Sixteen
The day had already been long, and now it was only getting longer. She shouldn't have been called out, but Roy had texted her and she was going regardless.
There was another one. This one was newer than any of the ones they'd found, but he'd broken the pattern. It always happened eventually, Roy said. And when it happened, that was when they managed to find something that would bag the bastard.
She came into a scene that was already too crowded with people. She didn't have a badge to flash, and the suit wore a badge that read F.B.I. on his hip, so she couldn't even rely on his recognizing her.
"I was called out to the scene. Get Schafer. He'll confirm the story."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Official personnel only unless I have orders otherwise."
"Then go talk to Roy. Schafer. He told me to come to the scene, and here I am. I'm a cop, God damn it. Can't you at least do me that favor?"
He looked askance at the reporters around. "No, ma'am. I have to stay here."
"You can't go off for one goddamn second?"
He caught someone trying to slip under the caution tape with one arm and pushed them back, without too much concern for their safety or the safety of the camera on their shoulder.
Then the agent shot her a look as if to say 'see?'
"She's with me," came a voice from behind. Roy's voice.
"Yes, sir."
He stood aside a second to let Erin through. She could hear him say "Not you" to someone who tried to follow her through. She could only imagine the stink-eye that they caught for it.
"Sorry about the trouble," Roy said, giving an apologetic smile. It was already a long day, and it was only going to get longer.
The woman was surrounded by groceries. She'd been out shopping, it seemed, and had taken a cut down a back alley. The part of town wasn't so bad this time, and it was the middle of the day when she'd been stabbed.
"What did you need me for?"
"Call it a gesture of good will and inter-departmental cooperation."
"Okay," she said, pulling on gloves. The body was cool, but it wasn't ice cold. Pretty, dark-haired. It was hard not to notice the similarities to the other women.
"Do we have an I.D.?"
"Sure we do. Irene Cassidy, aged twenty-eight. Leaves behind a husband, aged twenty-seven, and a little girl, aged four."
Erin didn't have anything to say. She looked up at Roy, who gave her an understanding shrug. It was sad, no doubt. But neither of them had time to waste on feeling sad right now.
"Time of day is different."
"Yes."
"And the victim was married. Could she have been stepping out on the side?"
"Not likely," Roy answered. "We've got techs going over the home P.C. now, but it's not looking very likely at all. Far as we can tell, the husband used it mostly. She was less the computer type. Used it to buy stuff online when she couldn't get it local, that sort of thing. Not a heavy user."
"And she was married, to boot."
"Yes."
"Any chance that it's a coincidence? Husband did it and copied another killer to make use figure it was him instead?"
"Again—not likely."
"No, I didn't think so."
Erin let out a breath. She could already guess what had happened. It wasn't hard to do. If he was a sadist—and she knew Craig sure as hell seemed to be one, her feelings on which were a whole mess she didn't want to untangle right now—then she'd definitely riled him up earlier.
He could have gone right out and found someone to kill. Someone who wasn't her. Why he put off killing her instead, she didn't know. She only knew that she couldn't exactly afford to go out at night with her 'new boyfriend,' or maybe he'd get a repeat performance in.
"What else can you tell me?"
"Not a whole lot else. She's a model citizen. Good mother, far as we can tell. Everyone who we've been able to talk to—understand we've only had the scene for an hour or so—seemed to love her. Heartbroken. I mean, you know, everyone says that, but my guys say they buy it."
She considered telling him about what she'd done. Considered it for a long time, because it would have answered quite a few questions that were sure to be looming large in Roy's mind. But telling him would mean that either she became the F.B.I.'s bait, or he'd make her stop. Either way meant that she let someone else have control, and she couldn't do that.
Not when it was her sister's life. Anyone else, fine. She'll take shotgun, let them call the shots, and she would do what she had to do. But they would just fuck it up, she knew. The only person she could count on in this case was herself.
"Two murders in, what, three days? He's getting faster."
"This one wasn't planned," Schafer answered off-hand.
"No, I guess it wasn't."
"We're sweeping the place for prints, but we're not expecting much. We're more hopeful for fibers and hairs."
"You said when they break pattern, they make mistakes."
"That's right. We'll make a cop out of you yet."
She soured at the joke. "But does that mean that he keeps going with the plan? Should we expect another murder within the week?"
Roy crouched down next to her, exhaling through his nose. "I hope not."
"But you're afraid so."
"But I'm afraid so," he agreed.
"Then we have four days to nail him."
"At most," Roy said. He sounded tired. She almost wanted to invite him back to get some rest at her place. She'd just learned a great new trick, after all, and she was eager to practice. The fear of the wrong person bursting in told her not to.
"Is there anything else?"
"Sure. You learned anything from your, ah, time off?"
"Oh, yeah. Sure. Talk shows are garbage."
Roy gave her an even, frustrated look. "Okay, sure. Keep your secrets. But when you get done being clever, give me a call. If you find anything out, it's better we both know everything. You can't catch him single-handed, and I need all the information I can get if I'm going to do anything about it."
"Okay. If anything happens to come on Oprah—"
"She's not doing T.V. any more," Roy said reflexively.
"Fine. Whoever, then."
"You want, like, Wendy Williams."
"That's fine."
He looked up from the body. "I'm just saying."
Erin stood up. Had he had her as an appetizer, come out for this murder, and then finished her off again for dessert? She felt for her car keys and took them in hand, only realizing after a minute that she was gripping them hard enough to hurt.
"I'll text you." Erin turned to leave.
"Hey, you want to get dinner later?"
She knew that he wasn't talking about inter-agency cooperation any more, and she could feel the butterflies in her stomach at the idea. She wanted to. She'd had a good time with him, back in Wyoming when he wasn't being a bastard who stole important cases from people.
"Maybe when you're done here," she said. She wanted to refuse, to save what little dignity and independence she had left. She needed to keep working on the case, to make sure that she didn't set off another one of these murders. The words came out on their own. "I need to get a shower."