Page 31 of Killer Knows Best

The body on the table looks as peaceful as it can in a place like this. The woman is naked. Her body is on the thin side, her skin is on the blue side, but heck, it’s been cold out, and it probably doesn’t help to have death on your side. There’s a deep gash across the poor woman’s throat, and that part doesn’t look quite as peaceful. The infinity scar on her chest doesn’t either.

“That’s starting to look familiar,” Jack says as he leans toward the symbol.

It’s identical to the ones we’ve seen before, but upon closer inspection, it looks as if it’s been etched into her skin with some kind of tool. It’s so very neat and precise.

“Looks familiar, indeed,” I mutter, my mind going back to the previous victims. Delaney, Gwen, and those two women who turned up in Elmwood—Sharon Oaks and Jane Doe. “One odd thing, though. It looks nearly the same size as the others.” I shoot a look at Jack and he nods.

“I thought so, too. Uniform and exact.”

“Funny how it lines up so perfectly,” Miller says, tilting his head with his eyes narrowing in on it. “It’s almost as if whoever’s doing this has got themselves a little device for it.”

“Something like a brand,” Jack says, his voice low. “Or something close.”

“A nefarious cookie cutter,” I offer and Jack nods my way.

“Exactly that,” he says. “One with razor-sharp intentions.”

“Well, it’s obvious our killer loves the attention,” I add as that familiar knot of frustration twists in my gut. “It’s nothing but a little game of cat and mouse to them. Like they want us to catch them, or better yet, prove that we can’t.”

“I’m guessing it’s the latter,” Jack says as he shakes his head at the woman. “But we’ll catch them. We always do.”

It’s almost sweet he said those words straight to her as if he were making the corpse a promise. It’s one I intend to keep with her, too.

Miller crosses his arms and gives a slow nod. “They’ve done this before and they’re just getting started.”

Right on cue, Nikki walks in, looking like she hardly survived a warzone. Her hair is every which way and her clothes are askew.

“Late night?” I tease, although taking a better look at her I may not be.

“You have no idea,” Nikki groans. “Let’s just say I didn’t get much sleep, and I wasn’t alone.”

“Exciting as ever.” Jack glances at Miller. “It’s not her first rodeo.”

Miller chuckles, shaking his head. “Do I want to know?”

“No,” the three of us say in unison.

He shrugs. “How about we get back to business? I’d like to introduce you to Mrs. Sherry Kent.”

“Socialite,” Nikki says. “She was a homemaker up in Garter, a high-end zip code. Her husband is some big shot in the financial sector. No kids. He wasn’t in the state when she died. Hale says the alibi checks out, so he’s not our killer, but that doesn’t mean we’re ruling him out.”

“Clean hands don’t mean much these days,” I add.

“That’s how I’d off my spouse,” Nikki says, straightening her jacket and wrangling her hair into a messy bun. “Murder for hire. Not only would I keep my hands clean, but I’d try to peg it on one of my enemies. Two birds, one stone.”

“I’m glad you’re on our side,” Jack flatlines.

“Anyway, I dug around a bit.” She leans in toward the woman and gives her a good inspection. “She was into charity work, lots of it. She could have made some enemies there, but nothing screams motive.”

“Up until now, it seemed as if our killer had a type,” I say, my eyes still pinned on the infinity scar. “Or at least a pattern. What was she wearing? Where was she going?”

“Heels, fancy gown,” Miller says, pointing to a table with the woman’s things spread over it, waiting to be itemized.

Nikki, Jack, and I exchange a look.

“She was found across the street from the Drummond Hotel.” Nikki tips her head as if to allude to what we’re suspecting.

“Do you think Mrs. Kent was a high-end escort?” I shake my head, hoping it’s not so.

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