Page 22 of Fatal Pattern

Blade moved closer, and his gaze swiveled around the room. “You think it was staged?”

“Not staged exactly. But . . .” She trailed off, trying to put her finger on what bothered her. She walked to the front window and peered through the blinds at the quiet street beyond. Coral Gables. Upscale neighborhood where people minded their own business and paid for privacy.

“Corporate attorney, you said?”

“Yeah. Divorced. Clean record except for a few speeding tickets.”

She turned back to the room. “What kind of law did he practice?”

“Medical malpractice defense, mostly. Some corporate litigation.”

“The same fields that would intersect with organ trafficking and illegal research.”

Blade’s expression sharpened. “You think Florek was connected to the organ ring Corbin and Luna exposed?”

She didn’t answer. Her attention had shifted to a section of wall where the blood spatter looked different. Instead of the violent arcs that covered most surfaces, this area showed something else. Individual drops that had fallen straight down in a neat vertical line.

She crouched and studied the pattern. “Blade, look at this.”

He joined her beside the wall. “What am I looking at?”

“Drip pattern. See how these drops fell straight down? No impact spatter, no directional spray.” She traced the line with her finger, careful not to touch the dried blood. “Someone stood right here and bled.”

“The killer?”

“Most likely. Florek’s defensive wounds were on his hands and forearms—he wouldn’t have been standing here bleeding. This is where the attacker paused after the assault.”

“I’ll make sure they get tested.” He took out his phone and tapped a message.

Tori stood and moved toward the kitchen, following the logic of the scene. On the counter, she spotted Florek’s keys and cell phone.

“Blade, does this look right to you?”

He examined the items. “What do you mean?”

“A man comes home, gets attacked in his foyer, fights for his life through multiple rooms, and his keys and phone end up neatly arranged on the kitchen counter?”

Blade’s jaw tightened. “Someone moved them. Officers know better.”

She nodded. “The killer took time to move them.” Tori pulled out her phone and snapped photos of the kitchen, the living room, and the hallway. “That’s not rage behavior. That’s control.”

She noticed a hardcover book on the floor near the couch, face down with its pages splayed open. Blood had smeared across the back cover, obscuring part of the title, but she could make out enough letters to read: Medical Ethics in the Modern Age.

“Very interesting,” she murmured, crouching beside the book.

“Find something?”

“Maybe.” She pointed to a blood smear. “Looks like someone dragged a bloody finger across the title.”

“Medical ethics. Not exactly subtle for a malpractice attorney.”

Blade led her into Florek’s home office. Leather-bound volumes lined built-in shelves and a hand-carved desk dominated the center of the room.

“We found blood in here,” he said, gesturing to evidence markers across the room.

“I’ll get there.” First, she had to see the room as the killer did. Her gaze swept the desktop items—brass letter opener, crystal paperweight, Montblanc fountain pen stand. Empty. The pen was gone, but an indentation pressed into the leather desk blotter caught her attention. She switched on the banker’s lamp and leaned closer.

Someone had written with enough pressure to leave an impression in the leather beneath.