When Morgan stepped into the apartment, she was horrified at just how clearly she could smell the freshly spilled blood. She of course hadn’t stepped foot in a crime scene in years, so maybe her senses had forgotten what it was like. Back in the day, she’d been used to it…the scent like copper and, underneath, something almost like sweat. It wasn’t too dissimilar from getting used to the smell of your own house.

  But her body had adjusted to the smells of prison cells and body odor, of pungent cleaning supplies and dust. The smell of the victim’s fresh blood was almost sickening.

  She did her best to stay in control as she and Derik stepped into the apartment. There were three people already there; two were uniformed cops, standing in the large room that served as an adjoined kitchen and living area, and the other was a man of about thirty-five or so. He was sitting on the couch, his hands in his head, stifling small cries.

  As one of the cops came over—the other busy with trying to speak to and comfort the man on the couch—Morgan took a moment to closely study the body of the victim. It was a male, dressed in a very basic suit. He was lying face down on his kitchen floor, a pool of blood surrounding his head like a halo. It was hard to tell with his back to them, but Morgan was quite sure he’d been struck or cut on the head.

  Roughly three feet away from the blood was a single scrap of paper. The number 6 had been written on it in red marker.

  “What do we have here?” Derik asked.

  The cop, a grizzled-looking man of middle age, looked down at the victim with a frown. “Victor Rhyman. Forty-one years of age. Discovered forty minutes ago by the gentleman on the couch.”

  “At such an early hour?” Morgan asked.

  “Yes. Mr. Rhyman was blind, and—”

  “And I’m a part-time caretaker,” the man on the couch said, looking up but trying to keep his eyes away from the body.

  “Your name?” Derik asked.

  “Lee Case.”

  As Morgan slowly made her way over to Lee Case, she heard Derik whisper to the officer. “We’re good here.”

  The other officer must have heard this because they got up from the couch and followed the other officer into the kitchen, near the door.

  “Mr. Case,” Morgan said, “can you walk us through the moment you discovered the body?”

  Lee shuddered and looked up at Morgan, his eyes filled with tears. “I…I came in to check on Mr. Rhyman like I usually do. He was blind and needed help with a few things around the apartment. When I walked in, I found him lying there like that. I didn’t know what to do, so I called 911.”

  Morgan nodded understandingly. “And before that, did you hear anything unusual or see anyone suspicious around the building?”

  Case shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I just came in and found him like that.”

  Morgan could tell he was telling the truth. She turned to Derik and saw and look of understanding in his eyes as well. They were both quite certain Lee Case had nothing to do with the murder.

  “How long have you been working with him?” Morgan asked.

  “About three years.”

  “And did he have any enemies? Maybe even people he was scared of?”

  Lee shook his head. “No…nothing like that.”

  “When you arrived this morning, was the door opened or closed?”

  “It was closed, but unlocked. And I knew then that something was wrong. Mr. Rhyman always makes sure to lock his doors. He’s actually a bit compulsive about it.”

  As Morgan considered this, Derik turned to the officers. “We’ll need to take a closer look around the rest of the building. Check for any signs of forced entry or anything else that might give us a lead.”

  Morgan’s mind was already racing, trying to piece together the clues. The number 6 on the paper was simple enough. It was the killer’s card…a way for him to make certain they knew this was his responsibility…that he had done this. He’d left similar scraps for Victims 1, 2, and 4.

  And she’d studied the Seven Signs enough during the original case to understand the significance of Rhyman being blind. In the Bible, in the Book of John to be exact, Jesus had healed a man who had been blind from birth. In the back of her mind, Morgan felt foolish for not expecting this—the murder of a blind man. But in her mind, she’d always assumed the killer would have taken the victim’s eyes or stabbed them in their eyes…something like that.

  But he’d been very literal this time. He was getting to the end of his work now. He wasn’t messing around.

  “Cross, you good?” Derik asked.

  She nodded. “You go on with the officers. I want to look the body over. Maybe look around the place. Mr. Case…maybe you should head out with them, too.”

  As Lee got to his feet, Derik eyed her skeptically but said nothing. He stepped forward and escorted Lee Case around the body. Derik then led Lee and the officers out through the door. He closed it slowly on his way out, leaving Morgan alone with the body.

  She wouldn’t dare turn it over or touch the body until forensics arrived. She knew better than that from the trouble that had gone down ten years ago…the trouble that had landed her in jail for a decade. So instead, she did a slow scan of the living room and kitchen.

  The apartment was tidy, maybe even a little too tidy, with everything in its place. There was no sign of a struggle or disruption. No overturned furniture or broken items. It was as if someone had just walked in, killed the victim, and walked out.

  Morgan took a closer look at the scrap of paper with the number 6 on it. She knew that they’d find no fingerprints on it, just like the other scraps from ten years ago. Samson was careful. He’d thought things out. And now, ten years later, he seemed to not have missed a step.

  She continued her search, moving toward the door that led to the bedroom. As she stepped inside, she paused for a moment, taking in the room. It was just as neat as the rest of the apartment, with the bed made up and the sheets neatly tucked in.

  But something caught her eye…something that seemed strange in the bedroom of a blind man.

  A well-used keyboard sat in the corner. Sitting on a stand with a small bench in front of it, the keyboard was a bulky thing, the sort used for electronic artists rather than students that were just learning. To the right, on a small bookshelf, were a few books. She knelt down and studied them, finding with no surprise that they were all in Braille. Stuffed in among some of the books were two flyers.

  She plucked them both out and saw that they were handouts from Heron Methodist Church. It was apparently a very small church because the handout was only one page…front and back. She scanned it and found Victor Rhyman’s name on it. He was listed as “organ and music.”

  She considered this for a moment. She knew that a few of the earlier victims had been heavily involved in church. But that had been ten years ago. Certainly finding connections and links between the victims now would be difficult…if not damn near impossible.

  She set the handouts on the floor and stared at the keyboard. She imagined Rhyman sitting on the bench, learning songs for church despite his disadvantage. Something about it, and knowing that he was currently lying dead in a pool of his own blood out in the kitchen, made her feel helpless. It made her feel defeated and lost.

  It reminded her of what she’d nearly done that first night back at her house. It made her think of the pills, of an easy way out, of…

  A knock on the door broke the image apart. She exited the bedroom and made her way across the living room, then sidestepped the body in the kitchen to answer the front door. There were two forensics members on the other side. One was a man and the other a woman, both in their late twenties.

  Morgan stepped back to let them work, and then stepped out of the apartment. She took a deep breath of fresh air out in the hallway, trying to clear her mind. She pulled out her phone and dialed Derik.

  It started to ring, and she thought of the pills again. She thought of a warm bath and a razor.

  Jesus, she thought. What is this? What’s wrong with me…?

  She thought the answer was clear. She’d been in prison for ten years and within just two days of being released she was back on the very same case that had put her there.

  “Yeah?” Derik’s voice answered in her ear.

  “I got a small nugget of information,” she said. “It seems Rhyman played the organ at a local Methodist church.”

  “Seems like a connection to at least a few others, huh?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. You ready to head to the station?”

  He hesitated for a moment and then, with maybe a bit too much sincerity in his voice for Morgan’s liking, he said, “Yes, but are you?”

  Morgan sighed and bit back the vile retort that came to her tongue. In the end, she only said, “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  With that, she left the body of Victor Rhyman to forensics, hoping there might still be a few viable connections lingering among the victims even after a decade away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Morgan wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when she logged onto the precinct’s database, but it certainly hadn’t been an amplified depression. Everything about it was different beyond the log-in screen. She also discovered that because of her prolonged absence and guilty verdict, she’d been removed from network access anyway.

  She was rather delighted to find that this angered Derik almost as much as it angered her.

  “You’d think,” he said, plopping himself down in his office chair, “that they’d make sure this crap was straightened out before asking you to rush back into this damned case.”

  “No access to the database, no office…I’m not feeling too good about my chances of coming back full-time after this case.”

  Derik was pulling a spare chair over. It was one he kept in the corner, littered with books and three different jackets. He removed the books and positioned the chair beside his, so that it was facing his laptop. He then looked at her with a curious smile.

  “Do you think you’d come back full-time?”

  “I don’t know. It depends.”

  “On what?”

  Morgan shrugged. “I don’t know that either. So…show me this newfangled database system.”

  He showed her the ins and outs of the new system as they hunted down connections and leads from the previous victims that might somehow tie into the most recent killings. As he did, Morgan started to feel the frustration all over again. They knew the murders were linked because the Seven Signs Killer was pointing it out to them. And because of the stories of the Seven Signs in the Bible, they had at least some indication of what the murders would look like.

  So how in the hell had this guy evaded them for so long?

  “Tell me,” Derik said about half an hour later as he printed out the backgrounds of six different potential suspects. Some were being recycled from their first batch of interviews and interrogations from a decade ago, but there were some new names, too. Honestly, none of it felt solid to Morgan.

  “Tell you what?”

  “If we don’t catch this guy and he gets his tenth victim…or however many he’d able to take out with his next little sign. Do you think he’ll just disappear? Do you think he’ll consider his work done?”

  Morgan leaned back in her chair, considering Derik’s question. She knew it was a possibility. Some serial killers stopped after reaching a specific number of victims or once they felt they had accomplished their “mission.” Or because they were afraid they were on the brink of being caught.

  But the Seven Signs Killer didn’t strike her as someone who would just disappear. Even if he carried out his sick “seven signs,” maybe he’d find some other religious symbol or account to inspire him. He seemed to take pride in getting the better of them, so she doubted he’d be able to simply stop.

  “I don’t think so,” she said finally. “This guy is too meticulous, too calculated. He’s been planning this for years. I don’t think he’d just stop after reaching the seventh sign. He’ll find a new way to continue his sick game.”

  Derik nodded, looking serious. “Yeah, that’s how I feel. While you were in prison and he went quiet…we all thought he’d just stopped, you know? That what happened to you might have felt like it had hit too close to him.”

  “You mean for those of you who thought I was innocent?” she asked with just a bit of bite in her tone.

  “Yeah…” He nearly fell quiet here, and Morgan could sense him wrestling with something. Finally, he turned to her and said: “You know, you have to stop pretending that everyone thought you were guilty. I never did. There are several others that were pissed when you went to prison, too. I can’t even imagine what you’re dealing with right now, or what the past ten years have been like…but you have to drop the grudge against me.”

  “Drop it? Derik, tell me…have you ever lost ten years of your life because everyone you worked with and respected thought you were responsible for the murders of several people?”

  “Of course I haven’t. You know I—”

  “Then maybe think twice before you say something that stupid again.”

  Before he had a chance to respond, Morgan got up from the chair, grabbed the printouts from the printer in the corner, and left the room. She went to the front lobby and sat quietly, poring over the files. She knew right away that she’d reacted too harshly—that if there had been anyone at all on her side through her entire ordeal ten years ago and during the sentence itself, it had been Derik.

  But it was too early to apologize, anyway. She knew Derik was a prideful man and they both just needed to sit in the tension of what had happened. As she looked at the files, she noted that a few people coming in and out of the precinct looked at her with great interest. She figured the rumors of her return had made it all the way through the building by now…as had the resurgence of the Seven Signs Killer.

  But she shrugged it off, keeping her attention on the files. She had come to the final one about twenty minutes later when someone approached quickly from the hallway behind her.

  “Morgan?”

  It was Derik. He looked angry, but there was also a bit of excitement in his eyes.

  “Yeah?”

  He handed her the folder in his hand with as much professionalism as he could manage. “I think I found a hit. A guy named Andy Feeney. He was a priest at the church our fourth victim attended ten years ago. And it just so happens that he was excommunicated right around the time you were arrested. I’m talking within a few weeks. And do you want to guess when his excommunication was overturned and he returned to his position at the church?”

  “When?”

  “Last week. Just as the murders started again. Just before you returned home.”

  “Do you know where he is right now?”

  “No, but I have a home address and an address for the church.”

  “Sounds good. And Derik, listen, what I said earlier…”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t mean it. You did mean it. And I sort of deserved it. The absolute iron will you must have to jump right back into this…I can’t imagine it.”

  “I just want to stop this bastard,” she said, tears of rage coming to her eyes. “I…I have to. I have to stop him to make these last ten years mean something.”

  Before he could say anything, she handed the folder back without even looking at it. He took it, saying, “Come on, then. Let’s go find a priest.”

  “What about the restrictions Mueller placed on me? I’m not exactly able to come and go as I please, remember?”

  “We’ll have to be sneaky about it,” he said finally. “I can’t operate with my hands tied, and neither can you. Mueller knows that. Also…I think when it all boils down, he’s on your side. I think he’s just trying to put on a strong face for the rest of the panel.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  He smiled at her and when he locked eyes with her, she was reminded of that fleeting kiss in the break room nearly eleven years ago. It then occurred to her that ten years had taken a lot more from her than she realized…including the touch of a man.

  “Positive,” he said. “Now come on…let’s not drag it out.”

  It was the first time since he’d knocked on her door yesterday that she remembered how safe and secure she’d always felt with him. And if that had come back so quickly, she wondered how much faster everything else about the job might also fall in line.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Derik had meant every word he’d said just before they left the building. He had no idea how Morgan was managing to make herself face this case. She was a shell of her former self and for almost the entire short length of this renewed case, he’d sensed a haunted vibe from her. He knew he needed to talk with her at depth, to help her process what she’d been through over the past ten years.

  Now that her father was gone, Derik feared he truly was all she had. Sure, there was Director Mueller, but he would always put business first. No, if Morgan was going to get out of this rut and back into some semblance of normalcy, he was going to have to be the one to push her. He knew she was more than capable of doing it herself, but he also knew she had so much more on her plate.

  She was going to need a little extra push, and he was more than happy to be the one to do it, when needed.

  He tried taking a baby step toward that as he drove them to the address of Engram Catholic Church, where Feeney was once again working. Ten years ago, Derik and Morgan had made something of a game of bouncing theories off of one another, briefing themselves on leads or suspects as they were in transit.

  He tried it again now, noting that she’d still not bothered opening the folder.

  “You just going to take my word for it that Feeney is worth looking into?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “No clue. Don’t you at least want to know a bit about him?”

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  Derik recited what he’d read just before leaving, touching all the cornerstones of Feeney being a suspect, right down to the timing of it all.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17