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I remove a pen from my notebook and lift the hem of her jeans. There’s no discerning ligature marks. Her ankles weren’t bound. This whole attack feels…off.
“This was a hasty job,” Quinn says, echoing my thoughts as he applies pressure to the wound.
I point to her neck. “But he didn’t complete it. He doesn’t leave his victims alive, Quinn.”
Quinn shakes his head. “He could’ve been rushed. Something interrupted him. Or he knew he didn’t have enough time.”
I nod my agreement, but I’m not convinced. Why start if he knew he couldn’t finish? That’s not his MO. The UNSUB stalks his prey for days, even months beforehand. He has their schedules memorized, knows all the important details of their life to plan a methodical attack that will give him plenty of time to stage his scene.
For him, orchestrating the kill is just as important as the kill itself. It’s his signature—torture. If he can’t bring his victim to the brink, revel in his power, instilling her with fear…then there’s no admiration for his efforts.
And he needs the admiration.
The second crime scene stated a blitz attack, where the UNSUB was rushed and infuriated when the vic fought back…but he made sure to complete his kill, even if he couldn’t perform his ritual. If the case were similar here, Carmen would’ve suffered greatly. The torture would’ve been evident.
And the kill method… The UNSUB has enough training in forensics and medicine—either self taught or schooled—to know exactly how to sever an artery to perfectly direct the spray to lead us to a clue, but he misses on accident this time?
There’s no logical reason as to why he’d leave a victim—a witness—alive.
Quinn picks up on my line of thought. “She might’ve seen his face, or some other defining characteristic. We have a witness.”
“There’s a reason why he wanted her silenced,” I say, looking at Quinn. “She’s more than a witness. She’s a clue.”
As the EMTs load Carmen onto a gurney and hurry her into the ambulance, I can’t stop going over it in my head. No forced entry—just like with the other vics. The attack is similar enough; the MO seems to be the same, excluding the torture. With the amount of blood, it was difficult to tell, but I could determine a waved pattern to the laceration.
God, Avery… She would be able to deduce so much with just one look, where I’m only guessing. I’m trying hard to trust my instincts, but I’m not Quinn, either. I don’t operate purely on my gut. I need more facts.
My thoughts halt as I feel a hand on my shoulder. “We should follow them in,” Quinn says. “Soon as she comes around, we need to be there to take her statement.”
I move out of his touch, glancing around the house, needing something…else. Something more as to why the UNSUB chose her. What did he leave behind? Where’s the damn connection to Bathory?
“Sadie?”
I find Quinn’s gaze. “Okay. Let’s hope she recovers soon.”
His gaze narrows as he studies me a moment longer. I pull my wall into place. Quinn’s not getting past it this time. There’s too much unknown…and I have more than myself to keep protected.
While Quinn secures the crime scene, I take another look around Carmen’s living room. My gaze is drawn to the rich blood pool. So thick it’s the darkest shade of crimson. Did he hold her in place while she bled out? How long did he watch the red flow? Was he so mesmerized by the life fading away slowly in her eyes that he couldn’t bring himself to end her quickly?
I know what it’s like. The first time you see real, violent blood. The life-force of it, the power. I understand how intoxicating the draw to analyze it is—to try to comprehend it’s meaning when you first feel it…
I walk over and inspect the pool. There it is. One shade lighter than the rest. A clear impression. A slight touch of the hand to sample the kill.
Only someone taking a life for the first time would be this riveted, this careless.
And he’s not the UNSUB.
7
Me
UNSUB
If one is to understand himself, one must consider the nature, that is, the essence of humankind in general. It’s an undertaking into the study of philosophical anthropology. Granted, I’ve earned a degree in order to work among peers in my field, to earn a living—but it was merely a requirement, a burden placed upon me by society.
I pride myself in the fact that I’m an autodidact, and have amassed most of my knowledge and mastery in the human condition through years of arduous study and research.
I’ve analyzed myself as much as I’ve placed others under the microscope.
