Miles felt his pulse quicken as he processed this information. He’d seen the name a few times, too. Goldberg was an investment banker whose business practices fit the pattern they'd identified in their previous victims. If the killer had targeted him, it confirmed their theory about the selection criteria while also representing a significant escalation in the timeline. However, in the research he’d done, Goldberg hadn’t really stood out in any specific way.
"Investment banker, right? Specializing in offshore tax havens for wealthy clients. Exactly the kind of predatory financial practices we identified in the other victims."
"That's what I figured when I got the call," Vic said, holding the conference room door open for him. "Which means either we're getting better at predicting this killer's targets, or we're dealing with someone who's accelerating their timeline."
They hurried through the empty corridors of the field office, their footsteps echoing in the institutional silence. Miles's mind was already racing ahead to the crime scene, wondering what new details this murder might reveal about the killer's methodology and motivation. He just hated that someone else had to die in order for them to have that hope. Four victims now, all following the same elaborate pattern, all connected by their wealth and questionable business ethics.
All completely covered in gold.
"What do we know about how the body was discovered?" Miles asked as they waited for the elevator.
"The police told me a woman named Jessica Breeding has been seeing Goldberg casually for a few months. She had a key to his house and would sometimes come by late at night...just for hook-ups, I’m assuming. She came by for one tonight and found him positioned in his living room, coated in gold like the others."
The elevator arrived and they stepped inside. As it carried them down, the small space felt charged with urgency. Miles could feel his mind shifting into high gear, preparing to process whatever evidence they might find at Goldberg's house. And because he wasn’t exactly a seasoned vet at crime scenes, he also felt a dawning excitement that he knew he needed to keep tampered down.
"Any signs of forced entry?" he asked as the elevator came to a stop and brought them to the lobby.
"Unknown at this point. Local PD secured the scene, but they're waiting for us before conducting a thorough investigation."
They hurried to the car and the night began to feel as if it was unfolding quickly—not too big of a stretch, considering that dawn was less than two hours away. The drive through San Francisco's empty predawn streets gave Miles time to fully shake off the lingering effects of his nightmare and his impromptu nap.Vic navigated the mostly deserted roads, often referring to her GPS so they didn’t get lost. The city looked different at this hour, its familiar landmarks softened by fog and streetlight, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere that seemed appropriate for the case.
"You okay?" Vic asked as they climbed through the hills toward Pacific Heights. "You seemed pretty distressed when I woke you up."
Miles considered lying, dismissing his nightmare as unimportant, but something about Vic's straightforward manner encouraged honesty. "Bad dream about the case. About being covered in molten gold."
"Oh, that’s an occupational hazard," she said matter-of-factly. "Violent cases have a way of infiltrating your subconscious. I once spent three weeks dreaming about a serial arsonist case, waking up convinced I could smell smoke."
The tension in the car built as they approached Goldberg's neighborhood. Miles found himself studying the lay of the land in the late morning darkness. Pacific Heights revealed itself as a bastion of San Francisco's old money, its streets lined with architectural masterpieces that commanded panoramic views of the bay. Even in the predawn darkness, the neighborhood's wealth was evident in the manicured landscaping, the expensive cars parked in circular driveways, and the sheer scale of the houses that occupied lots worth millions of dollars.
Goldberg's address led them to a contemporary structure of glass and steel that seemed to glow from within. Its interior lights created geometric patterns against the darkened yard below. Police cars lined the street in front of the house, their red and blue emergency lights painting the surrounding landscape in alternating colors. Crime scene tape had already been strung around the property, and uniformed officers moved with the purposeful efficiency of a well-coordinated investigation.
Vic parked behind one of the police cars and they both sat for a moment, studying the scene before them. The house looked peaceful from the outside, its clean lines and expensive materials giving no hint of what violence or depravity awaited inside.
"Ready?" Vic asked, reaching for her door handle.
He felt slightly embarrassed that she even had to ask as he said, "Ready." But he wasn't sure that was entirely true.
They approached the front of the house, showing their credentials to the uniformed officer who seemed to be managing access to the crime scene. The officer consulted his log and waved them through, directing them toward the front porch where they could see a woman sitting on the steps, wrapped in a blanket and staring blankly at the street.
"That's Jessica Breeding," the officer explained. "She's the one who found the body. She's been pretty shaken up, but she's coherent enough to answer questions if you need to talk to her."
Miles could see that Breeding was in some kind of shock, her posture reflecting the psychological trauma of discovering Goldberg's body. She appeared to be in her early thirties, with long dark hair and the kind of understated elegance that suggested she moved in the same social circles as their victims.
"Any details about her relationship with Goldberg?" Vic asked.
"She was pretty upfront about it," the officer replied. "Said they weren't in a serious relationship, more of a casual arrangement. She'd come by a couple times a week, usually late at night. He'd given her a key to the house about two months ago and they’d…well, they were only sleeping together. That was all."
Another officer approached them as they stood on the front walkway, his expression grim but professional. "Agent Stone? I'm Detective Martinez with SFPD. We've been coordinating with the field office on this case."
Vic quickly shook the detective’s hand as she said, "What can you tell us about the scene?"
"Seems to be the same methodology as the previous murders. The victim is positioned in the living room, coated in gold leaf, arranged like some kind of art installation. No obvious signs of forced entry, no evidence of a struggle aside from what appears to be a blow to the side of Goldberg’s head. Whoever did this had time to work undisturbed."
Miles felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning fog as he processed this information. The killer's confidence was growing with each murder, their methods becoming more refined and elaborate. The fact that they'd managed to kill Goldberg in his own home without any signs of forced entry suggested either incredible skill or inside knowledge.
"Is the scene ready for our examination?" Miles asked.
"We've photographed everything and collected initial evidence samples,” Martinez answered. “The body is still in place, positioned exactly as the killer left it."
