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‘Metal for the male victim, wood for thefemale victim,’ Ella said.
Luca cocked his head, considering. ‘Maybehe ran out of scrap iron and had to improvise?’
Ella thought about it but had to disagree.'No chance. This took planning, premeditation. Our unsub wouldn't have startedhis murder spree without making sure he had all his ducks in a row first.'
Luca shrugged, his face scrunched inthought. ‘Could be a lot of things. Availability, convenience.’
‘You said it yourself, these metal stocksare professional grade. The kind of thing you'd need specialized tools andskills to make. If he had access to that kind of setup, he'd have access tomore materials. Enough to make a matching set, at least.’
‘So, what then? You think it'sintentional? Some kind of message, or…’
Frustration buzzed under Ella’s skin. Noneof this made a lick of sense. The mismatched stocks, the demented stagecraft ofthe crime scenes. It was like trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzleblindfolded and shit-faced drunk.
She was about to say as much when Luca letout a low whistle, eyes narrowing to laser-focused slits. ‘Hey, check thisout.’
He was crouched down by the metal stocks,gloved finger tracing over a spot near the wrist hole. Ella sidled up next tohim, squinting at the offending blemish. At first glance, it looked like justanother scratch in the pitted surface. But when she angled her head and let thelight catch it just right, it looked like a signature.
‘Is that what I think it is?’
‘A signature? Initials? Or a symbol,maybe. A circle with some kind of squiggle inside.’
Ella leaned in until her nose was almosttouching the metal. Luca was right. There, etched into the iron like a cattlebrand, was a rough circle. And inside, a series of jagged strokes that mighthave been letters might have been the ravings of a lunatic.
‘The hell?’ Ella muttered. ‘Our unsubleaving a calling card?’
Ella's gears spun, the hamster wheel inher skull hitting lightspeed. A signature spoke volumes: arrogance, ownership,a fat middle finger to the cops. If that's what it was, then it was bold,ballsy as all hell. Most killers tried to hide their involvement, bury anytrace of themselves at the scene, but this guy was stamping his name on hishandiwork like a demented artist signing a canvas.
But she had to concede that it could besomething simpler. A maker's mark, a logo of whatever twisted metal shop weldedthis house of horrors.
'Bag it and tag it,' she said abruptly,jerking her chin at the stocks. 'I want high-res photos of that mark, fromevery angle. And see if we can get a print of it or at least a clearer image.If this joker's leaving us love notes, I wanna know what they say.'
Luca nodded, already fishing out his phoneto snap a quick pic. ‘On it. Who should I send it to?’
‘The lab back at HQ. See if they can worktheir magic.’
She was just opening her mouth to bounce afew more theories off Luca when Harland's gravelly voice cut through the mustyair like a chainsaw.
‘Hate to interrupt your little CSI moment,but we got company.’ He wiggled his cell phone at them. ‘Just got a messagesaying the Archie’s parents just rolled up. Asking a lot of questions,demanding a lot of answers.’
Ella glanced up, eyebrow cocked. ‘Youinformed them already, right?’
‘Yeah. This morning.’
‘How much info did you give them?’
‘Not much. The basics. Nothing about thecontraption.’
She prayed that the specifics of themurders hadn’t reached the family. If they had, no wonder they were askingquestions.
‘Alright. I’ll go and talk to them.’ Ellacut a glance at Luca, taking in the sudden pallor of his cheeks.
‘Me too?’ he asked.
Looking into the eyes of the bereaved, theshattered. Seeing the moment when their world crumbled to ash, when the lastshred of hope was ripped away and replaced with a yawning, endless grief. Itwas a special kind of hell reserved for the unlucky few who chose to walk thepath of justice. And Ella had been down that road more times than she cared tocount, had borne witness to more tears and screams and hearts breaking than anyone person should ever have to.
But this time was different. Because thistime, she had a rookie in tow. A bright-eyed, bushy-tailed kid who stillthought he could make a difference, still believed in the fairy tale of goodtriumphing over evil. If he had even a shred of human decency in him, this wasthe part of the job that ripped it out by the roots and stomped it into abloody smear.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You too.’
