“You don’t need to make the extra trip. You can leave Casey with me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Really?” Casey says excitedly. “Oh, that would be so cool.”
“I’m sure,” Lila says with a smile, but her eyes are worried as she lays her hand on my arm. “Is it what I think it is?”
“I’m not sure,” I lie. I don’t want to tell her anything until I see the scene and find out exactly what’s going on. “Could be.”
Lila simply nods and sits back in the seat with a sigh, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. I take one of her hands in mine and kiss her knuckles.
“It’s going to be okay.”
She nods and I glance in the rearview at my daughter, who is watching us carefully with a wide grin on her perfect face. She gives me a thumbs-up and winks, as though she’s my buddy, and I can’t help but laugh.
God save me from ten-year-old matchmakers.
* * * *
I approach the scene, a small apartment on the edge of Tulane University campus. There is yellow DO NOT CROSS tape everywhere. Men in uniform are directing people away from the building. Girls are crying, sitting on the curb.
Jordan rushes over to me.
“Have you gone in?” I ask as we walk briskly to the apartment where the vic was killed.
“No, I was waiting for you.”
We’re gloving up as we approach the door. No one is inside. “Who secured the scene?”
“I did, sir.” A young uniformed officer is standing near the open doorway. He swallows hard as I approach. His nametag reads Tanner.
“Did anyone disturb the scene, Tanner?”
“I don’t think so, sir. The victim’s friend called it in when she arrived to take Ms. Roberts to coffee. They had a date.”
“Did she touch anything?”
“She denied touching anything. She walked in, saw the vic, and called 911. She was standing here when we arrived. I made a visual confirmation that the victim was deceased, sealed the door, and called it in.”
“Good job.” I nod, break the seal of the yellow tape on the door, and walk inside, Jordan right behind me. She has her camera out, already taking photos of the tiny apartment.
“Do we know if she lived alone?”
“The friend confirmed that she lived alone,” Tanner says from the doorway. He’s young, but he’s smart and respectful.
He has potential.
“Where is the vic?”
“In the bedroom.” Tanner swallows hard. “It’s pretty gruesome, sir.”
Jordan and I look at each other and walk to the bedroom.
“Sonofabitch,” Jordan whispers as we take in the scene before us. There is blood spatter everywhere—the walls, the floor, the furniture. Even the ceiling.
The victim, Cheyenne Roberts, is lying on the bed facedown. I remember her from last night when she left the library. A pretty young blonde. Happy. Carefree.
So fucking young.
I doubt her own parents would recognize her now. Her face has been torn off. Her fingers cut off at the knuckles.
And her intestines are strung from one side of the room to the other.
Jesus Christ, what the ever-loving fuck? Why didn’t I shut that damn group down? Or escort all of the girls home myself?
“Oh my God, Asher.”
“Take photos, Jordan.”
She swallows hard, then pulls herself together and begins to systematically work the scene with me, taking photos, sweeping for any clues. There’s nothing I can see. Nothing but blood and tissue and absolute horror.
Except for the note, covered in blood. The handwriting is likely the victim’s, just like the previous three.
Do you see what happens to know-it-all bitches, Lila? Bitches who think they’re better than everyone else? They get their fucking face ripped off. I hope you enjoy the last few days of your pitiful life because I’m about to end it.
Jordan snaps photos of the note before I seal it up and pray there is a print on it.
But there won’t be.
This fucker is careful.
“The ME just arrived,” Tanner calls from the living room. “Are you ready for him?”
“Send him in,” I confirm. Pierce, the best Medical Examiner in Louisiana, steps into the room and swears ripely.
“Poor girl,” he says with a sigh. “What the fuck, Asher?”
“My sentiments exactly,” I reply. “Can you give me a TOD?”
He nods and works his magic, testing her body temperature. “She’s been dead for roughly twelve hours.”
“Not long after study group,” I murmur. “We’re done with her. I want a full sweep after you take the body. Prints, hair, everything. If there’s something here, I want it.”
I march out of the apartment, rage boiling in me. “I’ll meet you at the office. I want those pictures printed right away so we can add them to the board. We’re missing something. We’re starting from the beginning.”
Jordan nods and walks to her car as I walk to mine, climb in, and speed all the way back to the office. I need to look at my notes.
He’s getting more violent. More angry.
I’m stalking through to my office when my phone rings.
“Captain, I’m walking into my office right now.”
“I want a report, in my office, in an hour.”
“You’ll have it.”
I end the call and hold on to my temper by the skin of my teeth as Jordan joins me, shutting the door behind her, the new crime scene photos in her hands, which she passes to me and I begin to add them to the murder board I have in the center of the room, covered in photos and notes on the previous victims.