Working the Case

Carrie settled down in her sparsely furnished condo. She took out her glittery pen. Suspects. Malcolm and his chauffeur seemed fishy. Father Wagner was a zealous nutcase. Carlos hated sex workers, and Luis was similar, although it was more blaming Carrie for his cheating on Amy, as ridiculous as it was. Roger, who had a lot of pent up frustration from years of denial.

Even you. You had so much sexual confusion and latent hatred from your dad trying to turn you straight and ending your relationship with Marco. Carrie thought you were too weak to do anything, but your boyfriend Bruce ...

And the victims. Nothing about background or age or location or when they were murdered or where they were married. Holly ... the redhead ... Farrah, Ebony, Diamond ... a chill went up Carrie's spine. It was their street names. It was alphabetical. And she was next. Her street name was Ivory.

She hurried up and left the condo. Nia. She knew it wasn't Nia. She went down the street hurriedly, ducking into a back alley. Almost there. And then a chloformed cloth went over her mouth, and she saw a gloved hand as darkness overcame her.