“It’s your money… sir,” the driver said.
The driver started to drive, moving off smoothly, leaving behind the spot where he’d made his last kill. The woman from the bus lay dead, her eyes wide and staring in shock, as if she hadn’t expected rightful retribution for her disrespect.
Already, he could feel the urge to duel someone else and show them their place, to end the life of someone else who didn’t treat him with the respect that he was due. He’d thought that he would grow tired of killing mere peasants soon enough, but he found that he felt stronger the more of them he killed. Each one he slew was a testament to his power and importance. He was the one who survived their encounters, so he was automatically superior. Each death he inflicted was proof that he was the one with the power over life and death.
Killing didn’t give him power, but it proved his power, over and over. It made him feel alive, made him feel like the only person in the world who mattered. He was the only person who mattered, others out there only to serve him or to be slain by him for their errors. They went about their petty lives, but he had an impact on the world.
He knew then that he would have to kill again soon, but that was all right, because he already had plenty of ideas about exactly who he would kill next.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Paige was surprised to find herself and Christopher heading to a busy bus terminal. This was where a murder had taken place? It seemed improbable, like it didn’t quite fit with the pattern of the killings. The previous two had been in the open air, near vehicles, in spots where there hadn’t been many people around. This seemed to Paige like the complete opposite of all three of those things. It was a public place, featuring buses rather than cars, and it was indoors.
Was her profile of the killer wrong? Was there even anything to connect this crime to the others? Presumably there had to be or the Lexington PD wouldn't have called them in. It was obvious that the local police department didn't want them there in the town, so they would only call Paige and Christopher in if they were sure that they had no choice about it.
It would be easy to tell, too, thanks to the fleur-de-lis.
The bus depot was thronging with people, ready to head out wherever they were going. The fact of the murder didn’t seem to have gotten out yet, or if it had, it wasn’t stopping people from going about their days normally. Buses still stood in waiting rows underneath a broad, arching roof, and people lined up in front of them to get aboard. Paige couldn’t even make out any waiting press yet, which suggested that she and Christopher had gotten there early, before the news had a chance to get out. Paige doubted that would last.
Christopher flashed his badge to one of the depot’s security personnel as he and Paige entered the place.
“FBI,” he said.
The security guard looked relieved. “Thank God you're here. The local PD have left us guarding the scene but they've all gone. The moment they saw that strange ornament thing, they just said that it was the FBI's problem, not theirs.”
Paige could hardly believe that they’d abandoned a crime scene to a few security guards so casually. Was the local PD really being so petty that it would just abandon a crime scene before the FBI even arrived? Did they really hope that Paige and Christopher would fail that badly? She just hoped that the security guards at the bus station had been able to preserve the scene enough that there was still a chance of collecting evidence.
Then again, at the initial two scenes, there hadn’t been much to find in the first place. The forensic reports had suggested that the speed of the attacks and the clean kills had left little in the way of physical evidence. Maybe it would be different, though, indoors.
“Show us to the crime scene,” Christopher said, obviously wanting to take control of the situation.
The security guard nodded and led the way through the station. Now, it seemed to Paige that people were watching, as if they knew that she and Christopher were FBI, and that something must be going on. Maybe people had seen them on the news and knew that they were linked to this case. Maybe just their presence there advertised that this was another kill for the serial killer, and would quickly bring the press running. Paige imagined that by the time she and Christopher were done, the press would be there, trying to find out what was going on.
That thought worried Paige. It meant that she and Christopher might not have much time before they also had to fend off questions from reporters while they tried to do their jobs. She quickened her stride behind the security guard.
The guard led the way to a set of locker rooms. Those were closed off with police tape, and another guard stood at the entrance. Through the door, Paige could see a team that had to be from the coroner’s office, working to move a body into a body bag. At least they were still there, although there didn’t seem to be any sign of a forensics team working with them on the crime scene.
Christopher seemed to have the same thought. “I’ll make a call, see if I can get an FBI forensics team to sweep the place.”
“Won’t there be a lot of random people going through there?” Paige asked. With a bus station, there might be so many people going in and out of a locker room that it would be simply impossible to use forensics to pick one out as the potential killer.
“At least they can try to get fingerprints and DNA off the fleur-de-lis the local PD found,” Christopher said. “And we can at least try to place anyone we do find at the scene.”
He had a point, but it also meant that it wasn’t going to give them what they needed to find their killer. All they were going to be able to manage, at best, was to confirm who the killer was once they’d caught him. To Paige, it didn’t feel like enough, when they seemed to have so little to go on at the moment.
She ducked under the police tape and went inside with Christopher. The locker room was large and broadly square, but divided up by a couple of blocks of lockers that stood like islands at intervals in the middle of the room. It probably let the bus station fit more lockers in there, but it would also have meant that the killer had a chance to sneak up on his victim without any chance of being seen.
As far as Paige could tell, the coroner’s people were just finishing up. A body bag lay closed on a gurney, ready to be wheeled out, while a quartet of techs stood there, waiting for the go ahead to take the victim away. One figure in a blue plastic evidence suit approached them as they entered the locker room. He was a man in his fifties, with a salt and pepper beard and blue eyes. He looked Paige and Christopher up and down as they approached.
“Are you the FBI?” he asked.
Paige nodded, showing her badge.
“I’m Jim Hough, the coroner. I can’t say I approve of leaving a crime scene unattended like this, but that’s between you and the local police department, I guess.”
Paige found herself thinking that this whole business would be a lot easier if the local police were inclined to cooperate, but they still seemed to be playing the game of standing back and waiting for the FBI to falter, so that they could step in and claim the credit. In the meantime, people were dying, and that only made it more imperative that she and Christopher catch the killer. It seemed obvious now that he wasn’t going to slow down or stop until they found him.
“Can you tell us anything about the victim?” Christopher asked.