Byford stared out the window then turned back to Ella. “A photographic memory? How does that help?”
Ella pursed her lips together to stop her from saying something she shouldn’t. “Because serial killers follow patterns. I’ve committed every piece of serial killer information to memory. Names, dates, victim info, methodologies, death sites. It’s all up here,” she tapped her head. “Not on purpose, I should admit. It happened by accident, but it got me here.”
“Very interesting. I’m impressed,” Byford said. His words didn’t match the look on his face. Maybe he just wasn’t very expressive. “What do you think of this case?” he asked.
Newark, Delaware, looked like a cozy city from where she sat. She spotted some nice European architecture and lots of family stores. It didn’t have that big city vibe and that was a bonus.
“I think we’re dealing with an organized psychopath,” Ella said. “I think our unsub knows exactly what he’s doing. He doesn’t make mistakes. He has a goal, and nothing will stop him achieving it. What about you?”
“These coins. I don’t know what to make of them. Are they symbolic of money problems? Maybe these men were in debt to our killer? Or is it something more sinister, something that doesn’t make sense to regular people?”
“We’ll figure it out. The one advantage we have is that this man is organized, which means his thoughts are organized too. He isn’t schizophrenic or psychotic. The coins have a verifiable, understandable meaning and we’ll search hell and high water to uncover it.”
“Have coins appeared in any other serial cases?” Byford asked.
“Not in the same way as this. The closest one that comes to mind is Daniel LaPlante, a stalker who left a trail of coins in a girl’s” house to let her know he’d been there. Eyes are a different story. There are two major serial killers who focused on their victims’ eyes. Charles Albright and Andrei Chikatilo. But again, not like this.”
“So, we’re covering new ground,” Byford said.
“Looks like it.” Ella’s phone buzzed. She checked it and found a message from Mark.
Did you get there safely? X
Ella replied. Yep, the eagle has landed. They’ve teamed me with a guy named Byford. Do you know him? x
On their chat screen, Ella saw Mark was typing already. The message came through.
Who? Never heard of him. What’s his deal?
Ella’s turn. He’s nice enough, but he seems a bit closed off. We’ll see. How are you doing? X
She expected another quick reply, but nothing came. She waited on the screen for Mark to come online. It took about a minute for him to respond.
So you’re spending the next week with a guy? Great. Well, have fun.
Had she said something wrong? What was Mark’s problem? She couldn’t help who she was partnered with, and she wasn’t in any position to refuse the director or make her own demands. Mark would come around once he realized there was no danger of anything happening. It wasn’t like Byford was a chiseled young stud, and even if he was, didn’t Mark trust her?
She hoped this jealousy thing was a one-off, but really, she shouldn’t have to hope.
***
They arrived at their destination at just after midday. A pleasant street hidden away from public view, sitting between a small, wooded area at the front and a cemetery backing onto the rear. It was isolated, but not isolated enough to suggest the victim was chosen for their solitude.
Yellow crime scene tape barred the pathway up to the house. One officer stood by and dissected the new arrivals with a cold stare. Byford led the way.
“Agent Byford and Agent Dark with the FBI,” he said to the officer. “We’ve been called in to assist.” They held up their badges for inspection. The officer waved them through without a word.
At the top of the path, another officer came out of the house wearing a mask and gloves. “Feds?” he asked. “That you guys?”
“That’s us, sir,” Byford said. “And you are?”
“Sheriff Hunter with the NDPD. I’m the one who called in for help.” He took off his protective equipment.
He was a middle-aged man, around fifty Ella thought. He had gray hair and a strong physique that contrasted the wrinkles on his forehead. “Can you talk us through what happened?” she asked.
Sheriff Hunter breathed in the spring air. It was probably a great relief after consuming the scent of death.
“Yeah, we got the call around three this morning. The victim’s wife, a lovely woman named Tessa Loveridge, had come home from a night shift and found her husband, Jimmy, dead in his chair. She didn’t see him at first. Thought he was just sleeping. Then she tried to wake him up and saw… everything.”
Ella’s stomach tied up when she played the scene out in her head. She’d also found a loved one dead in their bed. She knew that the victim’s wife would spend the rest of her life replaying the scene every time she felt vulnerable. It was a natural defense mechanism: pulling out the worst nightmare you could to numb the others.
“Where’s the victim’s wife right now?” Ella asked. She wanted to meet her but understood if she didn’t want to be around. She’d probably never be able to come back here again.
“Staying with a relative for now. Best to leave her be for a while. She was still in hysterics when she left.”
“Is the crime scene untouched?” Byford asked.
“No. The croakers already took the body, but everything else is as is.” The sheriff put a roach filter in his mouth as he rolled a cigarette.
“The who?” Byford asked.
“Coroners,” Ella said.
Sheriff Hunter sparked up. “Sorry. Cop slang. You’ll get used to it around here. Grab a mask and gloves off the side and take a look.”
They did. Ella entered into a kitchen and put herself in the wife’s shoes. She’d be home from work, tired, probably looking forward to kicking her feet up. She walked through the long kitchen then round into the living area. A sofa lay against one wall with a single chair on the other side. It was obvious where the murder had taken place.
“Holy smokes, that’s a lot of blood,” Byford said. “That means the laceration was made while the victim was alive.”
Ella thought about how it might be possible to pull off such a task. “So, our killer snuck up behind Jimmy and slit his throat, all without him moving.”
Byford rubbed his chin. “Maybe Jimmy was sleeping? We don’t know what time he was killed. It could have been right before his wife came home in the early hours.”
“Could very well have been,” Ella said. She imagined the victim in place, sitting there peacefully, unaware there was an intruder within grabbing distance. “How did he get in? That’s the next question.” Ella walked around the house, finding a conservatory just off the living room. Byford joined her.
“Looks like that garden backs on the cemetery at the back. He could easily get in through there.”
“Agreed. That’s the route I’d take. He could stay invisible until he got to the door.” Ella checked the conservatory door leading out into the garden. Open.
“Looks like we have our answer,” Byford said. “Tragic, really.”