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CHAPTER ONE
DetectiveFrancesca Angelique’s hand went to her gun automatically as she approached thewarehouse.
Maybe she shouldn’tbe approaching this place alone, but she needed the rest of the Westford PD tosecure the area and search.
She cautiously movedforward to the spot where the Westford PD’s tip-off had led her, not sure whatshe would find inside. This was the place that the game had indicated, whichmeant that this was the spot where she had a chance to save a life.
She was outside awarehouse in the industrial area of the small city, the kind of place thatnormally bustled with activity. This warehouse seemed empty and dead, though,its windows boarded up and the entrance doors slightly ajar. Francesca drew hergun from its holster, feeling the weight of the weapon in her hand. She wasn’tnormally this cautious, but something about the air around the warehouse hadput her on edge.
Francesca knewthat she had to move in. There was no time to call in backup. She had to hurry,because it had taken forever to solve the twisted game the department had beensent. There wasn’t any time left to take things slowly.
She pushed openthe door, the hinges creaking loudly in the otherwise silent surroundings.Inside, the air was thick with the smell of musty old wood and something else,something she couldn’t quite place. She turned on her flashlight and shone itaround the room, searching for any sign of life.
She took a deepbreath, trying to calm her nerves, reminding herself that she was a traineddetective, one who had worked on the force of at least one bigger city. Shereminded herself that she had seen some of the worst that humanity had tooffer. She was tough and determined, and there was nothing in Westford that shehad to worry about.
The very fact thatshe had to remind herself of that told Francesca just how on edge she was.
Francesca steppedfurther into the main space of the warehouse, her flashlight flicking around insearch of what she’d come there to find, her senses on high alert. She heard arustling behind her and spun around, but it was nothing, just a piece of paperblown by the breeze.
As she movedfurther into the warehouse, Francesca’s flashlight caught the glimmer ofsomething metallic. She approached cautiously, her gun at the ready, and founda set of metal stairs leading down into the basement. Her heart raced as shedescended, the darkness closing in around her as thickly as a blanket. Downhere, her flashlight was the only illumination.
At the bottom ofthe stairs, she found herself in a large, dimly lit room, filled with cratesand pallets stacked high. Francesca started to search, trying to be methodical,both hoping to find something and afraid of what she might find.
“Hello?” Francescacalled out, her voice echoing through the empty warehouse. There was noresponse. She continued to move forward, her footsteps loud against theconcrete floor.
The smell was thefirst thing to hit her, invading her nostrils, giving no room for anything else.A smell Francesca knew far too well: the scent of death. It was enough to make hermove forward, gun raised to cover any potential danger, trying to find thesource of that scent.
Was she too late,did that smell mean… no she wouldn’t think like that. Not until she had to.
She wove her waythrough the pallets, searching while being cautious, not wanting to blunderforward into some kind of trap. There was always a risk that someone might bewaiting for her down here, trying to ambush a cop, trying to lure her into danger.
Francesca wasdetermined not to let that stop her. She was a detective, and she wasn’t goingto take a step back just because there was a potential threat there. She had ajob to do, and she still hoped that she might be in time to save a life.Francesca pressed forward, more determined than ever.
The Westford PDgot the clue to this location two days ago, a simple letter puzzle. Well, maybenot so simple, because it took one of their administrators all this time towork out. The moment they had, they’d passed the location over to Francesca tocheck out, and here she was.
She wished she’dbeen given the location sooner, been given thiscasesooner.
The scent of deathin the air said that she should have gotten there sooner. Francesca tried toshake off that thought, focusing on the task at hand. She scanned the room andnoticed a door at the far end. It was slightly ajar, and a faint light spilledout from the room beyond. That was her destination. It had to be. Why else wouldthere be light in a place otherwise so utterly dark?
She moved towardthe door, her senses on high alert, her gun at the ready. The closer she got,the louder her heartbeat became in her ears, and the more sweat beaded on herforehead. She was about to find out what was at the end of this investigation.The trouble was, after such a long delay, a part of her already knew.
When Francescafinally pushed the door open, she gasped at what she saw in spite of how readyshe thought she was. There were some things it was impossible to prepare for.
A woman was there,hanging from a cable. That cable ran to a pulley and winch system, which seemedto have winched the victim up toward the ceiling of the basement little bylittle.
Francesca ranforward, her first instinct being to get the woman down. She only stoppedherself at the last moment, realizing that she was too late. Far too late. She’dnever had a chance. By the time she’d been given the information about thiscase, this woman would have already been dead.
The victim wasyoung, in her early twenties, with long dark hair and clear skin. Her eyes wereopen, staring up at the ceiling. It was a grotesque sight, one that Francescawas sure would haunt her for a long time to come.
Worse, it was asight that Francesca already knew, because she’d seen the crime scenephotographs from the first scene. There had already been a death like this inthe town, and that combination led back to a single, horrific truth, impossibleto ignore no matter how much Francesca wanted to:
They had a serialkiller in Westford.
Francesca’s eyeskept going back to the victim. She couldn’t help but wonder who she was, andhow she had ended up here. Was she a local? Was she someone’s daughter orsister or friend? Francesca knew these were questions that needed to beanswered, but she also knew that they were questions she wasn’t in a positionto answer right now. As for catching whoever had done this… she was anexperienced robbery/homicide detective, but this was something different. Thiswas something beyond her usual cases.
This was asadistic act that had been performed with precision and care, the kind of thingthat only a true psychopath was capable of. Francesca shuddered at the thoughtof someone like that being in Westford.
She got out herphone and called the department, waiting for the dispatcher to answer.
