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Utter silence filled the room.
“He’s dead?” Sloane finally managed.
“The time of death was Tuesday morning, sometime around one A.M. There was no break-in. Either Elliot knew the killer, or he was half asleep, and just let the guy in.”
Sloane’s throat was working as she fought back tears. “You went to the crime scene?”
A nod. “I just came from there.”
“The killer—was it our Unsub?”
“There’s no doubt. The murder was committed using his signature style.”
“Oh God.” Sloane squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her fingertips against her eyelids to try to block out the images already forming in her mind. “He carved Elliot up with a combat knife. Who knows how long he spent cutting him? Who knows how long it took Elliot to die? Did the son of a bitch make him beg for his life? Who am I kidding? By the end, he was probably begging to die, not to live.”
She continued, speaking half to herself. “Elliot’s such a softie. He’s afraid of spiders and horror movies, and he turns sheet white every time I mention my work. Violence scares the crap out of him. He had to be panicked out of his mind. And the agonizing pain…being slashed like that…the sheer terror of knowing that death was inevitable…I can’t begin to imagine…”
“Don’t try.” Derek hesitated, then reached for her, drawing her against him. “It was quick. And without prolonged suffering. Not the way you’re picturing it. There was no creative carving. The Unsub went directly for the jugular. He didn’t have the luxury of time. He had to get in and out of that apartment in a hurry. This wasn’t a show of power, it was the elimination of a threat. So he just did what he came to do, and took off.”
“The jugular,” Sloane repeated. “How many slashes?”
“A few.” Derek tried to hedge.
Sloane wasn’t buying it. “In other words, at least three. He wanted to be sure that Elliot was very, very dead. Quick and brutal. Which means a roomful of blood, but less torture.” Sloane gave a humorless laugh. Then, abruptly, she slammed her fist against Derek’s chest—once, twice, before she forced herself to stop. “It’s not fair. Goddammit, it’s just not fair. Elliot was a good, decent man. He got involved in this project, in part because I asked him to, despite his personal apprehension, but especially because he wanted to save lives. And it ended up costing him his own. Why? Why the hell do things like this happen?”
“I can’t answer that.” Derek gazed across the room, staring at nothing in particular. “I don’t understand it any more than you do. I’ve tortured myself with that question countless times, and every time I’ve come up empty.”
“Empty. That’s a pretty good description of the way I feel. Empty and sick. And ridden with guilt.” Sloane’s tough veneer began to crack, and tears clogged her voice as she broke down and began to cry. “I brought Elliot on board. And now he’s dead. Dead. And that psycho is running around scot-free.”
“You’re in shock.” Derek stated the obvious, his hands gliding up and down Sloane’s back in gentle, soothing motions. “Give it time. But start out knowing this was not your fault. Don’t go down that path. Yes, you approached Elliot with the idea. But he chose to do it—no, he was excited about doing it. His murder is an atrocity. But it’s the Unsub who’s responsible, not you.”
“I know,” Sloane replied in a shattered tone, her body still shaking with sobs. “But we’ve known each other since high school. We studied together. We ragged on each other. He got me through Computer Programming. I got him through Spanish. He’s eccentric, and he’s goofy, and he’s got a heart of gold. And now he’s gone. I’m never going to see him again. Never. I just can’t wrap my mind around that.”
Derek wished he had more of the right words to offer. But both he and Sloane knew those words didn’t exist. So he gave her the only ones he had. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
She nodded against his shirt.
No more words were said. For long, silent minutes, Sloane just wept, and Derek just held her.
Abruptly, she jerked upright, her face streaked with tears that she dashed away. “Elliot deserves better than this. I’m not going to sit here and cry. I’m going to do something. No matter what it takes. I’m going to find this son of a bitch and skewer him with his own combat knife.”
Derek’s gut clenched. He knew Sloane meant every word. And while he didn’t give a damn how violent this Unsub’s death was, he wasn’t going to let Sloane “go vigilante,” which would end up putting her life in danger.
“You’re not alone in this,” he stated fervently. “Every single one of us is with you. None of us will rest until this bastard is caught.” Derek went on, purposely shifting from the emotional to the factual: “ERT processed the scene quickly. Between them and the Crime Scene Unit, they found and bagged quite a bit of evidence, including fingerprints, hair, and, obviously, blood and blood splatter. They even found two shoe prints in the blood. All the forensic evidence is at Quantico by now. The guys there will turn up something.”
“The blood and fingerprints will be Elliot’s. You know that as well as I do. The same goes for the hair. The blood splatter will confirm that a main artery was severed. Even if the Unsub got careless, a DNA profile will take two days. We can’t wait that long.” Sloane stopped only long enough to take a breath. “What about neighbors? A doorman? Didn’t anyone see anything?” She jumped to her feet. “I want to go down to that apartment. I’ll interview every damn person in the building. Someone must have noticed something.”
“Sloane, stop.” Derek rose and gripped her shoulders. “You can’t march into that apartment and start grilling people. You’re not FBI, and you’re not NYPD. If you cross the line, you could compromise the whole case.”
Sloane gritted her teeth, knowing damn well that Derek was right. “You realize what this means,” she surmised aloud. “If the Unsub knew what Elliot was working on, it means he’s someone who hangs around John Jay. Maybe even someone who works there. He could be anything from a professor to an administrator to a maintenance worker.”
“Or he could be someone who was at Lillian’s party the other night,” Derek reminded her. “If so, and if he heard that Elliot was working to analyze the abductions through his new computer program, he’d freak out.”
“You’re right.” Sloane nodded. “We’ll have to question every John Jay employee, and every guest who was at that party. We’ll have to get DNA samples from each one of them, too.”
“And we will. The arrangements to do so are already under way. So’s the list of people to interview, which is already being compiled. Larry and Bill have been apprised of the situation, too, so they’re on board. We’ll do it all—and then some. We will find this Unsub.”
“Before he kidnaps or kills someone else?” Sloane shot Derek a probing look. “This isn’t like you. You’re the case agent in
