under his breath and could sense the smug satisfaction he derived from my rejoinder. It seemed Agent Morrison enjoyed being offensive, especially if it needled me. As I took in the pleased curl of his mouth, I vowed I wouldn’t react to anymore of his asinine comments. He’d gotten enough reactions from me tonight. Case in point: the nice shiner forming on his eye.
I looked at the bruise and smiled sweetly. “Can I get you some ice for that eye? It looks a little sore.”
He bristled, and snarled, “Let’s just get back to work.”
Nodding in agreement, I continued my assessment. “You wouldn’t know by looking that cause of death wasn’t natural.” My tone shifted to detached professionalism. “There isn’t a single mark on this girl, not a scratch or a bruise that I can see. Hell, there’s barely a hair out of place. I’ve never seen a crime scene that was so… neat.”
My professional façade slipped as I gazed at the victim. Every time I looked at her, confusing and unsettling emotions stirred. Agent Morrison stared at me intently for what seemed like a long stretch of time. When his gaze touched mine, he seemed suddenly aware of my uneasiness.
Damn.
Then he surprised me. Instead of calling me out, he softened his hard eyes and continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “This scene is a duplicate of the others. I’m willing to bet when the coroner gets a look at the body, they’ll discover she’d been exsanguinated.”
“According to the file, that’s how they’ve managed to connect the cases, by cause of death. Is that right?”
“Most serial killers leave a signature with their killings. The method of exsanguinations in each of these cases are unique, and most definitely a signature. It’s rare enough to find a victim with all of their blood drained, but to have absolutely no sign of how it was accomplished... The chances of one murderer capable of accomplishing such a feat is unlikely, but three? It’s statistically impossible,” Agent Morrison explained, visibly searching for any marks or wounds on the victim.
“There are no defensive wounds that I could find. I can’t imagine someone lying still and not struggling while their blood was drained.” I glanced at the spotless floor and unruffled bed. “And how is he doing it without spilling a drop?”
“The FBI hasn’t been able to figure it out. There’s no sign that he’s cleaned the scene, or that the body was moved. And that’s why we’re the lucky ones who’ve been assigned the case. Welcome to VICAP, Agent Reece,” he said sardonically.
VICAP was the FBI’s Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, and they specialized in solving unexplained or unusual violent crimes. It had been a goal of mine the past few years to be transferred into this division, especially in Denver where they seemed to have more unexplained crimes than anywhere in the country. Possessing my abilities made me the perfect person to work in this particular unit. Not only was my mind open to the unusual, but I was also a walking lie detector. I had an excellent track record with interrogation back in Chicago.
Sometimes, I could even channel the last emotions the victim experienced before their death, a useful tool in many cases. If I connected to the murder victim and discovered they felt betrayal, for instance, I knew the killer was probably someone the victim trusted. It helped to narrow the field of suspects. The problem was, I hated tapping into the victim’s emotions and avoided it if possible. In fact, I never walked into a crime scene unguarded. I learned the hard way that crime scenes were overly charged with emotions and I often experienced their physical pain as well. But in cases like this, with no other evidence, what choice did I have?
“I’m going to look around,” Agent Morrison announced before leaving the room.
“All right. I’m going to stay here.” My voice sounded shaky, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Since I probably
I looked at the bruise and smiled sweetly. “Can I get you some ice for that eye? It looks a little sore.”
He bristled, and snarled, “Let’s just get back to work.”
Nodding in agreement, I continued my assessment. “You wouldn’t know by looking that cause of death wasn’t natural.” My tone shifted to detached professionalism. “There isn’t a single mark on this girl, not a scratch or a bruise that I can see. Hell, there’s barely a hair out of place. I’ve never seen a crime scene that was so… neat.”
My professional façade slipped as I gazed at the victim. Every time I looked at her, confusing and unsettling emotions stirred. Agent Morrison stared at me intently for what seemed like a long stretch of time. When his gaze touched mine, he seemed suddenly aware of my uneasiness.
Damn.
Then he surprised me. Instead of calling me out, he softened his hard eyes and continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “This scene is a duplicate of the others. I’m willing to bet when the coroner gets a look at the body, they’ll discover she’d been exsanguinated.”
“According to the file, that’s how they’ve managed to connect the cases, by cause of death. Is that right?”
“Most serial killers leave a signature with their killings. The method of exsanguinations in each of these cases are unique, and most definitely a signature. It’s rare enough to find a victim with all of their blood drained, but to have absolutely no sign of how it was accomplished... The chances of one murderer capable of accomplishing such a feat is unlikely, but three? It’s statistically impossible,” Agent Morrison explained, visibly searching for any marks or wounds on the victim.
“There are no defensive wounds that I could find. I can’t imagine someone lying still and not struggling while their blood was drained.” I glanced at the spotless floor and unruffled bed. “And how is he doing it without spilling a drop?”
“The FBI hasn’t been able to figure it out. There’s no sign that he’s cleaned the scene, or that the body was moved. And that’s why we’re the lucky ones who’ve been assigned the case. Welcome to VICAP, Agent Reece,” he said sardonically.
VICAP was the FBI’s Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, and they specialized in solving unexplained or unusual violent crimes. It had been a goal of mine the past few years to be transferred into this division, especially in Denver where they seemed to have more unexplained crimes than anywhere in the country. Possessing my abilities made me the perfect person to work in this particular unit. Not only was my mind open to the unusual, but I was also a walking lie detector. I had an excellent track record with interrogation back in Chicago.
Sometimes, I could even channel the last emotions the victim experienced before their death, a useful tool in many cases. If I connected to the murder victim and discovered they felt betrayal, for instance, I knew the killer was probably someone the victim trusted. It helped to narrow the field of suspects. The problem was, I hated tapping into the victim’s emotions and avoided it if possible. In fact, I never walked into a crime scene unguarded. I learned the hard way that crime scenes were overly charged with emotions and I often experienced their physical pain as well. But in cases like this, with no other evidence, what choice did I have?
“I’m going to look around,” Agent Morrison announced before leaving the room.
“All right. I’m going to stay here.” My voice sounded shaky, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Since I probably
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