Do they want me to find the person who killed Gigi? God, I can’t imagine how difficult it would’ve been to solve a murder in the 40s with such underwhelming technology. Is her murderer even still alive?
Maybe it doesn’t matter if he is or not. Maybe Gigi wants justice for her murder, and for the man that ended her life too soon to be exposed—dead or alive.
I exhale a shaky breath, my fingers tracing the four daunting words.
He came for me.
“Can you please explain to me why you’re making me hack into the PD’s database to look at crime photos of your murdered grandmother?” Daya asks from beside me, her fingers hovering over her mouse.
I’m tempted to reach over and push her finger down for her so she’ll finally click the damn button. Once she does, it’ll pull up Gigi’s records.
I sigh. “I told you already. She was murdered. And I think I know who did it, I just… well, I don’t know anything about him but his first name, and the fact that he stalked her.”
Daya eyes me, but eventually relents. She clicks the mouse—finally—and pulls up Gigi’s crime scene photos.
They’re pretty disturbing. Gigi had been found in her bed, with her throat slit and a cigarette burn on her wrist. They never found the killer due to insufficient evidence.
A lot of blame pointed towards the officers that responded to the call, citing that they trampled all over the crime scene. Evidence was lost or contaminated by the police force, and fingers were pointed, but ultimately, no one was held accountable for it.
Daya clicks through the photos, each one more disturbing than the last. Close up pictures of the wound on her neck. The burn on her wrist. Gigi’s face, frozen in fear as her dead eyes stare back at the camera. And her signature lipstick smeared across her cheek.
I swallow, the sight a stark contrast to the picture that concealed her safe. Her wide, smiling face so full of life and fire. And then her dead, cold body frozen in fear.
Whoever had killed her had scared her pretty bad. A niggling feeling tugs at the back of my head. Based on Gigi’s entries, her stalker didn’t scare her. In fact, it sounds like he did the exact opposite.
I shake the thought from my head. He was obsessed with her, and there were several entries nearing her death that indicated they weren't getting along due to his jealousy over her marriage.
His obsession must’ve been of the deadly variety.
Daya then clicks over to the police reports. Not just the ones released to the public, but documents from the investigation that were confidential.
Technically, the investigation is still open. It’s just gone cold.
We took our time reading through the documents, but in the end, the only thing we learned was the time of death, and the fact that Gigi fought and fought hard.
My great-grandfather, John, was immediately ruled out due to having several eyewitness reports seeing him at the grocery store during the time of the murder.
I bite my lip, the thought eliciting guilt, yet I can’t help but think it.
What if he was still an accomplice?
I shake the thought from my head. No. There’s no way. My great-grandfather loved Gigi, despite the fact that their marriage was falling apart at the seams.
It had to be her stalker.
It’s the obvious explanation. The stalker gained Gigi’s trust—somehow—made her feel comfortable enough that she relaxed around him. And then he killed her.
“There has to be significance to that ripped-out page,” I murmur, growing frustrated from the lack of evidence. I could never be a detective and do this shit every day.
“Maybe the killer did it,” Daya guesses, scrolling mindlessly through the pictures.
I twist my lips, considering it before I shake my head. “No, that wouldn’t make sense. Why would they rip only one page out and not just dispose of all the journals? They’re all incriminating. Whether it was the stalker or someone else, Gigi speaks of being hunted. And if it wasn’t the stalker, then they could’ve easily pinned the blame on Ronaldo and been done with it. Whoever it was, they can’t have known about these. Gigi had to have ripped the page out before hiding the books.”
Daya nods her head. “You’re right. Whatever is on that missing page is important, but we can’t rely on that.”
“We need to figure out who Ronaldo is,” I conclude.
Daya nods her head, appearing a little exhausted from the thought. Can’t say I’m not either.
“And we have nothing to go off of. There’s no mention of his last name. Barely any physical description.”