Twenty minutes later, Sean pulled his new, black Mustang into the playground parking lot. Top of the line and fully loaded, the vehicle was a gift to himself for his birthday last month, and he loved it with pure, male pride. He was immediately stopped by a young sheriff’s deputy he’d never met before on his visits to Whisper. The uniformed man looked more like a teenager playing dress up, yet his name tag read Deputy J.R. Peterson. Rolling down his window, Sean flashed his FBI identification. “Sheriff Griffin is expecting me.”

The thin man’s head bobbed up and down until Sean thought it would fly off its perch. “Yes, sir. He told me to look out for you. I’m not sure you want to drive that nice car to the crime scene, though. It’s down that dirt trail.” The deputy pointed to his right at a wide walking path leading into the heavy foliage.

“How far into the woods are they?”

“About a half mile, sir.” Peterson appeared more impressed with Sean’s ride than he was at being in the presence of an FBI agent, eyeing the sleek, long lines of the Mustang. The deputy was practically slobbering.

Pulling the car into a parking space, Sean popped the trunk release before climbing out and engaging the locks, not wanting to tempt the deputy into taking a closer look. The kid would probably drool all over the gray, leather seats. He retrieved a Maglite flashlight from the trunk before slamming it shut and striding toward the trail.

A short walk in, after passing several patrol cars and two county Bureau of Criminal Investigation vans, he came across another deputy, this one holding a clipboard. Again he presented his ID. The deputy had Sean sign in to the crime scene and pointed to where the sheriff and several other men stood, although it was hard to miss them. The area was lit up with overly bright, crime scene lights. Matt Griffin spotted him and hurried over. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and thrown on his sneakers, sweatpants, and T-shirt, which was covered by his department-issued navy jacket.

“Thanks for coming, Sean.” He approached with his right hand extended. Griffin was in his early fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, and was only an inch shorter than Sean’s six-foot-three frame. The older man had known the Malone boys for most of their lives and was impressed the three of them had turned into such fine men after tragically losing their parents. Tom and Megan Malone would have been proud of them—their uncle sure was.

Sean shook his hand. “No problem. What’s going on?”

A grim expression fell over the lawman’s face. “Female homicide victim. Third one in the past three months.”

Shit. “Serial?”

“Yeah, no doubt about it, but come take a look for yourself.” Matt led him from the trail to the roped off area. Several crime scene techs were marking off potential evidence on the other side of the yellow “Crime Scene—Do Not Cross” tape.

The sheriff handed Sean a pair of latex gloves and paper booties, and then put the same on himself. “We can walk in over here. BCI has already completed the grid search in this area.”

Sean followed in the man’s footsteps to where the female corpse lay supine on a pile of leaves and pine needles. They stopped about a foot away from her shoeless feet, and he took in the repulsive scene. The victim’s eyes were open, bearing a look of horror glazed over by death. She was naked and spread eagle. Ligature marks were prominent on her neck, but the thing which stood out the most was the bloody word “slut” carved into her torso.

He tried to swallow the revulsion from his suddenly dry mouth. “Same as the other two?”

Matt nodded. “Yup. His signatures are exactly the same. Don’t know who this one is yet, but the other two were in their twenties, blonde, and good-looking before this fucking psycho got ahold of them. Coroner says the cutting was done while they were alive.”

“Raped?”

“The first two weren’t. Have to see what the ME says about this one.”

Sean forced his eyes away from the mutilated torso and did a full head to toe inspection of the victim. “What’s that on her forehead?”

“His other signature. A penny.”

Taking a step closer, Sean squatted near the victim’s head. Making sure he didn’t disturb the body, he inspected the shiny coin. It was face up and placed directly in the center of her forehead. Shaking his head, he stood and told Matt he’d seen enough for the moment. They silently retraced their steps out of the crime scene.

“Who found her?” Sean asked.

“A local woman walking her dogs.”

His eyes narrowed. “This late?”

The older lawman shrugged. “Lives two blocks away and works the evening shift at a restaurant. Owns two pit bulls, so she’s not afraid to walk the trail at night. The dogs pulled her this way, guess they smelled the body, and that’s when she saw it. She was really shaken up so I had one of the deputies take her home after she gave her statement.”

Sean nodded. “Where’s the coroner?”

Lifting his arm, Griffin glanced at his military-styled watch. “There was a multiple fatality accident on the expressway. Dispatch said someone was on their way here about five minutes ago.

“Listen, I know you’re on vacation from the bureau before starting your new position, but I was wondering if you could get yourself assigned to us. You know the area and apparently have a great track record for solving cases.”

Sean grimaced. “Uncle Dan’s been bragging again, huh?”

“You got it.” He leaned against one of the patrol cars. “Anyway, neither of my two lead detectives on this were available tonight. Brad Lynch is in D.C. at his son’s wedding. You remember Jack Lynch, right? I think he was in your class.”

“Yeah, I remember him and his dad. Last time I saw Brad though, he was still in patrol. What’s Jack doing these days?”

Griffin scratched his head. “Besides getting married? He’s a doctor now. Cardiologist, I think. And from what Brad says, he’s doing very well for himself.”

Nodding, Sean brought the conversation back on track. “Who else do you have on this?”

“Brad’s partner, Dave Farrell, but the idiot fell off a fucking ladder yesterday afternoon getting his daughter’s kitten out of a tree. The kitten survived, Dave’s ankle didn’t. He needs surgery and will be out for the next few weeks. Brad is back on Tuesday. In the meantime, I’m taking the lead on this until he returns. I’ll call him in the morning and fill him in.”

Any further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the coroner’s black van. Two men got out and one approached the sheriff while the other walked to the rear of the van and opened the back doors.

“You’re starting to make my life hell, Matt,” the gray-haired coroner said as he reached them.

Griffin chuckled wryly and held out his hand. “Sorry to bother you, Pete.”

“Sure you are.” There was no mistaking the sarcasm as the man shook the sheriff’s hand. “Who’s this?” he asked curiously, tilting his head toward Sean.

“Sean Malone,” Matt answered. “Special Agent with the FBI, and a friend. Sean, this is our head coroner, Dr. Peter Hansen.”

The two men exchanged hellos and shook hands. Pete wasted no more time and started his inquiry. “Is it another one?”

“Yeah,” Griffin replied.

“Terrific. Where do these fucking psychos come from?”

The sheriff snorted. “If I knew that, I’d be rich and famous.”

Sean waited until the coroner and his assistant stepped over to the crime scene, then turned to Matt. “Call my supervisor in the morning.” He took a business card out of his wallet and asked to borrow a pen. After scribbling his new boss’s name and the main office number on the back, he handed the card and pen to the sheriff. “Special Agent in Charge Clay Osbourne. He’s a good guy. I worked with him in Jacksonville for a few years before he got promoted. Tell him you’re requesting me and why. He might assign someone else to work with me, but since I don’t know anyone else in the unit yet, your guess is as good as mine on who it’ll be.” He paused and glanced back over to the buzzing crime scene. “Well, if there’s nothing more for me to see, I’ll head home. When should I meet you at the station? I want to go over everything you’ve got on the other two cases.”

Running a hand through his hair, Griffin sighed heavily. “Make it noon. I won’t be out of here for another hour or so and I’m running on fumes. I’ll have Pete wait for us before he starts the autopsy.”

“Sounds good. See you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sean. I appreciate whatever help you can give us.”

Sean gave the older man a fist bump and started the walk back toward his car. He doubted he would dream of anything except the dead woman for the rest of the night. Shit.