The girl's flesh was highly decomposed and only increased by the damage the bugs did. She had been in the forest for some time; Fiona had found a specific type of moth larvae that suggested the body had been out for several days before being found. However, what she had yet to determine was when the woman actually died. She would estimate three, maybe four days in the woods, but how long had she been deceased before that? Had she been dumped in the forest right away? Fiona wasn't sure, but extracting proper forensic data was going to be a challenge.

  Fiona examined the body for signs of trauma, but found nothing. The body seemed to be without any trace of physical trauma, no bullet or stab wounds, no signs of strangulation. It seemed as if the woman had simply died of her own accord. However, Fiona knew that any conclusion she reached would need to backed up with solid evidence—something she was still trying to find. She checked for any bruising along the neck or face, but there was none left to discern at this state of decomposition.

  It troubled Fiona. She had read the last victim's report and had seen that no cause of death had been determined, due to the woman's extreme state of decomposition, suggesting she had been in the forest for even longer than this girl. Without a clear cause of death, it was hard to even say if these were murders or natural deaths. However, Fiona was treating them like murders because two women being found, decomposing in the woods, within a week of each other, was highly suspicious.

  But still. Hard as Fiona tried, it was difficult to examine this body.

  She took a breath beneath her mask and stepped back, needing a break to collect her thoughts. She paced around the lab, feeling thirsty and sick from being in here for too long with no real answers to give.

  Fiona was used to death. Her parents owned a funeral home, and Fiona had been around death her whole life. She was used to the smell of embalming fluid and the sight of a casket. It was strange, but death had never seemed to have an effect on her. She was trained to deal with death in a clinical way; it had become almost second nature to her.

  She thought of her father, and how macabre her upbringing had been, how her parents would have her help out around the funeral home, likely as a way to desensitize her to the work they thought she would continue for them. Of course, Fiona grew up to be interested in forensics, science, and entomology, and had taken a different path, but her parents still ran the funeral home.

  Fiona sighed, the thought of her parents bringing a strange comfort. They had raised her to be resilient and strong, to face the hard truths in life with courage and grace. She knew that no matter how challenging her job may get, she could rely on them for support and love.

  She felt a wave of gratitude wash over her as she thought about all the sacrifices they had made for her. Even when times were difficult, they had always put their family first, making sure that Fiona was taken care of and given everything she needed to pursue her dreams.

  But following this thought came another wave of sadness, because the truth was that Fiona wasn't the only child of Fraser and Henrietta Red.

  She'd had a sister once, in a time that felt like it was so long ago. Joslyn...

  She took another deep breath and let out a sigh as she turned towards the windows of the lab, allowing herself to look outside for just a moment. The sun slowly slid over the sky - reminding her of all those warm summer days spent playing in the woods when she was younger. Days when Joslyn was around, before she went missing.

  Fiona knew she should stay focused on the task at hand - examining this body in front of her - but she couldn't help but let the memories of her past consume her thoughts.

  She sighed again and closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment to remember Joslyn before turning back to the body in front of her. She felt a sudden determination come over her as she resumed her examination; if there were any clues that could lead to answers about what happened to this girl, Fiona would find them. Here, examining this poor girl's body, Fiona couldn't help but feel something stirring inside her - a feeling that she hadn't felt since she was much younger. It was a feeling of sadness, sorrow, and regret all mixed together as she thought about how this woman had ended up like this. More importantly--would there be more victims? Where was the killer right now?

  Fiona took in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly as she began to examine the body more closely. She started with the head, looking for any signs of trauma or marks that may indicate what happened. She used a magnifying glass to look for any wounds that could have been caused by a weapon, but found nothing. Next, she proceeded to examine the victim's neck for any signs of strangulation or other types of injury. Again, she found nothing out of the ordinary, but only because the insects had already done so much damage. However, she could determine the trachea seemed firm and undamaged, so it was unlikely strangulation was the cause of death.

  She moved on to the torso and limbs, using her gloved hands to check for broken bones or bruises that might suggest foul play. As Fiona carefully probed each area of the body for any signs of trauma, she felt an odd sense come over her; it was almost like she could feel what this woman had gone through before her death. But Fiona shook her head; now was not the time to be sentimental - she needed to focus on gathering evidence.

  She meticulously documented every step of the process: taking pictures, measuring sizes and distances between marks, recording any details that seemed significant. She knew that it was important not to overlook anything if she wanted to get accurate results. As she worked her way through each step of the examination process, Fiona's focus only intensified - she was determined to find answers for this poor woman and give closure for her family, whoever she was.

  As Fiona re-examined the face, she noticed a slight discoloration on the cheeks. She used her magnifying glass to look more closely. It was... frostbite?

  No, it couldn't be. The woman had been left in the hot forest. It was nearly summer. And there was no way the woman had been out there since winter; she would be way more decomposed than this.

  Fiona needed a second opinion. She hurried out of the examination room and into the hallway, making her way through the forensics lab until she found Glenn, writing something down on a clipboard as he leaned over the counter by the front desk--probably signing off on something. As the head of the lab, Glenn had to do a lot of the paperwork, but Fiona knew he was a well-respected and experienced forensic analysist as well.

  "Glenn!" she exclaimed, and he turned to her, confused.

  "What is it, Fi?"

  "I need your opinion on this. Can you come check it out?"

  Glenn nodded and followed Fiona back into the examination room. Once they were both inside, Fiona showed him the discoloration on the woman's cheeks.

  "Look, here," Fiona said. "Is this not a sign of frostbite?"

  Glenn looked closer, his brows stitching together. "It's extremely well-hidden by all the damage the insects did, but Fiona... I think you're right." Glenn looked up at her with shocked eyes. "There's frostbite on this body. That doesn't make any sense."

  Fiona and Glenn looked at each other for a few moments, trying to make sense of what they had just discovered. It was impossible for the woman to have been exposed to cold temperatures long enough to cause frostbite in this environment. Unless…

  Unless she had been kept somewhere else first.

  Unless she had been frozen, prior to being left in the woods.

  Fiona felt a gnaw of dread in her stomach at the thought. But she had to vocalize it, to make it real. Because it very well could have been the fate of these women.

  "Do you think, maybe, the killer could have been keeping her for some time?" Fiona asked.

  "In a freezer, you mean?" Glenn clarified.

  "Yes, in a freezer," Fiona said, emboldened to go on. "That would explain why the body wasn't completely decomposed. It was preserved in a freezer and then brought out in the open after."

  Glenn nodded, his eyes wide with realization. "Yes, that is the most likely explanation," he said.

  Fiona's heart raced. This could be a huge, maybe even case-breaking, detail.

  She needed to let Agents Tucker and Price know as soon as possible.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jake took a deep breath as he drove his car, gearing it back toward Sarah Zimmer's neighborhood--the same neighborhood their suspect, Greg Abbott, lived in. Lauren was quiet beside him, but he knew they were on the exact same page.

  Greg Abbott was known to both victims. He even had a contentious relationship with Jane, in which she'd suspected him of being a creep.

  It was too much of a coincidence. Sure, they lived in the same end of the city--but this was Portland, not a small town. Greg Abbott was more than worthy of looking into, and Jake had every intention of bringing him in for questioning. That much was certain.

  The only thing he didn’t know was if Greg would come willingly—or put up a fight. In these situations, Jake had to be prepared. The FBI academy had trained him vigorously, and even before that, he’d spent his high school years on the football team. And he had an older brother. Physical altercations weren’t anything new to Jake. But if he could avoid them, even better.

  He pulled up to Greg's house, which was in stark contrast to the rest of the neighborhood; it was run-down, with peeling paint on the façade and a roof that was missing several shingles. The front lawn was unkempt, with weeds sprouting up in places. Dead leaves littered the front steps, and there was a general air of neglect about the house. Jake could see the foundation was good; it could've been a home as beautiful as any if taken care of, but Greg Abbott had been living in this house since before the neighborhood became "nice," and while other homes around him went up in price and were renovated, Greg stayed here, and clearly didn't have any intention of keeping up with his neighbors.

  Another red flag, that was for sure. It showed Jake that Greg didn’t care to take care of his environment.

  He pulled up to the curb and drew a breath, then faced Lauren. She had a look of steely determination on her face.

  "Nice place, huh?" Jake said.

  Lauren unbuckled her seatbelt. "Let's just get this over with. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty damn sure this is our guy."

  "I think we're on the same page," Jake said, staring at the house with a bad feeling inside him. "Still. Let's be careful."

  Since they'd been partners in the FBI for years, Jake and Lauren had been in a lot of dangerous situations together. From tracking down kidnappers in the middle of the night, to busting drug rings out of abandoned warehouses, they'd been through it all. They had a special kind of bond that only two people who have been in life-threatening situations together could understand. Professionally, they'd always have each other's backs, even if their personal relationship could be a little rocky at times.

  He turned to her now and smiled. “Ready?” he asked.

  Lauren nodded, her eyes brimming with determination as she opened the car door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Jake followed suit, walking up the steps of Greg Abbott's home, his shoes crunching on the gravel. He followed Lauren up to Greg's front door, and they knocked.

  No one answered. Jake knocked again, louder this time. Again, nothing. There was a car in the driveway, so Jake felt pretty sure Greg was home, unless he was out on a walk or something.

  Jake kept knocking, and eventually he heard shuffling from the other side of the door. A few moments later, a bald man wearing a tank top and plaid pajama pants opened it.

  Greg Abbott.

  "Can I help you?" he asked, squinting at them suspiciously.

  Jake showed his FBI badge, along with Lauren. "We're agents Tucker and Price with the FBI," he said. "Are you Greg Abbott?"

  "I am..." Greg trailed off. "What is this about?"

  "We wanted to ask you a few questions," Jake said.

  Greg crossed his arms. "What kind of questions?"

  "We understand that you were acquainted with both Sarah Zimmer and Jane Ives," Lauren said, her voice cold and professional. "Can you tell us what the nature of your relationship was with them?"

  Greg didn't respond at first, but then he sighed. "Yes," he said. "I knew them both."

  Jake could feel the air shift as they all took in Greg's simple admission.

  "Come inside and we can talk about this,” Greg said, stepping back and opening the door wider.

  Jake and Lauren looked at each other for a moment. This wasn’t the reaction Jake had imagined, especially if Greg was guilty, and it caught him off guard. Still, if Greg was willing to cooperate, then great. Less trouble for Jake.

  Jake nodded. He stepped inside, followed by Lauren. The inside of the house was filled with clutter and disarray. Crumpled clothing, empty food containers, and miscellaneous objects were strewn around the room. The walls were a dingy shade of yellow and the curtains were stained with dirt. The carpet was an unappealing mix of beige and brown with patches of ground-in dirt. The inside of the house had a musky odor of old food, body odors, and dust. It was an unappealing mixture that made it hard to breathe.

  But before Jake could even react to being let in--Greg darted through the house, making a mad dash toward the back door by the kitchen.

  “What the—” Jake began, but then it clicked.

  Greg wasn’t cooperating—at all.

  Without a moment to lose, Jake and Lauren charged after him. Jake flew through the back door, letting the hinges slap shut behind him, then chased Greg over the grass of his backyard. Surprisingly fast, Greg hopped the fence with ease, as though he’d done it a thousand times. Jake grabbed onto the metal gate, using one hand to hoist himself up as he threw himself over the fence, followed by Lauren.

  This bastard was not getting away.

  Jake's heart pounded as he ran, following Greg into someone else’s backyard. He'd been trained extensively for a takedown, and this sure as hell wasn't his first one. If Greg Abbott thought he could get away, he was dead wrong--but the obstacles in people's backyards and the cars on the suburban street gave Greg a lot of objects to duck and weave between.

  Jake's lungs were burning and his legs had started to ache, but he kept running. He could hear Lauren's steps behind him, charging after to keep up.

  It took too long—longer than Jake would have liked—but he managed to close the gap between himself and Greg. With one final push of energy, he leapt forward and tackled Greg around the waist. The two men went down hard on the pavement, with Jake landing on top of Greg.

  "Stop!" Greg shouted, resisting. "You've got the wrong guy!"

  Jake held down Greg's arms, while Lauren grabbed his legs. "You're under arrest," Jake said firmly. "You have the right to remain silent..."

  But Greg wasn't going quietly. He started thrashing and kicking, screaming for them to let him go. He was surprisingly strong for someone his size, and Jake had to struggle to keep him pinned down.

  Jake tightened his grip, refusing to let go. He could feel Greg squirming and bucking beneath him, trying desperately to break free.

  "I didn't steal anything!" Greg screamed. "I didn't--I--"

  Steal anything? What the hell was he talking about? Jake shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Greg was likely making up some story about theft to distract from the real reason he knew he was being arrested. Jake was trained for this kind of thing--he knew what to do. But still, something felt off…

  Greg continued to struggle as Lauren ran up behind them and pulled out her handcuffs. She knelt down beside them and clicked the cuffs onto Greg's wrists before finally hauling him off the ground.

  “You can’t do this!” Greg shouted. “I have rights!”

  “So did Sarah and Jane, Greg,” Jake shot back.

  Greg glared at them both with hatred in his eyes but said nothing more as Jake and Lauren hauled him back to their car.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "Come on, pick up!" Fiona exclaimed, pacing down the hallway of the lab with her phone pressed to her ear. She'd been trying to call Jake Tucker for over twenty minutes now, but he wasn't picking up. The confirmation that there was frostbite on the victim proved it was likely that the woman--this one, and probably the last one too--had been killed some time ago but were preserved in a freezer of some kind. This could very well be a key detail in this case—but Jake wasn’t answering.

  Fiona huffed in frustration. She'd been the one to find the evidence and she wanted to be the one to tell Jake what it meant. After all, he was the one who had asked her for help in the first place. But instead, here she was, waiting for him to answer his phone. She’d sent a text, too, and no word back.

  She sighed and walked back into her lab, running her hand along the counters, as if searching for answers among the test tubes and microscopes. What could be taking so long? Was he busy? Had something happened that prevented him from picking up? The thought made Fiona’s stomach churn with worry. From her experience, FBI agents were usually available for important calls around the clock, unless they were caught up on a lead, and since Fiona had been specially asked to assist, she was frustrated Jake wasn't answering.

  She tried calling again, but still no answer. Fiona slumped against the wall in defeat. It was a longshot, but maybe he was over in the main headquarters where all the other FBI agents worked? If Fiona could find his office, she might find him. Still, she was a forensic analysist, not an agent, and she typically didn't venture over there. It felt intimidating. At the same time, she knew this information was exceedingly important and needed to reach Jake or Lauren ASAP.

  Fiona took a deep breath and made up her mind. If Jake wasn't going to answer his phone, then Fiona would take the initiative and go find him.

  She gathered her things and headed toward the main HQ.

  ***

 

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