Forgive or Forget

Chapter 23

-Reed-

"What the hell do you mean that the friend that I've known since I was a kid is a serial killer." I can't believe what I just heard from the Detective.

Detective Riggs says, "I believe that he is."

"What makes you say that?" I plead.

The Detective calmly explains, and I can hardly believe what I hear. "The injuries that Miss Conrad had are the same injuries as ten other murdered blonde-haired, blue-eyed women here in Baltimore and five in Philadelphia."

I'm shocked, "Well, shit."

He continues, "Miss Conrad is number 16, as far as I know. The killer went dormant for about three years."

I realized, "That's about the same time I met Cheryl."

"Do you mind if I show you some photographs? I must warn you that they are disturbing," he says.

"Is this going to help my wife?" I ask.

"It could help us find her if we knew more about Mr. Matthews," he replies.

I look down at my wedding band. "Me looking at disturbing photos will give you information on Todd?"

"I'm hoping so," he admits.

I make my decision, "Okay, I'll do it."

The Detective gets up from the table and leaves me alone with my thoughts in the conference room. I think about everything that I've heard today about Todd. It's so unbelievable! I seriously can't wrap my head around this. The Detective returns with a folder in his hand and lays it on the table, opens it, and begins pulling photos of dead women out, placing them in front of me. I can't believe what I'm seeing and am shocked and speechless.

"Mr. Westerly, do you recognize any of these women?"

I can't speak; all that I can do is nod my head.

"Mr. Westerly, how do you know these women?"

My mouth moves, but no sound comes out.

"You don't look so good, Mr. Westerly. Can I get you something?"

I shake my head no. I need a minute, so I close my eyes and take several deep breaths.

Just then, the Detective's phone begins to ring.

"Detective Riggs... Well, damn... Yes... I'll be there as soon as I can. Bye."

My eyes are still closed because I can't bear to look at these photos.

"Mr. Westerly? That was the officer that went to the address your wife's partner gave you."

All of a sudden, I'm alert. "What did the officer say?"

"He found your wife's car," the Detective reveals.

I take a breath of relief.

"Your wife, however, was missing."

My heart stopped. "What?"

"The driver's door was left wide open. They found her wallet in her vehicle, missing her credit cards and cash. Her phone is missing, so she has it on her, or it's stolen." He informs me.

I once again can't breathe; first, these photos now Cheryl.

The Detective announces, "I have to go to the scene."

He stands, and I find my voice. "I know every one of these women, Detective. Every single one of them."

He stops dead in his tracks and looks at me with his eyebrows raised. "How do you know all of them?"