Mariëtte Whitcomb - The Skull Keeper

THE SKULL KEEPER

A PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER

MARITTE WHITCOMB

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2023 Maritte Whitcomb

All rights reserved. No reproduction is permitted without written permission from the author except for the use of quotations in a book review.

ISBN Paperback: 978-0-620-97819-4

ISBN eBook: 978-0-620-97820-0

I dedicate this novel to the victims who never made it home.

To their families and loved ones who grieve without answers.

Also, to the police officers and everyone else working tirelessly

to solve cold cases to apprehend and convict the perpetrators.

Prologue

15 years earlier

T he victim didnt fit ; the crime scene similar to the other seventeen, but different.

Detective Boyle turned to the medical examiner standing next to him. They focused on the victims remains. Seventeen times and they still struggled to comprehend the carnage.

He didnt ask if this was the work of the serial killer hed spent the past five years trying to identify and apprehend. Every night he fell asleep staring at photos of the crime scenes. And every morning he woke up to the same images. Death and destruction haunted his dreams. The mutilated bodies called out to him from his subconscious.

No matter what the killer did, Detective Boyle knew every victims face. Their faces before. And after.

Your guess is as good as mine, Will. Doctor Jessica Linetti shrugged before squatting down next to the body. He left us everything; the same as with the other victims. Something doesnt add up with this one. Despite the obvious.

After the discovery of the fifth victims body, Boyle no longer had to swallow the bile back down as he stared at what the killer left of his victims.

Why this one?

Doctor Linetti pulled the victims wallet from the right pocket of his faded jeans and read the name on the drivers license. She handed it to one of her team members.

Boyle took it from the crime scene investigator and studied the photo through the plastic evidence bag. He was at the top of our suspect list. No way he did this to himself.

No, he didnt. Doctor Linetti turned her focus to the lump of skin which used to be the victims face. She spread it out next to the body. Unless high on drugs, he wouldnt have been capable of mutilating himself. Not to this extent.

Detective Boyle looked at what the ME pointed towards with a gloved finger. She pushed herself up to standing and shook her head.

Boyle spoke before Jessica could. Unlike the female victims, he was alive when he was decapitated.

One

Allysa

S he exited the elevator and made her way through the hotel lobby. Morgan Wright didnt walk the way most women did. She demanded attention, but at the same time, people were often intimidated by her mere presence and glanced away as soon as their eyes landed on her. Morgan winked at me as people stepped out of her way. I still couldnt believe she had dropped everything and came.

How do you do that? I asked once she slid into the booth across from me in the restaurant.

Morgan signalled a waiter. Good morning to you too, Allysa. How did you sleep? Does it also feel strange to you being here together? Whats on our itinerary for today, other than the reason were here? For the first time, youre not wearing a tank top. You clean up well. Did it take a team of professionals to make you this presentable, or did you manage on your own?

Wow, thats a lot of questions for someone who hasnt had her second cup of coffee yet. I smiled.

You havent answered me.

I asked a question first, which you answered with more questions. Why do we do that?

Morgans laughter filled the restaurant. Once the waiter arrived, she stopped, ordered her coffee and one for me without asking. So, Mrs Ross, weve been friends for close to a year, and instead of doing what normal long-distance friends do and meet up for a cruise or something, you asked me to fly across the globe to be your plus-one at a funeral. If anyone else had asked, I wouldve declined, and not politely. But coming from you, theres a reason behind it. Spill.

Youre the only person I know who is always dressed for a funeral. Every. Single. Day. Do you even own any clothing that isnt black? I had never thought Morgan would put her life on hold and fly to Marcel. She hadnt asked why or whod died when I told her the real reason for us meeting. You came without asking a single question.

Morgan reached across the table and covered my hand with hers. You said you needed me. She shrugged, letting go of my hand and thanking the waiter for our coffees. Liquid breakfast. Ill need two to go if Im to remain upright until they lower the coffin into the ground.

Rachel was cremated. Its a memorial service.

Morgan leaned back in her seat and ran her fingers through her short blonde hair, tucking it behind her ears. Id never asked whether she was a natural blonde. Who was Rachel to you? Did you invite your new best friend to your previous best friends memorial service? No, thats not it. Weve spoken about your non-booksta friends. Your husband and son. Our lives. Our shared hatred for any genre of book not classified as psychological or dark thrillers, and true crime. Rachels name never came up. She reached for her coffee, not taking her eyes off mine. Why isnt Doctor Ross here with you?

If I didnt know better, I wouldve thought Morgan was a detective. One of the many reasons we connected right from the start we both saw through the bullshit. We were similar in many ways, which was either hilarious or frightening; depending on how you looked at it.

Jake hates it when people call him Doctor outside of his practice. He thinks Im here on vacation with you. My husband didnt know about Rachel, or that Id grown up in Marcel. When we met, I didnt want my past to influence any chance I had of a future with him. Mostly, I wasnt the person I had been when I left this place fifteen years earlier. Correction: I didnt leave, I ran .

Morgan finished her coffee. Her face changed into the one Id seen in Marco Polo videos; her thinking face. Lysa, what did you tell your husband? Why am I here, other than to meet you in person? We couldve done that in the Bahamas or anywhere more fun.

The least I can do is tell you why we are here. Part of the reason. Jake doesnt know I grew up in Marcel. Or that I had a stepmother named Rachel.

Or that she murdered my brother.