Excerpt from Chapter 13

Published September 12, 2018

We had nothing but three murders—no suspects, no witnesses,
and no real leads. The sketch the artist came up with in talking
with Eric Dennis looked more like Andrew Reese than not. I couldn’t
blame the kid; I knew the face of his perpetrator would be burned into
the poor kid’s mind for a long, long time, thanks to the repeated abuse
he and the others suffered at the hands of the Goddamn pervert. We had
quite a bit of information about the murders of three very sick individuals,
but we didn’t have one shred of evidence that would lead us to the
so-called Guardian.

We were spinning our wheels, and the clock was ticking; everyone
knew another body would be found inside the two-week window, likely
holding the characteristic confession on one of its separated hands.
Whoever Mr. Smith was, there was no shortage of child molesters in the
world for him to destroy. “The path to hell,” I had to mutter to myself
over and over again, to remind myself that Mr. Smith’s alleged good
intentions still didn’t justify heinous murder.