“The most unusual aspects of this murder display are the baboon figurines. We have anything on them?”
“Not a damn thing yet,” Ezra said. “Each little statue is slightly different and they’re made out of a variety of materials including black basalt and clay. We’re still working on sourcing them.”
“No one has any thoughts about the symbolism of nine baboons and an axe?” Sayer asked, feeling frustrated. She would be willing to bring in a specialist to help, but she didn’t even know what kind of specialist to call in—a hermetic philosopher? A physicist? A baboon expert?
“All right.” She turned to face the room. “Obviously something here is important to our unsub. Our job is to figure out what that is. Why was our victim killed and displayed like this? Why did he choose this location? What’s the symbolism behind all the different pieces here?”
Ezra’s computer pinged. “Oh, the Behavior Analysis folks just sent over their preliminary profile.”
Sayer opened the preliminary profile on her phone and skimmed the report.
“Hmm, not much. No obvious sex or domination motive. The ritualized elements suggest possible cult activity. The lack of sexual element, the lack of anger, and the clear preplanning of the body dump, coupled with the intensely ritualized aspect of the victim display, suggests the possibility of a serial killer who has likely killed before.
“In other words,” Sayer said, looking up at the small task force, “this unsub is smart and dangerous and, between the blood writing and ritual display, he’s got all the hallmarks of a serial. Until we know differently, we have to assume that he will kill again.”
After the meeting, Sayer and Ezra spun their wheels for a while. By 2:00 A.M. they had made no progress and Sayer realized that they wouldn’t have anything new before daybreak. She scheduled a task force meeting for 7:00 A.M. and sent everyone home for a few hours of sleep.
FBI COMMAND CENTER, QUANTICO, VA
Once everyone left, Ezra clicked on his music and turned it up until the thumping bass vibrated the speakers in the small command center. He was usually stuck down at his desk in the open pit where all the analysts worked. But, since he was working on the task force, he had unfettered access to this room, which also just happened to have the best sound system at Quantico. Sometimes Ezra needed loud music to think and he hated using headphones so this was heaven.
With the entire place to himself, he cranked the volume of some new Icelandic avant-garde band.
As he swiveled the chair, Ezra’s prosthetics clacked against the table. Annoyed that they kept bonking the table legs, he decided to take them off. It was always a little bit of a relief to remove the hard prosthetic sockets and silicone socks capping his legs. Without the prosthetics in the way, he could use the desk chair to quickly slide along the edge of the conference table between stacks of files and three open laptops.
The first laptop was just finishing up the database crawl trying to match the print they’d found on Jane Doe.
“Negatory,” he said to himself over the wailing violins.
The next computer was scanning databases for any match to their unsub’s DNA. If he could identify their unknown subject, he could close the case tonight.
“Also negatory,” Ezra said while the swelling drums of the song shook his chair as he slid to the last computer. He had written a program to crawl social media and public facial recognition databases with Jane Doe’s photo.
A green box flashed on the screen. He’d found a match.
The driving music suddenly dropped to a sparse rhythm that echoed around the room. Something about the haunting music filled Ezra with a sense of dread.
He clicked on the flashing screen and he stared at the photo that popped up. The link led him to another photo, and another.
“Oh my God,” he said softly as the ambient beat faded away.
By the time he got to the last photo, his hands were shaking so badly he could barely dial Sayer’s number.
SAYER ALTAIR’S APARTMENT, ALEXANDRIA, VA
On the ride home, Sayer let her mind wander to the family of the dead police officer. His poor son would forevermore associate this time of year with the death of his father.
She usually took Route 1 from Quantico to Alexandria, but the roads were slick with ice so she decided to stay on the highway. Except for one other car, I-95 was empty. Which was why she noticed when that same car exited behind her.
And then followed her at a distance on the next three turns.
Inner alarm ringing, she slowed down.
The car slowed as well.
Sayer decided to roll past her block and turn right down the following street.
But then the car turned left and was gone.
Laughing at her own hypervigilance, Sayer pulled up in front of her town house. The front of the old colonial building still looked like it had when it was built in the eighteenth century. Though divided into two apartments now, one on each floor, she loved that it retained the charm of the original.
She pulled off her helmet to rub her forehead, trying to release the bands of tension burning along her temples. The road was dead quiet, no sign of the mysterious car. Heading around back, Tino’s downstairs window was dark, but a faint blue glow illuminated her upstairs window. Maybe Adi was still awake?
The light powdering of snow crunched underfoot as she made her way along the small garden path behind the old town house. She paused at the spicy, chocolaty scent lingering in the air outside Tino’s door. They must’ve eaten Tino’s famous chicken mole and the smell was still heavy in the cold air.
Her stomach grumbled and she realized that she hadn’t eaten since lunch.
Mouth watering, she climbed the stairs to her apartment and was surprised to find her grandmother, Sophia McDuff, at the kitchen table hunched intently over a laptop. Even wearing an oversized pair of Sayer’s flannel pajamas and fuzzy purple socks, she managed to look like an elegant librarian with silver hair pulled back in a low bun and tortoiseshell reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
Vesper slept contentedly at her feet.
“Nana?” Sayer realized that Nana wore headphones and she gently tapped her shoulder.
Vesper jumped up at the sound of her voice and Sayer crouched down to give the three-legged dog a good back scratch.
Nana slid the headphones down around her neck, releasing a thump of faint music. “Oh good, I was beginning to think you were pulling an all-nighter.” Nana gave Sayer a warm hug that smelled faintly of Chanel No. 5. “Adi is sound asleep. Tino left you a note and some food.”
Sayer found Tino’s note on the counter.
I know you probably haven’t eaten in hours. Just microwave the plate I left in your fridge for two minutes. Do not go to bed without eating this or I will be horribly offended and know that you hate me and my cooking.
She was too tired to laugh, but she did manage a smile.
“You’d better eat the food Tino left for you or he might disown us and never cook again.” Nana joined her in the kitchen.
“The horror!” Sayer said with mock fear. “So, what are you doing up this late? And why are you here wearing my pajamas?” Sayer pulled the plate piled high with chicken mole and fried plantains from the fridge and put it into the microwave.
“I joined Tino and Adi’s celebration and had two glasses of wine so I decided I shouldn’t drive home. Plus, I’m heading out of town last minute and wanted to see you before I leave tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind that I commandeered a pair of your pj’s and these wonderful socks.” She did a little shuffling Charleston in the kitchen.