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“Shit,” Faith swore.

“What?” Slade asked. Then he saw. “Oh, God damn it.” He parked the car. “Stay here.”

Faith had no intention of leaving the vehicle right now. In fact, she sank as low in the seat as she could and pulled her jacket up so it covered her face almost completely. The crime scene—the Happy Heaven Pet Cemetery in Westfield—was crawling with press. Faith desperately wanted to avoid having her face in the news right now. She was taking a risk helping Slade, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about being discovered. And if she was going to be outed, she wanted it to be Slade’s department calling the Bureau, not a reporter recognizing the world’s most famous FBI agent and pointing a camera and a microphone at her.

“Hey!” Slade called as he stepped outside. “What the hell is this? This is an active crime scene. Get out of here!”

The nearest reporter called, “Detective! This is the third murder of this type in four days. What can you tell the city of—”

“No comment. And if you really need a comment, go screw yourself. Off my crime scene.”

“Sir, the people of—”

“The people of Carmel would like this killer caught. That’ll be a lot easier to do when I don’t have to deal with assholes trampling my crime scene. Move.”

The reporter, of course, didn’t take no for an answer. “Can you tell us if you have any suspects?”

Slade didn’t bother answering him. “Sergeant, get these dipshits off of my crime scene. Move them if you have to. I’ll be more than happy to tell the judge exactly why I used force to prevent destruction of evidence.”

There was a mild commotion as the unseen sergeant and his officers cleared the cemetery of press. Faith sunk lower in her seat and prayed silently that the passing newspeople didn’t glance into the passenger window of Slade’s cruiser. She looked behind at Turk and decided he was okay to be seen. Cops had K9s too.

The door opened. “All right.”

“Shit!” Faith swore, flinching. “Damn it, Slade.”

“Sorry. I was just saying it’s safe to come out now.”

“Right.” She rubbed her forehead. “Yeah.”

She got out of the cruiser and let Turk out. Unfortunately, the crime scene had indeed been trampled. The ground surrounding the body was full of footprints, and it was impossible to tell if any of them were the killers.

“Bunch of parasites,” Slade muttered. “Damn it.”

“Did they touch the body?”

“A part of me hopes so, Special Agent, because if I find a single fingerprint from one of those Neanderthals on my victim, I will make it my personal mission to ensure that they lose every single privilege that might allow them to work in news ever again.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Sorry. I just hate reporters.”

“Can’t say I’m a huge fan either,” Faith said. She looked down at the body. “There are worse people, though.”

The victim wore scrubs instead of the business casual outfit Dr. Patel had worn. He also wore glasses. He also was a he, which was more evidence in favor of the hypothesis that it was the victims’ profession that mattered more than anything. Perhaps the only thing that mattered.

She stooped down and put on some rubber gloves. “Who called it in?”

“Security guard. Showed up, saw the body, noped out and called us. Sergeant told me over the phone that they talked to him already. I have his number if I think we want to call him later.”

“Works for me. I doubt it’s a guard anyway. It’s got to be someone who knows the victims personally.”

She pulled the victim’s wallet from his pocket and looked at the ID. “Dr. Mark Chen.”

“Let me see it,” Slade said. She handed him the wallet, and he said, “I’ll send the DL number to the station and have them get me a bio on this guy.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and took a picture of the ID. “So you think it’s someone who knows our victims?”

“I do. These killings were done to send a message.”

“What message, though? It’s not just bad vets. You said so yourself.”

“No, not just bad ones. I don’t know what the message is yet. It might have something to do with punishment. It might even be a way to show forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness?”

“Or absolution.” She cocked her head. “Hmm. I have a project for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes. I want you to figure out what the connection between all of these victims is.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think the victims knew each other?”

“Maybe. Maybe they just happened to be in the same place at the same time. Maybe they all just happened to have our killer in their extended social circle.”

“So they might not know each other, but the killer would have to know all of them.”

“Yes. There are dozens of veterinary doctors in the Indianapolis area, maybe hundreds. This killer targeted three specific ones in three different places around Carmel and Westfield. I would bet my career that he has a reason for picking each of them.”

Actually, she was betting her career.

“What are you going to do?” Slade asked.

“I’m going to figure out what this crime scene means.”

He blinked. “Is that not what we’re doing?”

"I mean, I'm going to figure out what these rituals all mean: the stone circle, the sunflowers, the honey, the wine. There's a reason for all of them."

“Ah. All right. So we’re splitting up?”

“Yes. This killer’s moving very fast, and now that the media’s on the trail, there’s a strong chance that it’s going to be harder for us to work without being harassed and interrupted. We don’t have any suspects right now, but we have multiple avenues to follow to look for a new lead. I think we’re better served turning over every rock until we find that lead.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll give you a ride back to the station.”

She smiled drily. “Well, since I don’t have my car, I kind of need you to give me a ride.”

“I can do without the attitude, thank you,” he quipped. “Unless you want to walk home.”

She grinned. “You remind me of my partner.”

“He sounds like a very handsome and intelligent man.”

“He is. Sometimes.”

The brief moment of levity faded by the time the three of them were in the car on their way back to the station. The killer was maintaining his breakneck pace, and with the media wolves sniffing the air, there was a danger that Faith could be discovered and forced to leave the case in the hands of Slade and his overwhelmed team at Carmel P.D.

Or the Indianapolis Field Office .

That thought brought Faith up short. The Indianapolis Field Office would probably be assigned to this case anyway. Three kills in four days definitely fit the criteria for stepping in and taking over. If one of their agents recognized Faith, then her goose was double-cooked.

All the more reason for them to work fast.

***

Faith sipped her coffee and scanned the article on Celtic burial rituals. Turk was napping next to her bed. Considering the hour, Faith should be sleeping too, but she couldn’t sleep until she had answers.

The killer had chosen very specific items to bury his victims in. Well, not bury but lay to rest. The circle of stones, the jars of honey and wine, and the sunflowers over the eyes were all well thought out, and each element was present with each victim.

The honey and wine was the Celtic component. Several Celtic cultures used to lay their dead to rest with a jar of honey and a jar of wine. Sources seemed to differ on whether that was for the deceased soul’s consumption or an offering to some angel or spirit meant to grant them a place in the afterlife.

The stones could be a Celtic ritual too, or some other culture from the British Isles The Irish and Scottish were known to bury their dead in cairns or sometimes simple piles of stone stacked over the deceased’s body. This was supposed to prevent the dead from rising and wandering the Earth.

The sunflowers were an anomaly. Many cultures were known to incorporate flowers in their funerals and burial rituals, but specifically sunflowers placed over the eyes wasn’t something that seemed to belong to any culture.

So what was the symbolism?

Faith leaned back in her chair and crossed her arm. The victims were laid to rest in the middle of a ring of stones, but they weren’t covered. That could just be a time issue. The ritual was already complex enough to be time-consuming, which wasn’t compatible with the idea of getting away with the murders. Or it could mean that the souls were meant to be freed rather than trapped. The honey and wine could be a traditional offering.

Or maybe it was a peace offering. An apology of sorts was made on behalf of the victims by the killer. That could explain why the victims were buried in pet cemeteries. Maybe the killer was forcing the victims to atone for their crimes and then showing the spirits of the animals that they had atoned and so their souls could be pardoned. That fit with her hypothesis that these killings were absolution.

But the sunflowers didn’t make sense. Unless the killer wasn’t as sophisticated as Faith thought they were and was just making up some reason for the stones, honey and wine too. They might just be using sunflowers for the shock value.

Or maybe to symbolize the victims waking into a new life. The sun was an ancient symbol of life and creation, and to many cultures, the sunrise was a symbol of rebirth. Maybe the victims were slain to leave their old life behind, then atonement was made on their behalf so they could be reborn into a new one in harmony with all living things.

Then why kill Dr. Summers? Faith had looked her up, and there really was no hint of wrongdoing that she could find.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. She was grabbing at straws here. The “aha” she hoped to find wasn’t here. Not yet. She needed to know who knew all of these victims before she could determine the reason for Dr. Summers’ death.

“So to solve the case, I need to solve the case,” she said drily.

Turk lifted one ear at the sound of Faith’s voice. “Sorry, boy. Go back to sleep. Mommy’s just tired.”

She was tired. And she wasn’t going to get any more work done tonight. She sighed and got to her feet.

As she showered, she wondered what kind of killer might feel an urge to atone for a victim’s crime rather than punish them for it. Maybe she was completely off base, and this was a punishment, but she had a hunch that there was a component of forgiveness to it. Of absolution.

And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.

This killer had done a little more than amputate the vets’ scalpel hands, but the sentiment could be the same.

“He’s not trying to punish them,” Faith whispered. “He’s trying to save them.”

She pulled that thread for a little while, but the answer continued to elude her. She’d have to call it quits and try again after she’d gotten some rest.

But she was close. She was heading in the right direction. That was a start.

She just had to hope she finished before the killer atoned for anyone else.