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The officer nodded. “Go on inside, see for yourselves. Try not to slip.”
Fiona stepped through the doors of the apartment, and as soon as she entered, a chill ran up her spine that made her entire body shudder. It was an eerie sight: water was everywhere—dripping from the walls, running along the baseboards, and pooling in puddles on the floor.
The windows were open, letting the evening light in, but they did little to brighten up the scene. The air was thick with the smell of stagnant water and mildew, and Fiona felt her stomach churn.
Water pooled on the floor in every room they passed through—the living room, kitchen, bedroom—all the way to the bathroom where they found the body.
A man in his thirties lay there, face-down in the bathtub, which was full of water, but the faucets had been turned off.
“Not pretty, is it?” someone said, and they turned to see Chief Kennedy—the man who’d been at Senator Barlow’s crime scene as well.
“Chief Kennedy,” Jake said. “Sorry we aren’t meeting again under better circumstances.”
The chief shook his head and looked into the bathroom, sighing. “Damn shame, this one. Guy’s name is Mason Monroe, thirty-three.”
“Do we know the cause of death?” Jake asked.
“None yet, but when we extract the body, we could know more. Looks like a classic case of drowning, though.”
But it couldn’t be, Fiona thought. Not if it were the same killer. Why were they brought here?
Then Chief Kennedy held up an evidence bag.
Inside it was a greeting card, clearly wrinkled from being in the water.
Fiona’s blood went cold. There it was—the killer’s signature. And yet she saw no insects, no arachnids…
She needed to get Mason’s body to the morgue so she could examine it and confirm a cause of death. There had to be something.
The last Fiona had heard, the greeting cards had yielded no results on where they came from. It seemed they were custom made and printed, with generic cards that could be bought at any paper supply store.
But one had been found at each crime scene so far. Fiona was sure there had to be something around here, a bug or spider of some kind, but the extreme amount of flooding made her think otherwise. Any insect capable of killing a human couldn’t survive water like this; they would wash away. Unless Mason fell asleep in the bathtub, and that was when the insect got him? Could they be looking for another Sydney funnel web?
It didn’t seem likely.
“I need to determine his cause of death,” Fiona said. “Sir, would you be able to have your team send him to the nearest morgue as soon as possible? I can perform an examination there.”
The chief nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll have the body transported and you can do your work there.”
Jake and Fiona stepped out of the bathroom, allowing the forensics team to swoop in and do their jobs. As they did, Fiona and Jake scoured the apartment for any clues as to what had happened.
They searched through drawers, cupboards, and cabinets—all of them filled with water up to their ankles. But despite the intense search, nothing was found. No insects or spiders were to be found in the apartment, no clues as to how Mason Monroe had died.
All that remained was a dead body and unanswered questions. And the confirmed threat that they were dealing with a serial killer, who clearly had no intentions of slowing down.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Mason Monroe’s body lay on a table before Fiona, his skin still bumpy and waterlogged.
With a mask, safety glasses, gloves, and a lab coat on, she was ready to perform an examination and confirm his cause of death. But even at first glance, she wasn’t seeing any spider bites or insect stings or anything of the sort. The scene of Mason’s death was so different from the other two that it was making Fiona’s head spin.
But she had to focus. First order of business: determining the cause of death.
She began by examining his body for any signs of trauma, such as lacerations or bruises. But there were none to be found. Then she checked for signs of a struggle, but again, nothing was present.
Fiona then moved on to check for signs of bug bites. She slowly ran her gloved fingers up and down his arms and legs, carefully inspecting every inch of skin for even the slightest sign of a bite. But there was nothing to be found; not even a single bump or irritant.
The lack of evidence told Fiona that Mason hadn’t died as a result of bug bites, though it left her with an even bigger mystery: what had caused his death?
