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"Just like that?" I asked, my voice softer than intended.

"Just like that," she said with a nod. "You in?"

I looked to Zay, his heavy brow tightening with determination before he offered me a faint nod.

"We're in."

"Huzzah." Sali slapped her hand down on the desk and flew out of her seat. "Prep the interview room, Walsh. We're gonna fuck shit up."

"James! What the actual fuck—"

Chapter Three

"It's not just about my mom," said Alessa as I sat across from her in the interview room. She wore a full-on business suit and presented a spread of paperwork with her when she arrived. Her tablet, turned in my direction, displayed the key items of the signature of the serial crimes that involved her mother. "It's about all of these women and I suspect we only know about a small victim pool. There's more. In the early-two-thousands, The Four Point Killer had victims all over the state and in Canada even. We just don't know. Just because there are six known victims, doesn't mean there can't be six more."

"Your mom's case has been quite a motivator for you," I summed up, my tone gentle as I faced the impassioned young woman.

"It has. I've been cleared to work on it as a part of my dissertation," she said, folding her hands and resting them on the table.

"You're very brave," I said, leaning back on my seat while watching her.

"It's not easy." She seemed to calm down after the compliment. "But we'll find justice in the end."

"Given your experience, you understand the nature of a recovery interview, right?" I asked, continuing my gentle handling of the woman who seemed to need it.

She nodded, her fingers tightening against her palms. "I do. I don't have a lot of memories, but I'm willing to try. I want it all recorded. Hypnosis is welcome, too. I understand Doctors Anita Oliver and Nora Brody were in charge of the recovery interviews at the time of my recovery. Will they be conducting it this time?"

"Not to my knowledge." I shook my head. "But we can ask Agent Donovan."

"All right." She nodded, glancing at the clock. "I remember scents the best."

"What scent do you remember most?"

"Earth." She paused, her lips pursed. "Something like gunpowder. And honeysuckle."

"How did you identify the latter two?"

Her brow narrowed when her eyes darked. "I searched for a match. Put myself through smell tests."

Astonishment washed over me, but before I could respond, Donovan opened the door to join us. I stood, holding my hand to Alessa as the FBI brought in their interviewer. "Good luck to you, Alessa. We'll speak again soon."

"Thank you, Detective Roth." She drew in a slow breath and stood to face the team who summoned her.

I bowed out then, leaving her to the preparatory phases of the interview process. For that, I wouldn't be present, but I would observe the sessions once they began. Or at least the recordings.

My urge to flee, to remove myself from the uncomfortable situation overcame me, and I retreated to my office for a bit. In leaving the door ajar, I caught sight of the new canine officer, Emily Davies, as she wrangled a rowdy puppy meant to be at training.

"You little shit. What am I supposed to do with—Ritchie! Get your shit together before I—"

And her shouting voice faded as quickly as it came. The dog yip-yapped all the way down the hall and I chuckled.

My phone chimed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see the alarm that read, Doctor Wright. My stomach gave a great lurch when I feared being late to meet with the ornery investigator. Without a second thought, I bolted from my office, and took off at a jog down the street. The warm, muggy weather annoyed me a little as it was only a matter of time before the sky opened up and drenched me. I'd lived in Seattle long enough to predict a random downpour. Sometimes bathing in mist became a daily occurrence.

On the way, I thought about Alessa Trainor. The way she postured, held herself together, remained formal and professional at all times partially worried me. She'd been through hell, and it felt like a matter of time before that façade cracked. I'd seen it before, too frequently even, and I hoped the outcome in this case would be different.

I made it to the forensic lab about sixty seconds after the torrential downpour that soaked my already messy hair. I hurried inside, snatched the visitor pass that sat waiting for me, then headed off in the direction of Clementine's office.

Trails of water dripped behind me, and my sneakers squeaked on the spotless tile the entire way. Clementine greeted me by her office door, her thumbnail between her teeth as she gazed in my direction. Her hair draped long over her shoulders, touching her waist as it hung around her lab coat. She appeared to be fighting a smile.