Free Never Alone by C. J. Carpenter

Palumbo, I want you to check any and all databases on homicides that have the same MO, specifically the vaginal suturing. This can’t be the killer’s first time. Check it all. City, state, country.”
    â€œWe’re on it,” said Rasmussen as they returned to their desks.
    Megan knew Palumbo and Rasmussen asked the right questions and knew how to get around roadblocks. Walker made the right move assigning them to the case. Megan sat at her desk reflecting on the McAllister murder scene. Nappa sat opposite, starting what was sure to be a very thick case file.
    â€œWhat’s on your mind?” he asked.
    â€œThere’s something at the crime scene that didn’t feel right. I mean besides her head resting on the pillow so perfectly, and her arms folded. That was definitely intentional. There’s something else, something I’m missing.”
    One of Megan’s habits when in the zone was to push her long hair back and twist it into a bun, a subconscious habit she’d had since junior high school. Within minutes, it would fall out of place, cascading over her shoulders once again. The thought of buying a hair clip never seemed to cross her mind.
    Nappa began making a list of Shannon’s contacts from her datebook. “It’s been a long run today.”
    â€œYep.” Megan noticed the message light blinking on her phone and was not at all surprised to hear whom it was from.
    â€œHey, Meganator, it’s Uncle Mike. Judging by the newscast this afternoon, you’re probably knee-deep in it. I just wanted to check in on you and see how you’re doing. Call me.”
    She had a faint smile on her face listening to the concern in his voice.
    â€œUncle Mike?” Nappa asked.
    â€œHow did you know?”
    â€œI’m a detective.”
    â€œGood one.” She dialed the Murphys’ number. Uncle Mike picked up on the second ring.
    â€œHey, how’s my Mini-Ginty?”
    Megan rubbed her eyes. “Holding my own.”
    â€œBrendan called earlier. He told us about Rose. Maureen is going to check on her tomorrow. Olsen Facility, right? Pretty fancy—that place advertises on the radio.”
    â€œTell her thank you for me.”
    â€œLike I said yesterday, kiddo, blood or no blood, we’re family. You working this case I’m hearing all about?”
    â€œYeah. It’s gotten interesting, to say the least,” she released a heavy sigh.
    â€œWatch your back.”
    Megan laughed. “That’s what Dad would say to me every morning before I’d leave for work.”
    â€œI know, kiddo, I know.”
    There was a brief moment of silence, both thinking back at the loss they’d endured.
    â€œOkay, Meganator. Get back to work. We’ll talk soon.”
    â€œLove you big guy.”
    â€œBack at ya’.”

eight
    Megan leaned against the window staring out at the mid-­afternoon storm. Rain pelted down on the city streets as echoes of thunder rumbled through the dark sky. The space felt more like a dank cave than a conference room.
    â€œDetective?” A young man rapped on the door, then tossed an envelope onto the table. Megan focused on the storm outside and responded with a halfhearted thank you. She picked up the letter as if it were merely an electric bill, until she flipped it over to see the return address: Hudson Psychiatric Center.
    â€œSon of a bitch.”
    His writing was unmistakable; flamboyant italics as if written with a quill pen. Megan knew Fintan Worth’s handwriting all too well. He left a note attached to each kill, with the exception of the last murder. There were two envelopes at that crime scene: one for the victim, the other addressed to Megan. Now, placed before her was the second letter in three months addressed to her from a madman. She knew she couldn’t ignore his attempt to communicate with her. But there had been two murders she was sure Worth had committed that they