Page 9

Faith sat on a stone bench twenty feet from the oak. A dozen people crowded underneath the tree, four uniformed police officers, a plainclothes detective, five CSIs, and a coroner and her assistant. One hundred feet past faith, police officers were pushing the last reluctant looky-loos out of the pet cemetery.

Turk sat in front of Faith, looking at her from time to time with a curious expression on his face. He probably wondered why she wasn’t ordering him to examine the crime scene.

She would get to that in a little bit, but she had to decide exactly how to go about that first. If her superiors found out that she was investigating a murder, she would probably be suspended without pay and put on notice, meaning that any further violation would result in the end of her career. On the other hand, if Carmel Police caught her snooping around a crime scene or investigating a murder without their knowledge, it would mean a minor scandal with the FBI and a guarantee that she would be forcibly retired as a field agent. But if she could get away with it, then she would suffer none of those consequences.

Could she get away with it, though? She often relied on local police forces to do the busywork that she couldn’t do herself. Without that manpower, could she be of help here?

The detective approached, shaking his head and swinging his arms as he walked. Faith would wait until she talked to him to make a decision on how to proceed.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” the detective said when he was within five yards. “I’m Detective Chester Slade.”

Slade was about Faith’s age, of average height and build. He had a handsome but somewhat soft-featured face with big blue eyes that no doubt made a certain type of girl swoon fiercely.

Romance was nowhere near Faith’s mind right now, though, and wouldn’t have been even if she was single. By the expression on Slade’s face, romance was nowhere near his mind either.

“Faith Bold,” Faith replied.

Slade frowned. “That sounds familiar. FBI agent Faith Bold?”

She tensed a little. “Yes.”

If Slade had an opinion on Faith's reputation, he didn't share it. He nodded and said, "Well, it's nice to meet you in person, Special Agent Bold. Sorry, this is your introduction to our town."

He gestured to the body, which was being carefully lifted onto a gurney for the coroner to take. “Second vet in two days found like this.”

Faith raised an eyebrow. “Exactly like this?”

“Well, we’ll have to wait for the coroner’s report to know for sure, but yeah. Almost certainly.”

“Damn.”

“You can say that again.” He took his hat off and fanned his face, odd considering that it was only thirty degrees outside. “We expect this kind of thing in Indianapolis, but not here. Not that Indianapolis is a particularly dangerous city, but it’s a big city, and that’s usually where you get crap like this.”

Actually, almost the opposite was true. In the city, you had a lot of murder motivated by economic stress, but this kind of ritualistic display was far more common in rural areas and suburbs. She didn’t tell Slade that, though.

“I noticed a needle mark on the victim’s skin,” she said. “They were both poisoned?”

“Dr. Summers definitely was. I assume Dr. Patel as well.”

“May I ask what the poison was?”

“Pentobarbital.”

“Ah. I’m not familiar with that.”

“It’s the drug most commonly used for pet euthanasia.”

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place for Faith. “So two vets killed with the drug used to put pets to sleep and then laid to rest in a ritualistic fashion in pet cemeteries.”

“Pretty much. Fun, right?”

“Do you have any leads yet?”

Slade released a tense laugh. “We’re less than forty-eight hours into the case. I thought we were moving fast. Now I’m looking at another body.”

Faith nodded. “That’s the trend nowadays.”

“Trend?”

"Yes. Since the Donkey Killer was exposed roughly three years ago, we've seen an increase in the number of ritualistic serial killers like this one who move exceptionally fast. Most of them fit the criterion of a spree killer in terms of their speed, but in every other way, they fit the criteria of a serial killer. Victims are chosen on purpose, not randomly, the killings themselves are hyper-ritualistic, and there's always some sort of warped moral or message to the deaths."

“So basically like normal serial killers except they kill a slew of victims in days instead of years.”

“Essentially, yes.”

Slade put his hat on his head and took a seat next to Faith on the bench. The two of them watched as CSI gathered their materials and prepared to release the crime scene.

“Any idea why that’s going on?” Slade asked. “The rise in quick-moving serial killer freaks?”

Faith shook her head. “The prevailing opinion right now is that Jethro Trammell inspired a lot of otherwise closeted psychopaths to come into the light.”

“Trammell is the Donkey Killer, I’m guessing?”

“Was. He was killed by my partner when he rescued me.”

Slade’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s right. I remember reading about that now. He was the crazy farmer who captured people and tortured them in his barn.”

Faith’s shoulders stiffened slightly. “Yes, that was him.”

“Damn. Well, good for you for getting out of that and not being a complete basket case.”

Faith didn’t like the direction this conversation was heading, so she returned the subject back to Slade’s original question. “I don’t agree with the FBI’s analysis, though. These kinds of killers don’t act because they’re inspired by others. Their motivations are always internal. Frankly, they could care less that the Donkey Killer ever existed, and they would have done what they did anyway.”

“What about the other guy? West? You don’t think he was inspired by Trammell?”

“In a way, yes, but he was the exception.”

Actually, if West’s claims to Faith were to be believed, West had been killing people since long before Trammell ever showed up. Faith didn’t want to get into that with Slade, though, and in any case, Trammell did inspire West to change his MO.

“Got it. So why do you think there are more of them now?”

Faith smiled grimly. “I don’t think there are. I think killers like this have always existed. I think we’re just paying more attention now.”

The two of them fell silent again. Turk whined softly as the uniformed cops gathered the yellow tape and cleared the scene. Where a moment ago, a dead woman had lain posed to the world as a message that Faith hadn't deciphered was now only a plot of grass. It was as though the murder had never happened.

“Are we taking the witness with us?” one of the uniforms asked Slade.

“No,” Slade said. “She’s not a person of interest anymore.” He cocked his head. “Actually. Miss Bold, I know this is a lot to ask. I’m sure you’re probably here for personal reasons, but this sort of thing… Well, like I said, it’s like nothing we’ve ever seen before. If you’re able to offer any kind of help or insights, we’d love to have them.”

Faith felt a rush of excitement followed immediately by disappointment. “I… I wish I could. I’m afraid that the FBI has… They have me on another assignment right now.”

Slade’s eyes widened. “There’s another killer out here?”

“No. Nothing like that. I’m just… I’m supposed to focus on my current assignment.”

Slade's eyebrows furrowed slightly, and Faith could tell that the detective knew she was hiding something. He didn't probe any further, though. "Ah. Bummer." He stood and extended his hand. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Special Agent Bold. For what it's worth, I think you're doing a damned good job."

Now it was Faith’s turn to wonder what Slade wasn’t saying. Had he seen through her deflection and guessed that she was suspended and not on another assignment?

That mystery would have to remain unsolved. She stood and took his hand. “Good luck, Detective.”

He nodded, then left with his uniforms. Faith watched them leave, and only left the cemetery when they were gone.

They walked slowly back to Jacob’s house. Turk could sense that she was troubled and tried to engage her in play a few times while they walked. When she didn’t reciprocate, he whined softly and nuzzled her leg.

She reached down to scratch behind his ears for a moment. “Mommy’s okay, Turk. She just has a lot on her mind.”

Faith wasn’t superstitious, and she didn’t believe in spiritual signs that would show her what path to take in life. Still, it felt a little more than coincidental that she would happen to be in Carmel right when another of the killers she specialized in reared his ugly head and began to murder innocents. The cold, analytical portion of her mind told her that a coincidence was exactly what it was. After all, she had said to Slade that the “increase” in serial killers wasn’t an increase at all but a function of more awareness on the part of law enforcement.

But she was here. Innocent people had died. And the local detective assigned to the case had stated explicitly that he was in over his head and needed help.

She cursed softly. “I should have told him to call the Indianapolis office and get their help. They probably have an agent who can shed some light on this.”

Once more, the cold analyst in her mind refused to let her explain away her actions as simple forgetfulness. She could have recommended the Indianapolis office, but she didn’t. Why not?

“Because…”

She looked at Turk. He met her eyes, and since she was being extra superstitious today, she might as well just accept that it looked like his expression encouraged her to be honest.

“Because I want to help. I’m the most qualified agent in the Bureau to handle this kind of crime. And I can’t sit still and wait for someone to tell me it’s okay to do my job again. I’m here, and I can make a difference now.”

Turk barked, and Faith smiled. Now that her decision was made, her uncertainty disappeared. Doing this would be a huge risk. If her superiors caught wind of the fact that she was assisting in a multiple murder investigation when she was supposed to be laying low on administrative leave, she risked losing not only her field agent status but her employment.

Not my life, though. Not like Dr. Summers and Dr. Patel.

She jogged the rest of the way back to Jacob’s house and caught him just returning from work. He lifted his eyebrow when he saw her.

“You look excited. Is the FBI giving you your job back?”

“No. But I’m going to work anyway.”

She explained about the dead body Turk had found and Detective Slade’s request for help. Jacob sighed at the end and shook his head.

“As your friend, I should tell you that this is a very bad idea and one you need to dismiss out of hand and never reconsider. As your First Sergeant, I am well aware of the fact that you will never follow an order you disagree with and aren’t particularly interested in hearing the rationale for that order. As a Marine, I’m going to tell you that I’m proud of you and wish you good luck.”

Faith smiled at him. “Thank you, First Sergeant.”

“Go get ‘em, Bold.”

She wrapped him in a bear hug, then jogged to her car. The drive to the Carmel Police Department took twenty minutes. She found Detective Slade in the lobby preparing to leave. His eyes widened when he saw her. “Special Agent Bold. What are you doing here?”

“It looks like I’ll have some free time after all,” she said. “I wanted to see if you still needed help.”

Slade grinned from ear to ear. “I’d be happy to have you.”

Faith returned Slade’s grin. Eventually, the other shoe would drop, and she would suffer consequences for her actions here, but she could worry about that later.

I’m back, baby!