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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A ddie stared at the papers she’d hung around her office, cast in yellow light from the lamps. It was too late in the evening to turn on the fluorescent overheads. That much whitewash would keep her up for hours and give her a migraine.

On the whiteboard, the photo in front of her was a close-up image of the bug bite this victim had received. A killing from several years ago, but not the first batch. Just looking at it made her shiver, but she wasn’t going to let her fears keep her from doing her job. Working this case could be the thing that cured her.

At least, she had to entertain the possibility.

She still felt, to an extent, the way she had when she left DC. Despite the sleep and the fact she was only working on one investigation, things hadn’t been restful. Her sister Mona would barely speak to her. Russ was just Russ. The times she’d seen Jake were about death, and the two of them had nearly been killed.

The week she’d spent in Seattle at the FBI office had been a lot about convincing them why she could do this only if she had a whole team. Trying to explain why she had been picked for the assignment here instead of one of their local agents when the truth was she had no idea.

The assistant director in Seattle had been as unhappy about it as her. He could only spare agents if she for sure needed backup. Addie wasn’t about to ask just because she felt like a self-fulfilling prophecy on a good day and a whole lot worse than that on a bad.

Given what Zimmerman had told her about this giving her a clean slate to get promoted, she figured if it was true then that meant she could move on from here when it was done. If she succeeded.

Probably she’d be fired.

Either way, Addie didn’t have to get stuck in Benson forever. That would be a nightmare when her history was around every corner. Ready to rush at her when she least expected it.

But this investigation—and her own history that seemed to be related somehow—was a serious hurdle.

“Wow.” Dr. Carlton stood at the door in a skirt suit and heels, a trench coat over her arm and a briefcase in hand. “This is a lot of cases.”

“Hey, Sarah.” It was nice to see a friendly face.

Jacob had been hauled in for questioning by the police, and no one updated her on how that had gone. She’d kind of thought Hank would come by. Not yet though. Were they questioning Jake still?

Addie needed to focus on work, or she would realize it was hours later and all she’d done was think about Jake. That wouldn’t be good. It made her long for DC, where she’d rarely been distracted by personal stuff. Even with Zimmerman, and their relationship.

Which made her wonder if she’d had feelings for him or if it was simply about connecting with someone? She knew how Russ felt about it—because the first book he read every day was the Bible. What about Sarah? Maybe Addie needed to figure out the answer on her own as to the kind of person she wanted to be here or anywhere.

Focus.

Addie turned to the ME. “I have a question.”

“Hit me.” Sarah put her briefcase beside the coat tree and hung up the trench.

“Was there anything from the autopsy on Celia Jessop that I don’t know?”

“There’s always the unexpected.” Sarah folded her arms. “She was stabbed twice, and there are some shallow cuts.”

“Methodical?”

Sarah nodded. “Clean and precise. But I don’t think the killer had medical training and the blade had a serration close to the handle. Maybe a pocketknife or small hunting knife.”

Addie had three other similar cases. They didn’t look like torture, which was why she’d settled on experimentation. It was more common than she wanted to see in cases where the killer had no empathy.

Sarah frowned. “So you believe this was the first death this year?”

“Unless you have anything.” Addie shrugged. “All the others were in a series of two or three, over two months. They’re spaced a few years apart each time. Each killing season, as it were, shows a pattern. The first kill is opportunity and looks like desperation. The others are more methodical, like he’s testing things out in some cases. But there are always a few common elements.”

“Like the bruise?”

“I’d noticed that. I wasn’t sure what it indicated.” Addie frowned. “Mostly because I’ve been distracted by the bug bites. It’s on my list to tackle next.”

“Can I show you something?” Sarah unfolded her arms and pointed to one of the victim photos. That one had a broken hyoid bone and petechiae around the eyes.

Strangulation.

Addie figured she knew what this was. “Sure.”

Sarah moved around behind her. “Each of the victims shows swollen skin around the neck. Not exactly bruising, but pressure was applied. This one that has a broken hyoid bone? Celia had the same thing when I took a look at the X-rays. I’m wondering if you’ve got more than just these two, and it was overlooked because of the other injuries. I think he’s right-handed. And I can tell you he’s over five eleven but not taller than six one.”

Sarah’s arms came over Addie’s shoulders, she bent her right elbow and grasped her wrist with her left hand. The inside of her wrist touched Addie’s throat. “If I apply enough pressure, it squeezes off the carotid. You’ll pass out because blood backs up in your brain.”

Addie’s mind spun with the implications. “And the bruise by the throat? The broken hyoid?”

Her arm constricted against Addie’s throat. Addie patted Sarah’s forearm. The ME lowered her arms. Addie felt the pieces click together in her mind. “It’s a chokehold.”

“He pulls. I think a watch may be responsible for the break.”

“But it’s not on all of them. So maybe he doesn’t always wear it.” Addie walked along the row of whiteboards and looked at each victim. “Or he didn’t have a watch for a while, but he wears one now and didn’t account for it.”

The killer could have DNA from the victim on a watch he still wore. Testing it could nail their suspect—when they figured out who it was.

Did Jacob wear a watch?

“Martial arts, maybe. Or police training, though holds like that are illegal now. He isn’t going to care about that when he’s gotten away with this for so long. He believes he’s above the law.”

Addie went to her notebook and jotted down several things about the knife and the hold. “Seems like some of the things he does are instinctual. Others are methodical. He lives his life and when the urge to take a life grows to where it’s undeniable, he finds someone. After he kills again, he can suppress the urge for a year or two.”

If there was another death before Celia’s it could be that the death wasn’t even listed as a murder. Or it was considered solved. This guy could be working outside of the local counties for all they knew, especially if the first one was a trigger kill—where he snapped. It could have happened somewhere else if the guy suddenly found himself unable to control the compunction to end a life.

Sarah sank onto the edge of the desk. “I’ll look in my files. It’s possible someone was overlooked.”

“Thanks.”

“I should go.” Sarah glanced at the thin gold watch on her wrist. “I’m supposed to meet my dad for dinner.”

“He lives locally?” Addie had no idea where her mom was these days. Or who she was in a relationship with. It was too hard to keep track when it changed so frequently.

Sarah retrieved her things. “He moved here a few years ago. Persuaded me to do the same.”

Addie lifted her chin. “Thanks for coming.”

“Anytime.” Sarah waved and headed for the hall.

Across the way, the police department had their lights on. She could see the front desk sergeant typing on a computer, the phone between her shoulder and cheek.

Still no sign of Hank.

Addie didn’t know if she was supposed to bug them for an answer on Jacob. Everyone knew about their history. It wasn’t as though it would be a shock to anyone if she came across as concerned—which she was.

It would be na?ve to believe without a doubt that he hadn’t killed Celia. Or any of these women. She couldn’t know without a shadow of a doubt without solving the case.

Whoever sent her here might not have known just how tightly connected she was to each of these crimes, but they knew she would have to jump the hurdle of her issues. The drive she had to understand every evil person and why they did what they did would fuel her. Enough to overcome her fears? She wasn’t sure, given her reaction to those insects.

Maybe she would always have those triggers.

But having fears didn’t stop her from being an FBI agent. If it did, no one would qualify. Still, she felt the need to prove she actually might be able to do this alone.

No one in her life would think she could.

The lure of achievement tempted her. Even if the odds were so low she would no doubt fall on her face.

That drive to believe in hope that amounted to a mustard seed had also led her to get burned out. To find a cause for evil, when instead there were too many instances where no explanation existed. Some people were damaged, in certain cases—usually coupled with a particular psychological profile—a person targeted others for no reason at all other than that they could.

But Jake?

She just couldn’t believe him capable of something like this. Multiple murders spanning years?

Then again, didn’t people who knew—and sometimes loved—serial killers often say they had no idea the person was capable of those horrors? It was why this killer had managed to get away with all these deaths. For years.

Addie put more detail onto her profile. There were still a lot of questions, but she was beginning to be able to fill in the gaps on this thing. That put her a few steps closer to cuffs on a suspect and filed charges.

If he truly had nothing to do with it, Jake would be free.

She didn’t want to be doing this for that reason. At least not that reason alone. She was an FBI agent who had every intention of fulfilling the oath she’d taken to operate with integrity and honesty—and no bias.

Addie made a note to find out if any of the others had a broken hyoid. They could have all been choked as a method to subdue them. Then there was this insect bite, always a different creature.

That was some research she didn’t particularly want to get into, but maybe the police department or the crime lab had an expert in that stuff, and she could draw from their knowledge. Get a support team going.

Addie sent a couple of emails. She’d had a stilted conversation with her SAC earlier after she missed her meeting because she’d been trapped with Jacob in that fire.

No, don’t think about him.

Her mind was like a broken record.

Or she was an addict in her own way, looking for a fix.

Considering her history with alcohol, she might have replaced one vice for another. Her personality hadn’t changed, she just found something less obvious to obsess over instead. Yet another thing she needed to fix about herself.

Sometimes it felt insurmountable. She would never be the person she wanted to be because she had too many issues that had to be fixed.

Not for the first time she considered quitting the FBI to save them the embarrassment of her not being a good agent. Maybe every agent felt like they didn’t measure up. But she’d met plenty who thought they were God’s gift to the bureau. Given the confidence she’d had in herself that got her crowned homecoming queen had been the same thing that led to her being the victim of a deadly killer—and nearly losing her own life? Addie wasn’t all fired up to think she was all that. Not ever again.

Her cell phone rang.

She grabbed it and looked at the screen, but it wasn’t Jake. It was that same unknown number. She steeled herself, then swiped to answer. “Special Agent Franklin.”

Silence greeted her.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” She exhaled.

Was she assuming the same killer was whoever tried to run her off the road and then burn her and Jake in his studio? She couldn’t prove it was, but she had a theory.

“Nobody has noticed, have they?” She needed him to answer her questions.

But he never did.

She gripped the phone. “You want me to find you.”

The line went dead.

Only the ticking of the clock and her own exhale could be heard.