““This…this monster! These…these were cut
from her while she was still alive!“”
Eight years. It was the first time I’d seen him
show any emotion for me.
Detective Miller stood silently, sensing the
shift in the room.
More body bags arrived. Dad pieced me together, bit by bloody bit. He worked for 24 hours straight, hunched over, eyes bloodshot. A flayed, crimson figure began to take shape.
Detective Miller ran to the bathroom and threw up. Wiping his mouth, he asked, ““No
skin? Trying to avoid leaving DNA?“”
L
““No,“” Dad gasped, his voice raw. ““Torture.
She was skinned alive. He wanted to make
her suffer.“”
“And…judging by the coagulation…he poured
salt on the wounds, then…carved her up,
piece by piece… He watched her agony for hours. Let her bleed out. He enjoyed it.‘
Dad was the best. He knew exactly how I
died.
‘Jesus Christ…” Miller whispered, horrified.
“Her face…he used acid. Unidentifiable.
Dental records suggest she’s between sixteen
and twenty.”
“The bag with the bones…her right tibia is
<
missing. He probably kept it. It might have
had a distinguishing mark, an old fracture, a surgical scar…something to identify her.”
“He’s careful. No prints. No DNA. I can reconstruct her face from the skull, but it’ll
take time.”
33
Miller put a hand on Dad’s shoulder, then frowned, staring at my legless torso.
““David…this is just like the Rain Killer, eight
years ago.
Η
Dad’s hand twitched as he pulled off his gloves. Eight years ago, the Rain Killer, cornered by Dad’s evidence, had sabotaged Jason’s plane, killing my brother and himself in the crash. It was a forbidden topic.
L
