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"Let's hit the books," she declared, determination igniting within her. "If there's meaning behind these insects, we'll uncover it."
As they delved further into their research, Fiona felt both invigorated and haunted by the possibilities. Each new piece of information brought them closer to understanding the killer's twisted psyche, yet simultaneously reminded her of the horrors that had befallen Nadine and Harry.
And with that, Fiona and Jake continued their pursuit of the truth, fueled by the knowledge that every moment counted in their race against time – and the killer's next move.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The scent of freshly brewed coffee hung heavily in the air as Fiona and Jake settled into their chairs in the dimly-lit briefing room. The first rays of morning light peeked through the blinds, casting a warm glow on the table between them. Fiona sipped her coffee, feeling the steam rise up against her face while she stared at her laptop screen.
"Okay," she said, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Let's see if we can find any symbolism behind forcing a body to decompose faster than it normally would."
"Right," Jake agreed, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the keyboard. "I'll look into cultural practices and mythology that might be relevant."
As they worked, the room was filled with the sounds of clicking keys, the occasional slurp of coffee, and the low hum of the air conditioner kicking in. Fiona's eyes scanned the screen, absorbing article after article, but nothing seemed to fit. She frowned, frustration building within her.
"Anything?" Jake asked, glancing over at her.
"Nothing really solid yet," she admitted, rubbing her temples. "I've found some links to mummification and ancient civilizations that revered decay, but I'm not sure how relevant it is to our case."
"Interesting, though," Jake commented, leaning back in his chair and sipping his own coffee. "What do you have?"
Fiona hesitated for a moment, then clicked on an article about an Egyptian practice that involved removing organs and treating the body with preservatives before burial. "Well, there's this process of mummification from ancient Egypt. They used natron, a type of salt, to dry out the body and prevent decay. But that's almost the opposite of what we're dealing with."
"True," Jake replied thoughtfully. "But maybe our killer is fascinated by the idea of rapid decomposition as a sort of desecration, a way to destroy the sanctity of the body."
"Could be," Fiona mused, her fingers tapping on the edge of her laptop. "I also found some references to cultures that left bodies out in the open to be consumed by nature – like the Tibetan sky burials or the Zoroastrian Towers of Silence. But again, our killer isn't leaving the victims out in the open; they're just accelerating the decomposition process, concealed by the forest.”
"Still," Jake said, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand, "it's worth considering that this might be some kind of twisted homage to those practices, or an attempt to create his own version of them."
"Maybe," Fiona agreed quietly, feeling a shiver run down her spine. There was something undeniably chilling about the idea of a killer who reveled in the destruction of the human form, who sought to erase any trace of life from his victims. "Jake," she said, setting her mug down and crossing her arms. "I'm not sure I see a connection to ancient civilizations either, but we can't ignore the possibility." Her brow furrowed in frustration, knowing they needed more solid leads.
"Agreed," Jake replied, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he searched for any possible connections. "But right now, I want to figure out who might have access to these insects. That could give us a clearer link to our killer."
"Good idea," Fiona murmured, pushing her chair back and walking over to stand behind Jake. As she peered over his shoulder at the screen, her mind raced with possibilities. "You know, someone who works with organic material decomposition might keep those types of bugs around..."
"Like a composting facility or something?" Jake asked, his eyes widening at the suggestion.
"Exactly." Fiona nodded, feeling a thrill of excitement at the prospect of uncovering a new lead. "Or even a place that deals with mulching or recycling organic waste."
Jake's fingers danced across the keys once more, diving into the world of facilities that handled organic material breakdown. Fiona held her breath, hoping that they'd find something – anything – that could help them catch the person responsible for the gruesome murders.
Fiona's gaze locked onto the screen, her eyes narrowed as she watched Jake skim through the search results. The hum of the computer and the rhythmic sound of Jake's breathing filled the room, creating an atmosphere of intense focus.
"Hey, look at this," Jake said suddenly, his voice low but excited. He clicked on a link, which led to a cryptic ad for an insect farm. "They raise and sell insects like the ones we found on the victims – blow flies, flesh flies, carrion beetles, and rove beetles."
"Interesting," Fiona mused, her mind racing with the possibilities. "But there's no website or phone number. Just this ad. It's... odd."
"Definitely. Let's see if we can find out more about the person who posted it," Jake suggested, clicking on the user's profile. As the information loaded, Fiona felt a shiver run down her spine, a mixture of anticipation and dread. "Darrell Sloane," Jake read aloud, his tone flat as he absorbed the information on the screen. "That's the name of the person who posted the ad."
Fiona clenched her fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to quell her frustration. They were so close – she could feel it – but they still had no concrete evidence to act on. She knew better than anyone that time was running out, and the thought of the killer striking again weighed heavily on her shoulders.
The room was tense, the air thick with anticipation as Jake pulled up Darrell Sloane's FBI file. Fiona stood behind him, her heart racing in her chest as she leaned forward, her eyes glued to the computer screen. She could feel the weight of the case pressing down on her, the need for answers more urgent than ever.
"Got him," Jake muttered, his voice tight. "Darrell Sloane, age 45, has a record for hunting in an illegal area."
"Really?" Fiona's eyes widened, her mind racing at the implications. "What exactly did he do?"
"According to this," Jake said, scrolling through the file, "he was charged with hunting deer in a protected area where people hike. He claimed it was for his business, though."
