Page 8 of Killer Knows Best

The situation room is spacious but far too clinical with its white walls, long glossy white table, backbreaking steel chairs with very little give, and a series of large screens that cover thewall behind the SAC. But the lack of décor and clutter does demand we focus, even if it’s on the food at hand.

“One more time,” Hale says, nodding up at the big screen as he flips through the footage again, showing us a grainy figure clad in black with their face covered, hardly creating a ripple in the lobby’s sea of polished marble and well-dressed clientele. The ski mask covers everything but the eyes—slits, nothing else. Pale skin, maybe. Could be anyone.

“Could be a woman,” Nikki says before taking an aggressive bite out of her pizza—pepperoni with olives. Jack ordered about six different versions, all pepperoni with something. I preferred the mushrooms.

“Could be a man,” I counter and Buddy whimpers as if I somehow offended males across the species. “They look bulked up with those clothes on, as if they’re hiding their frame.”

“Could be Casper the Friendly Ghost under there for all we know,” Jack says and his eyes never leave the screen as he leans forward in his chair. He’s half-joking, half-ticked off, and I get it. We’ve spent the last two hours combing through footage, only to have a faceless figure as our prime lead.

Hale lets out a huge breath. “Yeah, Casper with a killing streak. Whoever they are, they’re careful. They know where every camera is.”

“That means they’ve been there before.” I nod, studying the screen for a hint of a clue. The building is high-end and it certainly has cameras everywhere, yet this shadow seems to know how to slip between the surveillance blind spots. They’re too careful. Too calculated. And that alone lets me know that this isn’t their first rodeo.

“All right,” Hale says as he flicks off the security footage and the screen goes black. “Let me introduce you to our previous vics, the two women who share the same markings.” The screen lights up again. “Meet Sharon Oaks.”

6

SPECIAL AGENT FALLON BAXTER

Apale face flashes on the screen, here in the situation room, before Hale zooms out and we see a body lying in disorganized angles at the base of a stairwell.

The woman is wearing a short dress, similar to those we saw tonight, and the hem is pulled up over her bottom revealing a purple G-string. Her eyes are wide open, yet vacant, and that grimace of hers is frozen in time.

Hale points at the screen. “Sharon Oak’s body was found bruised and broken in an abandoned warehouse staged to look like an accident. There’s an infinity symbol carved into her neck. She was likely strangled. She was twenty-six. Her family says they lost touch with her for a while. There was enough cocaine in her system to fuel a school bus across the country.”

The image of Sharon is quickly replaced by a brunette floating lifeless in a river, waterlogged and pale, with the same infinity mark carved just above her ankle. This woman, too, is wearing a short skirt, along with a top that sits above her mid-drift, and one of her high heels is missing from her foot.

“Found in the river,” Hale begins. “Staged as a drowning, but we know better, thanks to the coroner’s report. Same marking.”

A pulse of icy dread trickles down my spine. “Whoever this is, they’re making sure their work stands out with that twisted signature.”

Jack grunts, “Why go through the trouble?”

“They want to get caught.” Nikki shrugs.

“No.” Jack shakes his head as he considers it. “They want credit. That’s ego. Ego never wants to get caught; it wants praise.”

“Nevertheless,” Hale says. “She’s still our Jane Doe. Sharon had a prior and was able to be ID’d through her fingerprints. Janie here had yet to be arrested, so we aren’t that lucky in the identification department.”

“Looks like she missed out on what could have been a lucky moment for her.” Nikki sheds a momentary grin before reaching for another slice and Buddy whimpers again until she breaks off a piece and tosses it his way.

He clearly understands the rules of manipulation.

“So, we don’t have any missing brunettes in the vicinity?” I ask while jotting down a few notes.

“Not one that fits this bill,” Hale sighs again. “Heroin was her drug of choice. By the time the body was discovered, the coroner thinks she was in the water for seventy-two hours at least. No water in her lungs, she was snuffed and dunked, just south at Old Bend.”

“Behind the railroad tracks,” Jack says while clicking away at the keyboard of his laptop. “That river goes on for miles. The southern part is no man’s land, all dirt and rocks. Makes me wonder if the body was moved. No offense, but she wasn’t exactly wearing the shoes for that part of town.”

“She was definitely moved,” I say. “And now we have two more bodies to add to our collection. A double homicide at a hotel with enough security cameras to outfit the Super Bowl. Our killer just took a step in a very bold, very dangerous direction.”

The screen goes black before Hale puts up two more images side by side, our most recent tragedy.

“Delaney Riggs and Gwen Alderson,” he says. “CSI released the IDs. Delaney is the brunette on the left. Gwen is the blonde. They both had student IDs on them from Winston Grand University. Delaney was a junior; Gwen was a senior. Don’t ask me what they majored in. That’s for you to find out. Two bright college girls who should be cramming for midterms, not lying in a morgue.”

“I’m already on it,” Nikki mutters as her fingers fly across her keyboard.

Nikki worked in cybersecurity before she hit the FBI three years ago.

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