Page 29 of Just Right

"And who's the victim?" Cami asked as Connor started up and drove out into the brightening morning.

"Her name is Sally-Anne Brewster," Connor said.

Feeling that this, at least, was something she could do now, Cami looked up the name.

"She also pinned her location regularly," she told Connor. "There doesn't seem to be a reason. She just seems to be someone who likes social media."

She was pretty, with a broad, open face and bright eyes. She had short, curly, blonde hair and she was smiling, happy. Cami felt a pang, knowing this woman was dead.

"If we could only have saved you, or caught him before he got to you," she whispered softly to herself, in apology and remorse.

Then, she read the brief bio that appeared next to the picture. Sally-Anne Brewster. Twenty-seven years old. Originally from Brooklyn, New York. She was living alone in a rented cottage on a small farm. That, she knew, was where they were headed now, but she felt a sense of frustration that the killer would have left the scene hours ago.

"I know it feels like too little too late," Connor said as if reading her mind. "But there may be something to be found here. Something this scene can tell us."

Ahead, she could already see the flashing lights and the emergency vehicles pulling up to the scene. This was a typical small farm, with a wooden ranch house and some outbuildings, including the quaint cottage. The air smelled fresh. Cami's gaze was instantly drawn to the water reservoir near the buildings. There were police and emergency workers clustered around it.

That must be where she'd been drowned.

Climbing out of the car, she surveyed the scene, piecing together the clues. The front door of the cottage was splintered. It hadn't been a strong door, but a cheap and flimsy wooden one. Not that she thought a strong door would have kept him out. It seemed nothing could keep him out. But without a doubt, he'd known she was inside.

Connor strode over to the reservoir, and Cami trailed behind, knowing what she would see, reluctant to face the violent finality that showed where a woman's life had ended.

He'd broken into the cottage. He'd struck her over the head with his weapon like he did with the others. Then he'd taken her to the reservoir. Were there any footprints? Cami doubted it. She guessed the police had already scoured the gravel path for prints and found none.

Knowing him, he would have worn gloves, she guessed, because they’d found no visible trace evidence at these scenes so far.

However, the low, white-painted concrete wall of the reservoir was spattered with blood that she guessed belonged to the victim. Her head wound must have been bleeding as he dragged her to the water.

"It happened last night," a man wearing gloves and a mask said, looking up from the examination of the body. "But it's difficult to give an accurate time in these circumstances. Around eight to twelve hours ago would be my guess. But we may be able to confirm it better in the postmortem."

"Who found the body?" Connor asked.

"One of the farm workers, arriving in the morning. He saw the blood and went to look," one of the police officers said. "The farmer and his family are on vacation, so she was the only one on the property last night. Unfortunately, that means there were no eyes or ears around to pick anything up."

Had this killer known that,Cami wondered,or had it just been a lucky coincidence?

She stood back, watching as the police and the forensics team followed their procedures. A small crowd of neighbors had gathered at a distance, watching. She turned her head away as the body, streaming water, was lifted carefully out of the reservoir and placed on a waiting gurney. The armband had already been bagged.

She noticed the woman’s blonde hair, looking darker because it was soaked from her long immersion.

They were all blondes. All the victims. This had to mean something! And they had all been dumped in water. Not just because the water was nearby, either. What Connor had said about scenes providing clues was true. This scene was showing her that the killer had had to walk a couple of hundred yards to get to that reservoir. It was not exactly convenient. Perhaps the tiny cottage hadn't had a bathtub, Cami guessed.

And this killer clearly had a compulsion to place his victims in water. Drowning was part of what he did.

Now, she needed to work out why. Why was he doing this? There was something about this scene, the way he had clearly carried this victim so far to dump her unconscious body in the water, that got Cami thinking.

This felt like a compulsion to her. He was being driven to do it. Blondes, water, drowning. Where was the link? Could she possibly find it?

Connor strode back toward her, his face grim.

"Connor, it's like he's compelled to dump them in water," Cami said, wanting to test out her theory.

"Like a ritual, maybe," Connor agreed. “Or else, he just wants to minimize the risk of trace evidence on the scene. So far, we've found no evidence of the murder weapon in the wounds. No splinters, no fragments. Could be due to the water."

"To me, it seems very intentional, very deliberate, but I wouldn't say it was to hide the evidence. He could have left her under the shower to do that, to wash out the wound. There seems to be something about water, about drowning, that's important to him."

"I agree," he said, finally acknowledging her point even though he’d tested it by arguing against it. "There's something about this that feels like it has significance to him."

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