Chapter One

Ambulances and cop cars flashed rhythmic strobes. Dark uniforms dotted the landscape, interspersed with yellow police tape. Lieutenant Morrisey James’s every instinct screamed for him to retreat.

Shut the fuck up!Morrisey shouted back to himself. Because of, or perhaps despite, his total lack of instinct for self-preservation, he exited the car, pulled himself up to his full lanky six-foot height, checked his trusty .38, Agnes, nestled in her shoulder holster, and waited for his partner, Will, to join him on the sidewalk. Maybe he wasn’t totally devoid of self-preservation if those instincts kept insisting that he’d need Agnes.

Heat and humidity seized Morrisey in a grubby fist. Summer would be hell if he already wanted to ditch the coat and tie in spring.

“This one’s gonna be bad.” Will brushed his fingers through his light brown waves, wearing a slightly rumpled suit and Morrisey”s tie. Will was fastidious to a fault, so the ketchup stain on his would’ve meant going home to change. Morrisey had traded with him, not giving two shits about stained ties. Hell, folks expected him to appear unkempt. The thinning patches on Will’s head hadn’t been there when they’d teamed up six years ago. Neither had the sprinkling of white among the darker stands.

He’d just turned thirty-two.

The job took its toll.

“They’re all bad.” And growing steadily worse. Morrisey inhaled deeply. No need to imagine what he’d find. Each scene always exceeded his worst expectations, regardless of how jaded time and experience had made him. “Let’s do this.”

While not considered a good area to live in, this neighborhood on the outskirts of Atlanta was nowhere near the worst. A pall hung over the area, undeterred by any amount of afternoon sun. The small white frame house blended with many more on the street: paint peeling, shutter hanging at an angle, a tangle of knee-high weeds in the front yard. An aging Ford Bronco sat in the driveway, a dent in the front quarter panel. A bunch of brightly colored balloons floated above the mailbox. Not good. Balloons on mailboxes usually meant a kid’s party. Morrisey upped his estimate of how bad this day might get.

Together, he and Will approached the house. Blood spatter on the living room windows hinted at a troubling scene awaiting them inside. Morrisey exchanged a glance with Will. “Why do we do this again?”

Will shrugged. “Because somebody’s gotta.” Same question, same answer. Same haggard expressions on their faces.

Same shit, different day.

Anything to distract themselves from what they feared they’d see inside.

Their shoes clicked out a six-beat on the steps leading to the porch.

“Hy-yuck!” A uniformed cop retched over the porch railing, losing his lunch into the boxwoods by the door.

Yep, definitely not good.

The officer’s partner patted his back, making “there, there” noises. Rookies.

Another uniformed officer gave out gloves and booties by the entrance. “Detectives. Coroner ETA is ten minutes. Don’t touch the doorknob. Nothing’s been disturbed, and we’ve kept foot traffic to a minimum.”

Ten minutes to get first impressions before facts and medical jargon adjusted Morrisey’s views. The screen door lay on the porch. Torn off the hinges by the assailant? He lifted the edge to find slightly darker paint underneath. So, not a recent development. The front door stood open. Blood adorned the doorknob. “Our guy’s getting prints?” he asked.

The officer dipped her chin. “Forensics got here five minutes ago. Apparently, there was a party going on. A late arrival found the bodies. She had two small children with her.” The officer tutted and shook her head. “Those poor kids had to see this house of horrors.”

Will stiffened beside Morrisey. This would not go well for him. And while Morrisey wouldn’t allow coddling, he would shield Will when possible. No need for both of them to wake up screaming tonight. He said, more for Will’s benefit than his own, “Dispatch said kids were present but unhurt. At least not so anyone could tell at the scene.”

The officer nodded. “We found them unconscious but with no signs of injury. They’re being transferred to the hospital.” Which explained the ambulance moving from the curb, siren wailing.

Morrisey watched until the ambulance turned a corner, fading from view. “Where is the witness now?”

“She’s inside the neighbors’ house, a little hysterical.” The officer pointed next door, where an older woman stood gawking on the porch. Gawking beat a bunch of opportunistic YouTubers live-feeding the crime scene on the internet.

“I bet.” No one should have to see friends murdered, especially not kids. “Will? Would you speak to our witness, please?” Will was only a few more crime scenes from throwing his badge on the desk and running from the precinct. Besides, Morrisey required privacy to truly study the scene.

There didn’t appear to be a camera on the front door, an advisable protection in this rundown neighborhood.

A guy stood on a porch two houses down, staring intently, giving off creepy vibes. Morrisey spoke softly to Will. “See the guy on the porch over there? Question him, too. He might have seen something.”

Morrisey entered the living room. The stench of blood slapped him square in the face. An arm lay on the floor, golden bangles around the wrist, a modest wedding band on the ring finger, and nails painted a vivid green. It’s evidence, it’s evidence… Don’t think of the person it belongs to.

Not a robbery, then. Two-bit thugs would’ve taken the jewelry. They also wouldn’t have taken time to mutilate the body. This looked to be personal. Rage.

Or extreme sadism. Could this be the result of gang violence or a cartel? But why spare the kids? Morrisey would need to wait on a coroner”s report to find the exact cause of death. Maybe the woman died before her body had been so brutally ravaged. A clean blow to the head?

Please let the kids not have seen.

Voices drifted from the back of the house, indicating more cops. So, maybe this wasn’t the worst of what he’d see. Blood stained the middle couch cushion, like someone sat in blood, then on the seat.

Pink toenails peeked out from under the couch, lying in a pool of blood. There wasn’t enough room under the couch for an entire body.

A woman. No. Morrisey couldn’t imagine her as a living person. Not right now. He knew better. She was a victim. One of six, dispatch said.

Morrisey steeled his nerves and rounded the couch. The rest of the victim. A stuffed elephant lay on the carpet, likely dropped by a child. A live child, simply unconscious. Thank God for some mercy.

“Oh, shit,” Will gasped behind Morrisey. He shouldn’t have to see this shit. What the actual fuck was he doing here?

Morrisey attempted to control his voice and not yell. “I told you to question our witnesses, Will. Find out what the neighbors saw. I’ll take the house. Don’t walk through. Leave the way you came in.”

Quick footsteps left the room. Crimes involving children affected Will much more since he’d become a father of three. He didn”t have to witness the horrors they might find in the remainder of the house.

Three dead women. Three unconscious kids. Morrisey cracked his neck left and right. No use putting things off. He’d have nightmares tonight for sure unless he drank enough to manage a dreamless sleep.

He ought not to do this. He really shouldn’t, but fate had given him gifts—or curses—for a reason. Morrisey slipped off one glove enough to uncover his index finger, checked over his shoulder to assure no witnesses, then placed his knuckle on a bit of unbloodied skin. Just enough for contact.

Impressions filled his mind, not like he’d lived them, but like secondhand smoke. Happiness, excitement. Love for her son. Helena. The woman’s name was Helena.

She’d been in the kitchen. The doorbell rang. Through a stranger’s eyes, Morrisey watched Helena tell the others around her she’d be right back, then hurry toward the door. A small boy toddled after her, clutching the toy elephant. She greeted the new arrival with a warm smile.

Fear, terrifying, paralyzing, sudden fear. No! A scream stuck in her throat. Pain! Oh, God, the pain! Falling, pleading, hitting the couch, crawling. Someone, help me! Please, no! Why?

Her last thought rang in Morrisey’s head. He snatched his hand away, breathing hard, heart pounding, shaking his head to dislodge the connection. Regardless of how many times he secretly witnessed crimes, the process never got easier. The woman knew her attacker, but Morrisey mostly felt emotions and didn’t see who stood at the door.

He glanced around the room, clinically noting the position of each piece of evidence, cataloging information internally to keep from dwelling on the victims. A shoe here. A knocked over table there. Morrisey couldn’t help the victims now except to find justice.

He mapped out in his mind a scene he’d commit to paper later, with no need to measure. A picture above the TV showed the woman, a small boy, and a man. A happy family destroyed by some lunatic.

Voices led him to the kitchen. He ambled down the hallway in a daze. Two officers left the room at Morrisey’s approach, giving him access. Oh, God. Yeah. Will couldn’t see this. A birthday cake sat on the dining table. Cheery yellow letters spelled out “Happy Birthday Johnny.”

Unopened presents were stacked beside a child-size ballcap. Dispatch reports showed none of the kids had been older than three or four. So young. Seeing their mothers killed during a birthday party.

A pair of forensics investigators descended, a small woman in a hazmat suit taking measurements while a man Morrisey would bet on to be the ultimate champion in a contest with a Mack truck took pictures, the two working silently in tandem, as though long-used to working together. White numbered cards marked pieces of evidence. Morrisey removed his notepad and pen from his suit jacket and took notes despite it being unnecessary. Everything sank into his memory with startling clarity. One adult accounted for, and two more to go. “Where’re the others?”

A cop in the hallway hollered, “Backyard. I hope you didn’t eat a big lunch.” His partner gave a nervous chuckle.

Morrisey crossed the kitchen, careful not to contaminate the scene, and exited by the back door.

There had to be more than one killer to violently murder three adults in broad daylight before anyone escaped.

Or a single fast one.

The backyard looked like Armageddon. An overgrown privacy fence kept the neighbors from seeing what nobody ought to. Blood. Everywhere. Morrisey pitied the medical examiner who”d have to decipher the carnage.

He clenched his teeth to avoid retching. No, he’d been at this too long to lose his shit. As Will had said, someone had to. Might as well be someone with a reputation for not having a heart rather than some kindhearted soul who’d never recover.

A pained moan pulled his attention to the other side of the yard and through an open gate. Will stood just inside, hands to his mouth. He turned and fled. Why was he even here?

Dark hair, dark, unseeing eyes staring at nothing. Damn! The woman lying on the table could’ve been a sister to Will’s wife. A blood trail led to the third victim, who’d collapsed at the far end of the yard.

Fuck. Will did not need to see this.

All this blood and no bloody footprints. Like a ghost materialized, killed these people, then vanished. Please let the case not go cold this time.

Morrisey owed Johnny and the others to find the sick fucks who’d done this.

Morrisey put the finishing touches on his depiction of the living room, his sketchbook laid out on the car’s hood. He’d add dimensions later when those who’d actually measured turned in their results. Plus, he’d view the photos taken before the paramedics moved the kids. The facts wouldn’t differ from his memory: major room features, furniture placement, and where they’d found evidence. The pictures never did. Still, no use flaunting abilities he couldn’t rightly explain. To think he’d taken a buttload of art classes to capture such horrific images on paper.

His teachers would be so proud of him going from sketching still lifes to no lifes. They’d once bragged about his talent.

Will waited inside the car, looking far worse for the wear. No need to ask why. One glance at his haggard gray features said, of course, he wasn’t all right. He’d see the scene in his dreams, picturing his dear Linda and his own kids. Hell, this incident would’ve sent Will to therapy if he hadn’t already been there.

Morrisey quietly climbed into the passenger seat. He would have offered to drive, but to do so would insult Will. The man was a cop. Had been a cop for many years. Pointing out how badly he’d lost the stomach for the job wouldn’t help.

Run, Will. Save yourself. It’s too late for me.

”What sort of monster does such a thing, Morse?” Will pounded his fist on the steering wheel. “No robbery. No apparent motive. Who just goes into a birthday party and starts slashing?”

Morrisey kept his voice calm, holding back a fuck-ton of emotions demanding release. “You know what kind. We’ve met enough of them.” Pressure built behind his eyes. What he’d experienced today couldn’t be unseen or unfelt. None of the remaining victims offered anything solid, just fear, pain, and terror for the kids. A cigarette would taste good right now. Pushing down emotions took every ounce of Morrisey’s being.

Damn, he’d love a drink.

Unlike Will, at least Morrisey didn’t see innocent lives cut short while thinking it could’ve been his own loved ones. The last person Morrisey loved died years ago.

Will wiped a hand over his face. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why, suddenly, are we getting such god-awful calls? Where’re the simple reports? The drug deals gone wrong? Store robberies that got out of hand? Drive-by shootings? When was the last time we got a call that didn’t make us want to drink?”

“I dunno, Will.” Lord, Morrisey wished he did. Then maybe he’d stand a chance of stopping or at least slowing the deluge.

“Those poor kids.” Will started the car and pulled onto the street, firmly gripping the steering wheel. “Did they have to watch their mothers die? Why were they unconscious? Are they going to be okay? What am I saying? Who’d be okay after living through a nightmare?”

“Don’t think about it.” Morrisey tasted the futility of the words even as they left his mouth. How could a family man like Will not obsess over what he’d witnessed in the last couple of hours? Hell, he’d already started therapy to cope with the shit they saw on the job on a normal day. “Come to think of it, why did you even come into the backyard? I told you to stay away.”

“I… I don’t know. I didn’t intend to. I just started walking and wound up there, like I was sleepwalking or something.”

“Well, I wish you hadn’t. You didn’t need to see that.”

Will’s voice could’ve climbed to the level of a whisper with a stepladder. “That could have been Linda, the twins, or Junior.”

Uh-oh. Time to yank someone out of a tailspin. They paused at a stoplight. “Will, look at me.”

Will did, then looked away.

Morrisey ignored his own horrors in favor of his partner on the verge of a breakdown. “I’ve got your interview recordings with the woman. How about the man?”

“Couldn’t find him. Apparently, he doesn’t live around here, and no one admitted to knowing him.” Will’s knuckles whitened from his death grip on the steering wheel.

Not good. Not good at all. “Look, Will. That wasn’t Linda or your kids. They’re safe. In fact, take me to the precinct and get on home to them. I’ll start the reports. You can add anything I missed tomorrow.”

The traffic light switched to green, and Will eased through with his normal caution. “You don’t mind?” So much hope poured into three small words.

“Not at all.” Nobody was awaiting Morrisey back home, not even a houseplant. Not a living one anyway, though he still watered the wilted peace lily occasionally for old times’ sake.

“Thanks, man. I owe you.” Will’s relief came through in his sigh.

“You’d do the same for me,” Morrisey lied. He wouldn’t mention the many other favors owed. More and more lately, Will faltered. He’d been a good cop, a damned fine detective before the job burned him out. Especially with the calls they’d gotten recently, each more vicious than the last.

Morrisey and Will weren’t strictly homicide detectives, but mass killings in their district, growing from roughly nine annually to twenty-four so far this year, left them little time to investigate anything but murders. And they still had seven months to go.

They didn’t talk for the remainder of the ride, Will tapping his wedding ring on the steering wheel, muscles flexing in his jaw. At least he hadn’t barfed his guts out like the officer on the porch. Just as well they didn’t speak. Morrisey needed the quiet, getting lost in his own head.

Flashes of emotions from the dead adults played on repeat in Morrisey’s mind. They’d known their assailant, which made their horror so much worse. Morrisey wouldn’t have had the nerve to look into the children’s minds. The department employed a counselor who specialized in interviewing children, taking a load off Will and Morrisey’s plate.

Morrisey would work on reports tonight, and he’d consult the captain first thing tomorrow. Since Will was struggling, maybe he needed desk duty, or at the very least taken off homicide for a while.

Will pulled the car to the curb in front of the precinct. Morrisey got out, clutching his sketch pad. He stretched to unkink his back and forced a—not a smile, but slightly short of a scowl. “See you tomorrow. Give my love to Linda and kids, okay?”

Will didn’t answer, staring straight ahead through the windshield. Yeah, Morrisey would speak with the captain. He strode up the walkway toward the precinct’s front door, then turned to wave.

The car hadn’t moved. Was Will all right? Morrisey retraced his steps to the car, a sense of unease twisting in his gut. “Will?” Maybe he’d been less okay than he’d seemed.

Morrisey took in the scene in slow motion: Will raising his gun, putting the muzzle into his mouth. The shot.

“Will!” Morrisey ran the last few feet and flung open the car door.

Too fucking late.