Page 8 of Fatal Pattern

Tori nodded. “Okay, so that leaves the scene itself.”

“Looks like the attack started in the foyer and ended in the living room. No signs of forced entry, so either the killer had a key and waited inside, or Florek let him in willingly. The unsub got Florek the second he walked through the front door. Blood trail leads to the living room, where the killer continued stabbing, even after Florek went down.” He switched lanes and passed a VW bus with a surfboard strapped to the top, then continued, “CSU is still working the evidence, but so far nothing useful. No prints. No murder weapon.”

“That’s a lot of blood for such a tidy exit. Usually the handle gets slick and the killer ends up slicing their own hand when the knife hits resistance.”

“A few drops of the killer’s blood mixed in with all that carnage? It’ll take the techs a while to test every sample. Like finding a specific grain of sand on a beach.”

“If Florek is such a loner, who found the body?”

“Dog walker. Florek has a pitbull mix, and with his corporate attorney hours, he had a dog walker who handled morning and afternoon walks. She’s taking care of the dog for now.” Or maybe the dog was taking care of her. The woman’s screams had brought three neighbors running, and she was still clinging to the dog when Blade arrived.

“Anything taken from the house?”

“Not that we can tell.”

Tori sipped her coffee and slid the cup back into the holder. “Without seeing the scene, I can only hypothesize. The close-quarters violence and weapon choice signal rage.” She shifted in her seat, warming to her analysis. “Knife assaults are intimate. The killer wanted it up close and personal. He wanted Florek to fight. Otherwise, he might have used a gun. But the lack of prints or even a shoe print indicates some level of control.”

“That makes sense. The repeated stab wounds, especially to the face, are generally a sign of rage.”

“Yes, or a fused mix of anger, possessiveness, power, or a desire to humble or debase the victim,” she said. “There could also be ritual elements, but again, I’d need to see where Florek was attacked and the subsequent staging to verify. What about defensive wounds?”

“All over Florek’s forearms where he’d tried to block the knife. Bruising too. The man had fought hard before going down.”

“Which means your unsub had to be strong enough to overpower Florek and knew it,” Tori said. “As you run down a suspect, look for cuts and bruises.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” he said, grinning.

“Hey, do you want my help or not?”

They laughed.

“Of course I do,” he said. “Care to take a look at what we’ve got later today?”

“Sure. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know on some level.”

“Your brain works differently from mine. You see evidence and connect it to patterns in behavior. Right now, I’m staring at a dead end, so I’ll take any direction you can give.”

The GPS announced their exit, and Blade guided the car onto the off-ramp toward Union Correctional. Pine trees lined both sides of the two-lane road, their branches creating a canopy that filtered the morning sunlight into scattered patches.

“Two hours, twenty-three minutes until destination,” the GPS said.

Tori yawned. “I think I’m gonna take a nap. I got up way too early.” She reclined her seat and closed her eyes. “Wake me when we get there.”

Within minutes, her breathing settled into the deep, even rhythm that meant she’d actually fallen asleep. The woman could drop off anywhere.

He kept his eyes on the asphalt rolling toward them, white dashes clicking past the windshield in hypnotic succession. Finally, he could let his brain work the Florek case without interruption. Two hours of pine trees blurring past the windshield, exit signs counting down the miles, and the steady thrum of rubber meeting asphalt lay between them and Damien Sullivan’s cell.

3

Tori stretched, working the kinks out of her neck from sleeping against the window. The movement pulled at the bandage on her throat, sending a sharp pinch through the shallow cut. The sting brought back his voice, his breath on her skin. She sat up straighter. Fear didn’t get to win today. Not here.

The first gate clanged open, jarring her more awake. She’d made this drive too many times for inmate evaluations, consults, and behavioral profiles. Every trip meant sitting across from men who lied without conviction and who smiled while describing murders. Normally, she could stay clinical, let the fascination of unraveling a criminal mind keep her from thinking too hard about the constant threat of violence. But today, she couldn’t stop the nervous flutter in her chest.

Blade pulled into a visitor parking space and parked between the yellow lines. She left her laptop bag and phone in the car and climbed out into the humid Florida air.

Union Correctional was one of the largest prisons in the Florida system and housed no fewer than thirteen serial killers in its time. It was where monsters came to pay for what they’d done.

And she’d have to sit across from one and pretend she wasn’t shaking.