The Dying Breath: A Forensic Mystery

grandmother had put on, the snipping sound the shears made as she cut the red roses, the way Justin’s hands cupped the sides of her face. His fingers wound through her hair just as she heard it, the sound that penetrated into her brain, like a wrong note. It was a ping , coming from her computer.
    “Justin,” she said, her voice tight. “Wait. Did you hear that?”
    He registered her shifting mood immediately. “What?”
    “My computer.”
    She didn’t have to say more. Justin’s gaze snapped over to her screen. Her computer was on, just as Andrew had told her to leave it, but the screen saver shimmered across the screen like waves of water blotting out the message.
    “Lyric?”
    “Maybe. But she knows what’s going on, that everything is being watched. I don’t think it’s Lyric.”
    Justin pushed her behind him, as if the danger were on the screen itself. Together they walked toward the desk, Cameryn trailing by a half step, the feeling of dread spreading through her as the screen loomed large. Before he went to the computer he snapped her curtains shut. Then he reached over and shook the mouse. “Stop hiding, you bastard,” he said in a voice so hard Cameryn barely recognized it as Justin’s. Instantly, the screen saver vanished, and there, in the prearranged chat room, were the words that made the blood turn to water in her veins.
    Happy Valentine’s Day, my anam cara . I want to be sure this is you and not the police. What was the shape of my grandmother’s tombstone? I showed it to you in the cemetery.
    Staring at the screen with single-minded ferocity, Justin demanded, “Cameryn, do you know the answer?”
    She nodded, her heart thrumming in her chest. Clutching the back of her chair, she felt her legs wobble. She looked at the screen, and then up at Justin, but he was already punching numbers into his phone.
    “Cammie, type back to him,” he ordered. “We’ve got to keep him going.” On the phone, he began to talk to Sheriff Jacobs, looking sharply from the screen to the window and then to Cameryn while he fired off commands as though it were he, and not the sheriff, who was in charge.
    She found she couldn’t move. Wide-eyed, she stared at the screen. Justin turned to her, his lips pressed into a hard line. How had her body seized up like that, to disconnect her mind from her flesh? Placing a hand on each of her shoulders, he pulled her closer to him, ever so slightly.
    “I know you’re scared—I understand. Tell me what to write and I’ll do it for you,” he told her. “Please.” He looked at her with such a focused intensity that she found herself coming back. It was like following a beacon in a lighthouse. “Andrew is coming right now. Tell me the shape of his grandmother’s tombstone and I’ll type the words. You don’t have to do a thing. Cammie, Kyle won’t hurt you. I won’t let him.”
    “I can do it.” Her voice sounded far away.
    “Mrs. Mahoney!” he bellowed. “Call Patrick. O’Neil has just made contact. The police are on their way.”
    “Oh my God.” She heard her grandmother’s soft cry.
    Justin was about to sit in the chair but Cameryn sank into it first. “I said I can do it.” Her fingers were shaking so hard it was difficult to type out the words.
    I’m here. It’s me, Cammie. The tombstone looked like the pages on an open book. What do you want?
    The message was delivered instantly. A second later, and she read his response.
    You.
    Justin cursed under his breath. Jerking his hands through his hair, he said, “Tell him you know he killed Leather Ed. Ask him why he did it.”
    Obedient, Cameryn transcribed Justin’s words.
    A moment later she read:
    I knew it would get your attention. I heard the warning on the news for the druggies to dump their cocaine, so I figured you got my little messages I left. I hope it was you who figured it out. I remember how much you like puzzles.
    Her fingers flew over the keyboard without Justin’s prompting.
    You are insane. You said you did not kill Brent Safer and Joseph Stein and now I know you did.
    A heartbeat later he wrote:
    They were collateral damage. I am NOT insane, Cammie. I am like you. I think that part scares you—finding that we are the same person. And before you condemn me for killing a man, be aware that I listened to you. This time I chose a person less important than Brad Oakes. Leather Ed was a waste of skin. He was a drug dealer. I hardly think he’ll be missed. Don’t you think