Page 17 of Scarred By Sin

The monitor had deliberately been angled toward the table and away from the foyer.

With Gwenyth living upstairs and Porter coming and going from the main house, Bit had made certain that anyone passing through the entrance hall wouldn’t be able to read the information on the screen. It wasn’t an ideal arrangement, but it would do in the short term.

Conducting an investigation from a dead man’s dining room while his daughter occupied the floor above them was far from standard operating procedure. Brook had made the decision to stay on the estate for a reason, though. Dale and Porter had offered the rooms without hesitation, and Gwenyth, through Porter, had given her consent. Brook suspected that the invitation had more to do with keeping an eye on the investigation than with hospitality.

Regardless, the forensics team would be excavating remains for the better part of the week, and she wanted her team within walking distance of the greenhouse rather than thirty minutes away at the nearest motel. They could reconsider the lodging arrangement later if their situation changed.

Bit was currently in the kitchen, familiarizing himself with the pantry situation, and Theo had gone upstairs to call Mia. That left Sylvie, who was sitting in one of the dining room chairs, holding a remote and adjusting the layout on the portable monitor. The afternoon sunshine was slanting through the thin gap in the heavy curtains, throwing a single bright stripe across the table that bisected Sylvie’s workstation and lit the dust suspended in the air above it.

“Everything okay?”

Brook set the bowl of grapes on the table near her workstation and pulled out a chair. The wood creaked as she carefully lowered herself into it, and the baby responded to the shift in position with a slow roll that pressed against her ribs.

“If you’re asking about my phone call with Graham earlier, everything is fine. He’s out of the country, but he’ll be back sometime next week. It’s the last trip he’s taking for a while. He’s amended his consulting agreement with the government.”

“Good,” Sylvie said simply, still focused on the monitor. She didn’t press further, which was one of the things Brook valued most about her.

What Brook didn’t share was the edge she’d detected in Graham’s voice during their conversation on the tarmac. It was rare for him to carry such tension in his tone. He was a man who had spent decades commanding operations, and his ability to compartmentalize was one of the qualities that made him exceptional at his work.

But she’d heard something beneath the surface of his words this morning. A tautness that he hadn’t quite managed to smooth over before they’d ended their call. She didn’t know his exact location, only that it fell under the umbrella of government consulting, but she could guess it wasn’t anywhere she’d want him to be at the precise moment. And although Graham could take care of himself, it didn’t stop her from worrying.

Brook settled deeper into the chair beside Sylvie and directed her attention to the monitor. The screen had been divided into a grid. Eight sections, one for each set of remains. Seven of the sections were labeled with numbers one through seven, each accompanied by whatever data the forensics team had provided so far.

Excavation status.

Burial location within the greenhouse.

And all preliminary findings.

The sections for the remains that hadn’t yet been fully excavated were sparse, containing only the GPR imaging and the grid coordinates. The eighth section was different, though. Instead of a number, it was labeled NESTOR ELLINGHAM, and the data beneath his name was the most complete of the eight.

The dental record comparison had been confirmed thirty minutes prior. Skeletal measurements had been included, as well as the cause of death. Blunt force trauma, depressed fracture to the left parietal bone. As a side note, the bilateral defensive fracture to the right forearm had been included in the list.

Brook ate a grape and studied the screen in silence.

Two distinct acts of violence had occurred in that greenhouse, and the profiles she was building reflected that distinction. Nestor’s death could have been reactive. The fracture pattern on his skull was consistent with a single, heavy blow. Likely delivered with an object of opportunity rather than a preselected weapon. The defensive wound on his right forearm confirmed a confrontation, which meant Nestor had known his attacker was coming for him, or at the very least had enough warning to raise his arms.

The attack was desperate, unplanned, and personal.

The women were a different matter entirely. No skeletal trauma. No signs of struggle. Deliberate positioning. These were not acts of rage or desperation. They were acts of ritual. The killer had taken time with each burial. The unsub had chosen specific locations within the greenhouse that wouldn’t disrupt the growing environment. He had laid these women to rest as though the word “rest” meant something to him.

That level of care pointed to a killer who believed he was performing an act of devotion. The victims weren’t objects to him. They were meaningful. The greenhouse hadn’t been a dumping ground. It had been a destination, possibly even a sanctuary.

Two profiles.

One killer driven by panic, the other by purpose.

Whether they were the same person operating under different circumstances or two entirely separate individuals was a question Brook couldn’t yet answer.

If the same individual killed all eight, then Nestor’s murder represented a break in the pattern. A disruption of the ritual. Something or someone had forced the unsub’s hand.

“Two profiles,” Sylvie said quietly, as though she’d been following Brook’s thoughts on the screen.

“Yes.”

Brook reached for another grape just as Theo walked into the dining room. The tension that had been sitting across his shoulders when he’d gone upstairs to call Mia had loosened considerably, and there was a warmth behind his expression that only appeared after he’d spoken with her. Before he could address them, a heavy knock on the front door echoed through the foyer.

The three of them exchanged glances.