important. I can easily see some industrious clerk being proud of herself for streamlining the file room.”

“But wouldn’t that have been boxes and boxes of reports?” I couldn’t quite wrap my head around how all of that could go missing.

“I’m sure. But again, don’t assume conspiracy. I know Mark is big on that, but Mark is a sensationalist.”

That didn’t surprise me. “How do you know Mark? I’ve only spoken to him a couple of times. I’m helping his sister get their family home ready to list for sale.”

“Mark is an…enthusiast. If I were you, I wouldn’t let him attach himself to you. I don’t think he realizes how…overwhelming he can be. He contacted me after I did an interview for the paper.”

Cameron’s voice was polite, cautious, like he was choosing his words carefully so as not to be completely insulting. But there was a whiff of the condescending. I felt a little bad for Mark and his rabid devotion to this man who clearly thought he was a bit of a boob.

I decided I needed to steer the conversation a little more directly. “Did you hear that a body was found dismembered in the Flats recently? Do you think it’s possible someone is copycatting the Butcher’s methods?”

“I think I would be premature and reckless to suggest that, especially since we have no idea what the police have ascertained at this point.”

Fair enough. I decided to go for it and ask my pivotal question. “Do you think that with modern forensics and investigative techniques, the killer would have gone undetected if he were active today?”

“That’s a loaded question. I will say this—I think that the police now would be able to more effectively ID the victims. Ten of the twelve murdered were never identified. If you can’t ID victims, you can’t determine patterns. They would also be able to analyze the solvent some of the bodies were found to have been treated with, which might have led them to a specific occupation. Obviously, surveillance now is huge. That introduces a whole different level of skill on the part of the assailant to avoid showing up on camera with the victims. I would say that, in theory, it’s a challenge to be a modern day serial killer, and yet, we see it all the time. We’ve had two right here in the Cleveland area in the last decade, plus Jeffrey Dahmer was raised just south of here and allegedly committed his first murder, a hitchhiker from Medina, at eighteen.”

I didn’t know that either. That wasn’t something the city would advertise, I imagine. Come see the Rock ’n Roll Hall of Fame, Lake Erie, and the streets that serial killers have walked. Yikes. I felt ticked off at these guys for giving my town a bad rap. “Do you think Eliot Ness knew who the killer was but couldn’t back it up with evidence?”

“I think he had his suspicions. Nothing more.”

That seemed impossible to me. All those bodies and no one saw or knew anything? “Do you have an opinion as to who did it?”

“You’ll have to read my book to find that out.”

Really? But after initially finding his response a bit off-putting, I realized he had every right to protect his content. I had told him I was another author, after all. “Of course. When will it be released?”

“In February.”

“I will definitely make sure to order a copy. I’m very intrigued.”

“So what got you interested in the case?”

I pursed my lips, debating what I should say. I decided I would get further if I told the truth. Well. Half of the truth. “I’ve been wanting to write for quite some time.” Since I had lied before about it, I decided that was partially the truth. “And I was the one who found the hand by the bridge last week.”

“Really?” His tone went from half-bored to attentive. The pitch had gotten higher and his voice was louder. “That’s incredible. How did you find it?”

“I was just walking and there it was. I found the thigh first, then the hand. It was actually pretty traumatizing.”

“I imagine so.” But he sounded gleeful.

These crime buffs were turned on by the strangest things. “Yes. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“If you’re ever interested in popping over to the university I have some artifacts from the case. And I’m sure you know the police museum has the death masks.”

Right. The molds the coroner had made of several of the victims’ faces. They had been displayed at an exhibition in an attempt to determine their identities to no avail. I’d seen pictures of them and that was enough for me, thanks. I didn’t need to stare those waxy faces in the eye. Shudder. Hell, no. “I did know that, but honestly, I’m not sure I want to see the masks. But thank you for the offer.”

“I’m not sure you can call yourself a crime writer if you’re so squeamish over the content.”

Well, well. That was definitely patronizing. I had a feeling Cameron Russo was shuffling me into the same category as Mark. A flake. I had seen death firsthand. I didn’t need to see a freaking mask. Offended, I did a one-eighty. “You know, actually, I would love to see your collection of artifacts.”

“If you’re free tomorrow, I don’t have afternoon classes. Or on Tuesday I have office hours in the morning.”

I mentally scanned my schedule. “Tomorrow would be great, thanks.”

After establishing a time to meet, I ended the call and sipped my now-cold coffee. I wasn’t sure what to make of my chaotic thoughts. I was involved in a case I didn’t want to be a part of, yet there was no retreat. I was in it. Phil was entitled to eternal rest just as much as the next guy. But the problem was, I didn’t understand my role. I wished I could just jump on a conference call with the Office of Purgatory Ryan was always talking about and ask them what the heck I was supposed to be doing. Ten minutes with the powers that be was all I needed.

Didn’t they like to work off a plan? Because I liked a plan. I liked spreadsheets and idea boards and software on my iPad that allowed me to enter measurements and dimensions and plan furniture placement. That’s what I needed. Spiritual software to help me measure out what went where. Ryan to this corner of my life. Phil to another.

There was a knock on my back gate. “Bailey, it’s me.”

And Marner.

Startled, I sat up straight, acutely aware I was still in my pajamas. He opened the gate and came through, giving me a tight smile.

“Hey. How did you know I was back here?”

“I could hear you thinking.”

“Ha-ha.” But I found myself smiling in return.

Dang it, the man was just hot. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Nothing special. But his biceps and tattoos were on display, and I liked the way he walked—with confidence. He wasn’t a show-off. He just knew who he was, and for me, that was seriously sexy.

Marner had a brown paper bag in his hand. He dropped himself into the chair next to me without asking or explaining himself. I refused to ask what he was doing. I just eyed him.

Leaning forward, I lifted my coffee mug again, sipping even though I was well aware it was cold. I was suddenly thirsty.

His gaze dropped to my chest. “Nice squirrel. I like his nuts.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure you should be looking at them.” Considering how tight the shirt was, and how I was au natural under it. It sounded bitchier than I meant. I was glad he’d stopped by. I wanted to know we were still friends, because it was important to me that he be in my life, even if our pseudo attempt at dating had fizzled quickly. “But it’s a free country,” I added, giving him a smile to take the edge off of what I had said.

“I brought you a doughnut.” He opened the bag and pulled it out with the wax paper. “Jelly, your favorite.”

There wasn’t a particular time when I could remember mentioning my doughnut preferences to Marner, but he was right. Jelly was where it was at. I had an internal girl swoon. “Thank you, that was sweet. Did you get one for yourself?”

“Chocolate icing.” He pulled the second one out.

“Do you want some coffee? I can get you a cup. I need to warm mine anyway.”

“That would be great.”

I stood up, but before I could go into the house Marner touched my arm. “Hey, Bailey?” He rose to his feet, his body skimming mine.

I shivered. “Yes?”

“Are you busy Friday?”

“No.” Shaking my head, I let him lace his fingers through mine.

“Can I take you out?”

His thumb was massaging the inside of my palm. “Sure.” I sounded breathless, like I’d just run a 5k. “That would be great.”

“Good.”

Then Marner closed the miniscule space between us and kissed me. Not lightly. But like it meant something. Like he was giving me a guarantee there would be more where that came from.

“Wow,” I said, when I broke away and wiped my lower lip. “You can bring me jelly doughnuts any time.”

“I’m thinking I can bring you a doughnut on the regular if that’s cool with you.”

That was as expressive as Marner was going to get. That was fine by me. I liked his doughnuts. Or I did in theory. I hadn’t tasted it yet.

I gave him a smile that was more girly than I cared to admit. “Let me get you some coffee.”

His eyebrows went up and down. “Need help?”

“I got it.” I grabbed my mug and channeled Alyssa. Yep, that was me sashaying into my house, feeling sexy. I had bed head, not an ounce of makeup on, and I was wearing a squirrel tank top, yet I felt the power of being a woman right then.

Until I got in the house and Phil was standing there, leaning over the sink, clearly watching us out the window. “Hey!” I whispered, furious. “Stop creeping on me! That’s rude.”

He turned slowly, clearly unconcerned. “Sorry. Who is that guy?” he asked. “I thought you were dating the golf shirt guy.”

“Shh,” I whispered, holding my finger to my lips, which was stupid. No one could hear Phil but me. “No, that was nothing. Please don’t mess this up for me.” I went in the cabinet and pulled down another mug and started pouring.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Phil leaned against the countertop and stuck his hands in his pocket. His hair was too long and he tossed it out of his eyes. “I’m just running out of things to do, you know? At least you can hear me. I just need to talk sometimes.”

I dumped my cold coffee into the sink, shifting around Phil’s ghost. “I’m sorry, Phil. I do get that. Just give me some warning. And privacy.”

He gave me a cheeky grin and a two thumbs up. “Got it. You’re a good egg, Bailey Burke.”

That made me feel ridiculously pleased. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

I gave him a smile and picked up the mugs. I bumped the back door open with my hip.

“Whoa, do you need help?” Marner came over and took both mugs from me. He smiled in a way that should be illegal.

“I can carry at least one.”

“I know. But I like helping you. Let me get it.”

There was a question behind those words. I just nodded and sat back down. I bit into the jelly doughnut. “I can do that,” I said around a mouthful of powdered sugar and dough. “Mmm. Delicious.”

Marner took a sip of his coffee. He put his feet up on the brick ledge containing my flower bed. “It’s a beautiful day. Too bad I have to work.”

“You do?” I was disappointed. For some reason I thought he’d hang around for a while.

“Yep. Got called in to cover because they’re dragging the river. But you knew that, right? Detective Smith said she talked to you.”

I really didn’t like that Detective Smith. I felt like she was gunning for me. “I honestly didn’t think she took me seriously. But Nick told me there was activity going on down there today.” I wasn’t going to lie to Marner about Nick. There were already too many things I couldn’t be honest with him about, I didn’t need to compound the problem.

“Nick, huh?” Marner bit into his own doughnut and chewed roughly.

“Don’t worry. We’re just two people brought together by weird circumstances, that’s it. He’s nice, but when I thought he was going to kiss me, I freaked out and bolted.”

Marner smiled around his doughnut. “Good.” Then he added, “Not that it’s a big deal or anything.”

I rolled my eyes. “Got it. Thanks for the doughnut.”

He gave me a sticky kiss and headed off to work.