"Weird how?" I ask, accepting the coffee she offers while noting the way her eyes track my movements. Casey has always been perceptive, skilled at reading the small details that reveal the underlying truth. This morning, I can see her cataloging changes in my behavior, small tells that suggest something significant has shifted in my personal life.
"Weird like someone's been studying these cases obsessively," she says, settling into the chair across from my desk with the easy familiarity of countless similar conversations. "The positioning in both murders isn't just accurate—it's mathematically precise. Arms at exactly ninety degrees, head tilted at exactly fifteen degrees, feet positioned with measuring-tape accuracy."
She pulls out her phone, scrolling through photos that I recognize as enhanced versions of the crime scene documentation she shared with me earlier. "Look at this—I used digital analysis software to measure the angles, and they're perfect down to fractions of degrees. This isn't someone approximating a signature they've studied. This is someone replicating it with the kind of precision that suggests either obsessive-compulsive attention to detail or…."
"Or direct instruction from someone who knows the original methodology," I finish, my chest tightening as the implications settle. Because if the copycat has access to that level of detailed information, they either have insider knowledge of Kent's methods or they've been studying his work with academic thoroughness.
Either possibility suggests a level of sophisticated planning that goes far beyond simple mimicry.
"Exactly. And here's the really weird part—" Casey leans forward, her voice dropping to the conspiratorial tone she uses when sharing information that technically violates departmental protocols. "I ran the measurements against historical crime scene data from unsolved cases, looking for similar precision patterns. Guess what I found?"
My mouth goes dry, because I already know what she's going to tell me. The historical cases she found aren't unsolved—they're just cases where the solution was never officially acknowledged. Cases that ended when the Carver disappeared into whatever carefully constructed anonymity has protected him for the past nine years.
"The Jenkins murder from 2016," she continues, confirming my fears. "Same mathematical precision, same obsessive attention to positioning details. Which means either our copycat has been studying that specific case, or…."
She trails off, watching my face for a reaction. I force my expression to remain neutrally interested, applying every technique I've learned for maintaining professional composure under pressure.
"Or what?" I ask, though part of me doesn't want to hear her answer.
"Or the same person is responsible for both the historical murders and the current ones. Which would mean the Carver isn't actually dormant—he's just been lying low until something triggered him to start killing again."
The theory sits between us like a loaded weapon, carrying implications that could destroy everything I've worked to build. Because if Casey starts investigating connections between the current murders and historical cases, she'll eventually discover details that lead back to me. My involvement in the Jenkins investigation, the unusual access I've had to crime scene information, the fact that I've been obstructing justice to protect someone I should be helping to catch.
She'll discover that Dr. Lila North isn't just a forensic psychologist with expertise in violent criminal behavior—she's someone who's been actively collaborating with the subject of her professional analysis.
"That's an interesting theory," I say carefully, "but the Carver's historical victims were all corrupt officials or people who'd escaped justice through systemic failures. Chen and Martin don't fit that pattern."
"Which could mean his selection criteria have changed, or that we don't know enough about the victims to understand the connection yet." Casey's eyes are bright with the kind of intellectual excitement that comes from sensing a breakthrough. "Either way, I think we need to dig deeper into the historical cases, see if there are details that weren't included in the original files."
The suggestion sends ice water through my veins, because I know exactly what details weren't included in the original files. Evidence of my presence at crime scenes, witness testimony that was never officially recorded, the confession tape that could implicate half the police department in systematic corruption.
Evidence that could connect Delilah Jenkins to Dr. Lila North in ways that would destroy both identities simultaneously.
"I'm not sure that's our mandate," I say, applying gentle pressure to redirect her enthusiasm. "We're consulting on current cases, not reopening historical investigations. The media has already brought up theserial killer returnsangle. Aren’t we supposed to be above that sensationalism?"
"But if they're connected—"
"If they're connected, then the detectives working the current cases will make that determination." My voice carries just enough authority to suggest this conversation is moving into territory beyond her clearance level. "Our job is to analyze the psychological profile of whoever's committing the current murders, not to solve cold cases that were already investigated thoroughly."
Casey's expression shifts slightly, noting the subtle boundary I've established. But instead of backing down, she leans forward with the kind of persistent curiosity that makes her excellent at crime scene analysis and potentially dangerous to my carefully constructed cover.
"You seem different today," she observes, changing tactics with the fluid intelligence I've always admired. "More…I don't know. Energized? Like something significant happened over the weekend."
The observation hits closer to the truth than I'd like, because she's not wrong. Having Kent back in my life has reawakened parts of myself that I've kept carefully dormant for nine years. The woman who once helped position her father's body with clinical precision, who corresponded with a killerabout philosophy and methodology, who understood violence as a tool of justice rather than simple brutality.
Dr. Lila North was built to suppress that woman. But Kent's presence is making suppression increasingly difficult.
"I had some personal insights about the case," I deflect, which is technically accurate even if it doesn't address what she's really asking. "Sometimes stepping back and looking at evidence with a fresh perspective reveals patterns that weren't immediately obvious."
"Personal insights," Casey repeats, and there's something in her tone that suggests she's not entirely satisfied with my explanation. "About the murders, or about something else?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with the kind of careful probing that suggests Casey knows something has changed but can't yet identify what. She's studying my face with the same analytical attention she brings to crime scene evidence, looking for details that might reveal the underlying truth.
I need to end this conversation before her natural curiosity leads her somewhere that could destroy us both.
"Casey," I say, letting a note of professional finality enter my voice, "I appreciate your thoroughness in analyzing the evidence, but we need to be careful about speculation that goes beyond what we can prove. The current cases are complex enough without adding historical connections that may not exist."
Her expression shifts again, recognizing the boundary I'm establishing. But there's something else in her eyes now—not just curiosity, but concern. The kind of worry that comes from caring about someone who's displaying changes in behavior that don't have obvious explanations.
