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“We still don’t know if the person who did this is really concerned with Faith at all. The M.O. is theatrical, but it’s not remotely the same as West’s M.O. If this person is an admirer, then they’re showing their admiration in a very odd way.”
Michael scoffed. “What’s a normal way to show admiration for a serial killer?”
The Boss met his eyes. “The way West did.”
Michael pressed his lips together and said nothing.
“If I’m not part of the case, then why are we talking about it?” Faith asked. “No offense, sir, but if I can’t be involved in the resolution of this murder, then it would be better if I don’t hear about it.”
“Nine hundred ninety-nine times out of a thousand I’d agree with you,” the Boss replied, “but your namewasmentioned. So I thought I should at least ask and see if you’ve heard or seen anything unusual over the past few weeks.”
Faith shook her head. “Nothing. My neighborhood’s been quiet as a cemetery.” She immediately regretted using that analogy.
The Boss sighed. “Well, let me know if anything changes. For now, I think it’s safe to say this was probably just a one-off.”
“Hell of a one-hit wonder,” Michael muttered.
“Don’t hold your breath, Prince,” the Boss said, reaching into his desk drawer. “I’ve got a beautiful little psychopath of your very own to hunt.”
“Oh joy,” Michael said drily. “Christmas already?”
The Boss dropped a file on the desk. “Cassidy Holt, twenty-eight. Found naked in a botanical garden. The body was covered in a black powder and was posed with her knees tucked to her chest and her arms wrapped around her feet.”
“Cute,” Michael quipped.
“Sexual assault?” Faith asked.
“No.”
“Couldn’t be that simple,” Michael said.
“It never is, is it?” the Boss agreed. “As nearly as we can tell, she was killed on site. The cause of death was a severed spinal cord caused by extreme torsion of the cervical vertebrae.”
“In English?” Faith asked.
“Someone snapped her neck.”
Faith grimaced. She had seen plenty of gruesome crime scenes, most of them far nastier than what the Boss had just described, but there was something so animalistic about breaking someone’s neck. It wasn’t the work of a sick mastermind or a mad scientist. Just a brute.
The rest of it, though—the posed nude body and the mysterious black powder—was right up her alley.
“You mentioned black powder,” Michael asked. “Do we know what that is yet?”
“No. The lab’s still checking it out.”
“When did this murder occur?” Faith asked.
“Four days ago.”
“And we’re only hearing about it now?”
“You know the rules, Faith. Three murders before we’re called, or two murders that look freaky.”
“So there’s a second victim?”
The Boss flipped the picture of Cassidy Holt over to reveal a second victim. “Samantha Reynard, thirty-two. Found in her loft apartment this morning. Covered in white powder, also naked, also not assaulted sexually. Posed with her limbs spread like a starfish.”
“So our boy’s getting creative,” Michael said.
