Page 77 of My Killer Blind Date

‘You asked Arjun to set us up,’ I press on, my voice tight. ‘You knew I was Zoe’s roommate, so you targeted me.’

Understanding breaks over Liam’s face. ‘OK, yes, but—’

His yes is enough.

‘How dare you tell me to trust you when you’re a – a – a serial killer!’

Liam steps forward again as onlookers gasp, and then the man in the Sox hat steps between us, holding out two beefy arms.

‘You’d better stay where you are, sir,’ he says to Liam. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here, but we’re going to let the lady leave.’

Liam freezes and raises both hands, a muscle ticking in his jaw, his face a ghostly shade of white.

Then, I turn and run.

*

After getting away from the main streets where Liam might still find me, I call an Uber with shaking fingers. Maybe I shouldn’t be spending the extra money when I could hop on a bus instead, but that doesn’t matter right now. I know the morgue that has the contract with the county for unidentified persons – I’ve picked up a few corpses from there before. I’ll go straight there. I have to see the foot for myself and identify it. While I wait, I dial Barnett.

It’s Sunday, so it’s no surprise that his voicemail picks up.

‘Barnett,’ I say, speaking his name like an accusation. ‘I need you to call me. I was on the unclaimed persons site and … she was there. Zoe. Her—’ I gag the words out. ‘Her foot. And her ashes. So no, she didn’t just go off and start some new life. Also, Liam Porter, that guy I told you about? He dated her. I saw their messages on a dating app on his phone, so he’s been lying the whole time. You have to take him in for questioning. You have to get security camera footage from Wine & Thistle. That’s where they met. And there’s a shed, at Liam’s cabin—’ I’m fully aware my voice is pitched squeaky high and I probably sound hysterical. ‘I think that’s where he kept her.’

The Uber driver pulls up, so I wrap up the voicemail with a ‘call me back. You have my number,’ and disconnect.

Inside the car, I lean back in the seat with my backpack on my lap and close my eyes, phone held against my chest. I can’t shake the images of Zoe’s purple toenails, the way they had time to grow out between when I last saw her and now. And the tattoo – I let myself sink back into the memory of when Zoe got it. She said that thing about how she wasn’t compromising … how she’d rather be dead. But there was more.

‘It’s my war cry,’ she said, proud and happy as I admired the fresh ink script. ‘I’m never letting anyone control or objectify me ever again.’

‘Did it hurt?’ I remember asking.

She smiled. ‘Like hell.’

Now she is dead. For real. For sure. The girl who just wanted to live her life, to not be a victim any more like she’d always been.

Blood pounds through me, but it feels cold as ice. I’m shaking.

The driver pulls up to the hospital.

‘Have a good day,’ he says.

I mutter something back, I’m not even sure what.

The rest is a blur. My friend Jim is working the morgue and walks me to the back, where I identify the foot. The ashes, they’ve put in a big clear plastic bag.

Then, in the hospital bathroom, I lock the door and splash my face. I need to call George; this, I can’t hide from her.

Fuck. The whiplash is insane. First, I think my blind date is a serial killer, so I decide to fake date him. Then, I’m convinced he’s not a serial killer, so I decide to date him for real. There’s a dream weekend on the beach, and the very next moment, I’m realizing he fucking is a murderous liar and I’m turning him in to the authorities.

I guess my investigation wasn’t a failure after all. It was a success. A horrible, horrible success.

At home, my apartment is quiet. I go straight to Zoe’s room and stand in the doorframe. The afternoon light filters through her curtains, illuminating the basic shapes in the room. The bed. Her desk. But it also illuminates the stillness.

She won’t be coming back.

Now that I know this for certain, I’ll have to clear all of this out. And move. Not only can I not afford a two-bedroom apartment on my own, but I don’t want to stay here.

But first, I need to plan a memorial. Try, once again, to contact Zoe’s parents. Yes, they weren’t good parents – but they should know their daughter is dead and have a chance to pay their respects anyway. And I’ll have to pick up her foot and the bag of ashes, once the coroner is done. I guess it’s a blessing in disguise that Anderson & Pulaski has the contract with the county to cremate unclaimed bodies. Makes things easy. If the word easy can be applied to any of this.