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“Tucson, Arizona,” the Boss said, dropping a case file in front of the two of them. Michael picked up the file and opened it, showing it to Faith as he read.
“Two women murdered,” the Boss said. “In their homes, alone, at night.”
Faith and Michael exchanged glances. Horrible as it was to say, sexual crimes like this were all too common. Normally, the FBI wasn’t called in on rape-murders until the third victim classified the perpetrators as serial rapists and killers, but if the circumstances of the case were unusual or local law enforcement considered it a certainty that they would strike again, they would call the FBI in early.
“So, what’s unusual about this?” Michael asked.
“No known motive,” the Boss replied, “nothing taken from the home, very little to no damage related to entry and lying in wait, and no sign of sexual assault.”
They raised their eyebrows at this. “No sign at all?” Faith asked.
“None,” the Boss said. “The victims were stabbed to death, once in the throat and once in the heart, always in that order.”
“To keep them from screaming,” Faith said.
“Most likely,” the Boss said.
“You mentioned the killer lay in wait,” Michael said. “Where exactly?”
“The bedroom closet of Katherine Navarro—that’s your first victim—and the bathroom of Amanda Montgomery—that’s victim number two.”
Michael looked at the pictures of both women. Amanda’s wounds appeared almost surgically clean while Katherine’s appeared as ragged gashes in her chest and neck. That wasn’t surprising. Killers typically improved their MO as they killed.
“Looks like the first one struggled.”
“Yes, but not for long,” the Boss said. “No defensive wounds.”
“Hmm,” Faith said. “So, he grabbed her, and she had just enough time to pull away when he stabbed her.”
“Looks that way,” the Boss said. “Best guess is he learned his lesson and waited in the shower until the second victim entered the shower and killed her before she could react.”
“But he didn’t stay to clean the evidence,” Faith said.
“Well,” the Boss said, “hopefully, we stop him before he learns that lesson.”
“And the locals have had no luck with identifying marks?” Michael asked.
“Plenty,” the Boss responded, “but it’s turned up a big fat zero on their end. They even used our database and got the same goose egg.”
“Possibly a vagrant?” Michael suggested.
“I’ve given you all the information I have,” the Boss said. “Anything else, you can get from the locals. Then you can find out for sure if the killer’s a vagrant or not. Hopefully before he manages to kill anyone else.”
Michael winced at that. Their last investigation had begun with two victims and ended with three, four if you counted Beau Carpenter, who would spend the rest of his life drinking his meals through a straw.
“We’ll do the best we can, sir.”
“Fuck your best, Prince. Do the goddamned job.”
Michael should have known better than to say that. He nodded and said, “Will do, sir.”
“Wonderful. Your plane leaves in an hour.”
“Coach, I assume?” Michael asked.
“You want to fly business class, buy your own ticket,” the Boss said, “and I swear to God, if you try to upgrade your living arrangements again, you can walk back.”
Michael winced again. During the Cedar Hills case, he had taken advantage of Bureau politics surrounding the case to expense a nice hotel room and several better-than-necessary meals. The Boss, as one might imagine, was not pleased.
