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Jake nodded, accepting the unspoken challenge. This case wasn't just a distraction; it was a calling. Somewhere in these files lay the key to stopping a killer, and maybe, just maybe, a chance to quiet the echoes of his own loss.
Jake swallowed the lump forming in his throat, the images before him blurring into a memory he wished to forget. He forced himself to speak, his voice a blade cutting through the silence. "Chief, why'd you say Fiona's entomology expertise would be relevant to this?" The question hung between them, sharp and urgent.
Before Chief Whittaker could answer, the door swung open with a burst of energy that only Fiona could muster on such a grim morning. Her breaths came in quick succession, her curly red hair escaping the confines of her ponytail as she hurried into the office.
Jake caught her eye immediately, reading the distress etched into her pale features. His heart clenched; Fiona had been at the hospital, reeling from another round of bad news about Joslyn. In an instant, their professional barriers crumbled under the weight of shared hardships.
"Sorry I'm late, traffic was a nightmare," Fiona apologized, her voice barely above a whisper.
"No problem, Red," Jake said, giving her a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. The room felt smaller with the both of them in it, each carrying their own brand of sorrow like heavy cloaks draped over their shoulders.
Fiona moved closer to the desk, her eyes meeting Jake's brown ones. They exchanged a tense look, a silent conversation passing between them. She knows, Jake thought. She can see right through me. He didn't need to explain the shadows haunting his gaze; Fiona understood grief, its cold fingers wrapped around her heart just as tightly.
Chief Whittaker extended a folder to Fiona as she settled uneasily into the chair next to Jake.
"Red, I was just explaining to Tucker here how your expertise might come into play," the chief said gruffly. "Both of you, turn to page six."
Fiona flipped through the file with clinical precision, her fingers pausing as she reached the designated page. Jake leaned forward, peering over her shoulder, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. The photos pinned to the report were gruesome, white paper framing the macabre dance of death and nature.
Spiderwebs stretched across corners of the kitchen where Jamie Lin had breathed her last. They weren't the dusty, forgotten threads one might find in an abandoned house—they seemed almost intentional, purposeful. Spiders crouched at the centers of their silken traps, appearing as if they were waiting.
Jake felt Fiona stiffen beside him, her sharp intake of breath mirroring his own. He saw his mother's face for a moment, overlaid on the victim's, and he had to close his eyes to banish the image. When he looked again, he focused on the close-ups—the victims, their skin pale and lifeless, with spider webs clinging to them like shrouds.
"Looks like they walked right into a web," Jake murmured, his voice steadier than he felt. His mind raced, trying to piece together the incongruity of it all. Who would stage such a scene?
Fiona's gaze remained locked on the photographs, scanning every detail with the meticulousness that came from years of studying the smallest creatures. Jake admired her ability to shut out the world, to lose herself in the pursuit of answers. It was an escape he desperately needed now, a distraction from the turmoil threatening to spill over from his personal life.
Jake watched Fiona narrow her eyes at the photos, her lips moving almost imperceptibly as she counted. "Orb-weaver spiders," she said finally, pointing to the glossy images with a slender finger. "They're usually dead by winter. And even if they weren't, you wouldn't find this many inside a house."
Chief leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. His mustache twitched slightly as he spoke. "Exactly. At first, we thought it might be some strange coincidence, but now..." He tapped the corner of the file, and his voice trailed off.
"Pattern," Jake finished for him, the word tasting like copper on his tongue. The second victim's kitchen had been a carbon copy of the first: the same eerie webs draped like curtains, the same lifeless bodies ensnared within them. Two women, two houses, too similar to ignore.
Fiona glanced up from the files, her expression solemn. "The killer is planting these spiders," she stated, her tone carrying no hint of doubt. Her fingers traced the edges of the photographs as though she could feel the silk threads through the paper. "But why? Orb-weavers are harmless, their venom not potent enough to concern a human. What message is the killer trying to send?" Fiona shook her head, her red curls brushing against her cheeks. "It's symbolic, maybe," she suggested. "Spiders are predators, after all, albeit not dangerous ones.
“It's theatrical, deliberate,” Jake said, trying to see the logic behind the madness. A statement of power, of control; the killer weaving their own narrative with each victim caught in their web. It was twisted, but it made a kind of sense.
Chief Whittaker leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. With a dismissive gesture, he handed the last of the files to Fiona. "Save the theorizing for your reports," he said curtly. "Jamie Lin's crime scene has been frozen. I want you two there as soon as possible."
Fiona nodded, her amber eyes darting between Jake and the chief, the gravity of the situation pressing upon her features. She closed the file with a soft thud, a silent agreement to the chief's orders.
Jake stood up, feeling the stiffness in his limbs from sitting too long, his mind already transitioning from the chaos of personal life to the methodical focus required on the field. He glanced at Fiona, noting the paleness of her skin that spoke of the hospital visit she'd just come from. Her concern mirrored his own; they were both looking for an escape into the work that lay ahead.
"Let's go, Red," Jake said, his voice steady, despite the turmoil inside him. He’d seen many crime scenes in his career as an FBI agent, but few had reminded him so deeply of what had happened to his mother. It was almost an exact mirror—minus the spiders. Jake pushed that aside, reminding himself to stay focused on the present. He’d handled everything this career had thrown at him so far—he could handle this too.
CHAPTER THREE
Fiona stepped out of the car and into the gray Portland morning. The air was crisp, biting at her cheeks as she approached Jamie Lin's townhouse, a three-story structure with a modern facade that stood against the somber mood enveloping the scene. Yellow tape fluttered like morbid streamers, cordoning off a perimeter swarming with uniformed officers.
"Agents Red and Tucker," Fiona announced crisply as they ducked under the tape. Her voice carried authority, a trait she had honed since becoming an FBI agent, yet her heart raced with each new crime scene, an echo of the mystery that still haunted her own past.
"Forensics is waiting for your go-ahead," an officer said, gesturing toward the open front door where techs in white suits lingered, poised to resume their meticulous work.
"Thank you," Jake replied, his tone all business, a far cry from the playful banter he reserved for moments alone with Fiona. Together, they stepped inside, their shoes silent on the polished wood floor.
The entryway was untouched by the chaos that surely unfolded within; the only testament to the tragedy was the delicate webbing that draped over a nearby coat rack and extended to the ceiling. Fiona's gaze locked onto the orb-weaver webs, their intricate patterns glistening faintly in the light filtering through the foyer window. This specific spider was known to spin webs quite quickly.
"Looks like Jamie might've walked right into these when she came home," Fiona mused aloud, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She could almost picture it: Jamie Lin, unsuspecting, brushing against the silk threads, her attention hijacked just long enough for the killer to make a move.
