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It just never made sense to me back then.
It still doesn’t.
So it’s completely understandable that when Colton came along, offering validation for why I am the way that I am, it was an offer too tempting to resist.
And maybe I have to accept my shame as payment for my atonement.
Atonement.
That word sounds as foreign as it feels.
Would Colton be able to justify the full truth of me? If he knew everything? It’s unfair, really. Openness and trust; his words, his rules….now ours. Those things are as far out of reach to me as atonement.
A knock sounds at my office door, and I startle out of my dark musings. “It’s open.”
Quinn walks in with a serious, prepped look on his face. “You got the profile ready?”
Shit. Is it already time for the task force meeting? The morning just slipped away, and I’m hardly prepared to deliver a completed profile on the offender. Which is completely out of character for me. Last night was supposed to help me get back on my game, not turn my whole world inside out.
“You’re jumping the gun a little on this serial killer task force, aren’t you?” I say, reorganizing the sheets and placing them in an open file. “You’re still a body short.”
Every uniform and detective was on edge this morning as we waited for the call to come in. The one that would report the third victim. That call hasn’t come—yet. But Quinn still feels confident in calling the murders a serial, and is pushing the request through for the task force.
The call may not come today…but that doesn’t mean there’s not a body out there somewhere. At the rate the UNSUB is devolving, there could even be two.
“You want to hash it out real quick?” Quinn says, taking a seat in his usual spot. “We have about twenty-five minutes. Let’s go over what we know.”
With a long exhale, I pull up a doc I saved from my recent search and then turn the screen toward Quinn. “I’ve compiled a list of unsolved rapes and/or murders from the past three years encompassing the statewide area. There are three that stand out. Aside from the attacks occurring in each victim’s home, they were also posed. Not in the exact same position as our vics, but the use of both knife-like weapons to kill and fire to torture links them closely together.”
Quinn props his hands on his thighs and leans forward to read the screen. “Was there any DNA discovered on the bodies or at the crime scenes?”
I shake my head. “No. If the perpetrator who committed these crimes is the same UNSUB we’re dealing with, he’s at least always been consistent about that.”
A frown twists Quinn’s mouth. “Even if there was DNA, like you said, he’s meticulous enough not to leave a trail. His DNA probably wouldn’t be in any database, anyway.”
Surprised, I crane an eyebrow, but let the almost compliment slide untouched. “If this is our guy, his MO has changed some since these past killings. And I’m not sure we have enough to build a sure victimology off of, but there’s one thing for sure: sadists only stop when caught. With the speed at which he’s devolving, he could make a mistake.”
“I’m not sitting back and waiting for him to fuck up while bodies pile up.” Peeking down at his phone, Quinn quickly jumps ahead. “Twenty minutes.” He looks up at me. “Let’s flip the MO. Could we be looking for a team of killers?”
I still feel the same as I did last night at the crime scene; like this is one methodical killer—someone who is too selfish, too vain to share his spotlight. But…I can try to roll with a new take. Just to see if we can unearth a new theory. “Let’s say there are two. Two offenders would explain the two slightly different MOs. In this case, it would need to be a master and servant. One would be completely dominant in this relationship. And one, probably the servant, could be the devolving partner, the one becoming unhinged.”
“Why would the submissive be more likely to lose it?”
“It’s psychology,” I answer. “He’s the pleaser. He has to appease his master in order to feel self-worth. It’s his place. If something’s happened in their partnership to displease the other, then one would be trying to gain that approval back.” I shrug. “When a person is faced with losing what they value the most, they can go to desperate measures to keep it. In desperation, mistakes are made.”
Quinn’s gaze settles on the porcelain ballerina figurine on my desk, his expression blank, as if he’s far away in thought. Then, “Folie a deux,” he says. “Madness shared by two.”
“A psychotic delusion shared by two, to be exact.” I sit back and cross my arms. “Wow. I’m impressed, detective. Where did you pull that psychology term from?”
He looks up at me and smirks. “I know things.”
“Apparently.” And it’s so unlike Quinn to fall back on psychology that I realize just how desperate this case is making him. “It refers to an established, shared bond between two people that brings out the monster in them,” I say, elaborating on the dynamic. “Which is exactly what we’d be dealing with if there are in fact two killers. But we’re reaching, Quinn. There’s nothing at either scene to suggest there’s more than one UNSUB other than the slightly altered MO.”
He spears his fingers through his hair and sighs. “Let’s hear your profile first, then we’ll head to the M.E.’s. Maybe Avery’s had enough time to find something new.”
As he stands, he looks me over noticeably.
“What?”
