The Limping Man said nothing in his own defense. He simply looked at me—a long, deep look.
Then, in a voice light as air:
"I confess. Take me away."
Captain Finch's brow furrowed. He waved his hand. "Take him."
Two officers stepped forward, cuffed him, and moved to escort him out.
He still didn't resist.
In fact, he walked faster than the officers, as though he couldn't wait to be taken in.
I didn't understand why, but watching him limp away, something gnawed at me. Too many things didn't add up.
Who was he? Why had he been secretly photographing my daughter since she was a child?
Why stalk her for over twenty years, only to strike when she was pregnant—in the most brutal way imaginable?
Why choose a location with no surveillance cameras, yet confess without a shred of resistance? Why tell us he'd been waiting for three months?
And the video—who sent it?
If someone wanted the ten-million-dollar reward, they could have walked straight into the police station with the evidence. Why wait three months, then release it anonymously to every media outlet in the city?
And Silas. That question he'd asked me at Julia's grave—about Sunny. Was he lying, or had my daughter been trying to tell me something?
Question after question circled through my mind, relentless, unanswerable.
Just when I thought my head might split open, my gaze drifted to the balcony outside the Limping Man's window.
A pot of sunflowers sat there.
Wilted. Dead.
My heart slammed against my ribs. My whole body began to tremble.
Because in that instant, I realized something terrifying.
