Chapter One

Carly MacDonald studied the skeleton displayed before her at the special exhibit in Edinburgh. It was that of Mr. William Burke.

A monster? Certainly, to those whose lives he had ended and to their loved ones as well.

Now, he—or his skeleton—was on loan from the Anatomical Museum at the University of Edinburgh, and it seemed ironic to Carly that there was currently such an exhibit going on because a new form of similar crimes was on the rise. People were dying—so that others could live. But not on purpose, and there was nothing noble about what was going on.

Of course, it was ironic William Burke was here on display since his crimes had included selling his murderously obtained "fresh" corpses for dissection and display.

Medical science...few other areas of study had ever so advanced the quality of life for so many—and the length of life itself.

And in the early years of the nineteenth century, Edinburgh, Scotland, was at the forefront of medical science and anatomy.

However, at that time...

Corpses for study could only be obtained through those who had been hanged or died in prison, those who had died from suicide, and those who died as foundlings or orphans. Laws governing corpses were strange. The dead were always in demand, and thus there came into being a new breed of criminal known as "resurrectionists."

Body snatchers.

Of course, the bulk of society looked upon those crimes as totally heinous, against any form of religion, horrible! But resurrectionists at least stole the bodies of those who were already dead.

Burke, along with his partner, Hare—who managed to avoid the hangman's noose by giving state's evidence against his partner in a full confession and as witness—discovered the decent income to be made in selling corpses to Dr. Knox so that he could excel in his lectures at the university.

But digging up bodies was increasingly difficult as loved ones of the deceased began to demand more protection for cemeteries.

It was also a heck of a lot of hard work with the possibility of being caught hanging over one's head.

Of course, according to Hare, he was there when the murders were committed—but he wasn't the killer. He only watched as Burke killed his victims. Not with brutality or fury—simply for the business commodity of it all. Their first sale had been the body of a man who had died of natural causes, the complication being that he owed money to the rooming house owned by Hare's wife—common-law wife, most likely—Margaret. That's when they discovered the easy income and living to be enjoyed off the dead. But in different confessions, it came to light that both men were guilty. One man held a victim down while the other covered the victim's nose and mouth until they asphyxiated, which gave a new term to the English-speaking world, burking. They plied their victims with alcohol first, hopefully to make death easier for the victims? Or easier for Burke and Hare to accomplish their crimes. But this had been their method, except in the case of a poor boy some considered simple who'd had his back broken. By accident? As claimed by Hare. Or had a sense of cruelty come out in the killers at last? No matter the reason, their victims were usually drunk before being murdered, a little token of kindness one way or another. Then off the bodies had gone to the medical school for lectures on anatomy.

Dr. Knox had turned a blind—and approving—eye to the "freshness" of the corpses he received from Burke and Hare. Students even recognized the body of a beautiful young prostitute—a few of them had availed themselves of her services. They noted a few other characters who were often seen around the city as well. But the killers weren't caught until Burke convinced an older Irish woman, Margaret—or Madgy—Docherty, to come back to drink and stay at his lodging house. The two men had a small problem, but one that was easily solved.

Burke and Hare had met in 1827, and at first Burke had roomed with Hare and his wife at their lodging house. But then he and his "wife" Helen McDougal—records didn't show if they were legally married or something closer to common law—moved into their own lodging house by summer. A couple, James and Ann Gray, were already staying at Burke's lodging house—they had to be convinced to move to Hare's to allow for a room in which to commit the murder at Burke's. With the Grays gone, Madgy met her end and Burke and Hare hid her body under the bed. Alas for Burke and Hare, James and Ann Gray returned to their original room before they were expected and discovered an unwelcome surprise waiting for them.

And then in retrospect, it made perfect sense that Knox's students had recognized some of the previous "fresh" bodies in their anatomy classes.

It was the end of the game for Burke and Hare.

Only Burke, however, would go to the gallows.

"Carly!"

She turned. It was impossible to miss her partner, Special Agent Luke Kendrick, in almost any crowd. He was six-four and fit and walked with what was surely just about perfect posture.

And with purpose.

They'd first been paired together for the too-recent "H. H. Holmes Society" case. Carly had been impressed with Luke in many ways, she thought, smiling for a minute, just as she was impressed with their Supervising Field Director, Jackson Crow, a man who seemed to know instinctively who would work best together. Maybe because they were all so "unique in their talents," as she'd heard their team described, but also because he seemed to know human quirks and personalities.

She and Luke were a partnership, in every essence of the word. She was grateful they would be together while still in Scotland seeking new killers, along with Police Scotland and the National Crime Agency. Brendan Campbell as the head of the Scottish component was always in close contact with Jackson, who was juggling all his agents in the States and abroad. She and Luke had started off together here, studying the displays, until she'd found herself all but hypnotized by the bones of the man who had once caused such pain and horror in this very city. Luke had gone on to observe other aspects and probably those milling around as well. He was a great people watcher. And it was true that those responsible for criminal acts were often curious to see the effects of their deeds.

"We've got to go," Luke said, and from the serious set of his face, she knew there had been another body found.

"Where's the car?"

"We're walking. She's in a vennel behind a popular club. But it's a narrow alleyway, and there's nowhere to put a car much closer than we are now. Come on."

Carly nodded and turned quickly to join him. "A young woman?"

Luke nodded. "This time."

The killer was—or killers were—all over the place when it came to victimology. She and Luke had been called back to Edinburgh from the Stirling area when the first bodies had been found, and the media began hyping the killers as "Burke and Hare Revisited."

She'd gone to see the display on Burke that morning specifically to try to understand more. There was no way a killer was going to sell cadavers to a medical college these days, but she had to agree with the media—the killings were for profit.

Victims were discovered minus vital organs. But the care and transport of organs for transplant was tremendously precise and difficult! How was this killer—or these killers if there were indeed two or more—managing such a feat?

Or...

Are they just sadistic and brutal monsters, ripping people up for the emotional or sexual release it gave them?

All she knew right now was the murders were accelerating. There had been three bodies discovered before "Blackbird"—the European division of the Krewe, their unique unit within the FBI—had been called in by Brendan Campbell of the National Crime Agency.

"Don't you love the internet?" Luke murmured as they walked.

Carly frowned, wondering what had brought that on. "I love the pics I see of my family on social media," she said.

"Yeah. If it were friends and family pics and cool things, it would be great." He made a face and shook his head. "It also gives a platform to people who want to spew hatred, who want to form societies for people to mimic historical killers and—" he paused, glancing her way "—allows people to pick up on the media and give names to serial killers who love the attention!"

Carly shook her head in response. "Luke, I don't think whoever is doing this craves the media attention or ever wanted a special name. From what we've seen, they're stealing human organs—wanted by those who need transplants all over the world—for monetary gain!"

"That's true. But if that's all they were doing, why display the bodies the way that they have?" he asked softly.

They'd walked quickly, and Luke had taken the turns that brought them off the Royal Mile and into the narrow vennel behind the popular nightspot.

He flashed his badge to the Police Scotland officers on duty, ensuring the curious didn't pass through the crime scene tape that cordoned off the area. The officers nodded grimly and they were allowed through.

"Campbell is waiting for you," one of the officers said.

"He's here? Already?" Luke asked.

"I think he teleports, like on Star Trek, when he feels he needs to be somewhere," the officer said dryly.

"Maybe," Luke agreed, almost giving the man a smile.

The discovery in the vennel had been just too grim for any real humor, even though those who dealt with death and crime sometimes had to find humor lest they lose themselves and their ability to function and reason. It was equally difficult not to take cases personally—the victims were human.

"Ahead," the officer instructed, although there was no other way to go.

They hurried along to where they saw a medical examiner bent low over a form stretched out near one of the large garbage receptacles just beyond the back door of the club. Brendan Campbell, two local officers and Daniel Murray, a young detective with the National Crime Agency, a man with whom they'd very recently worked, were standing nearby.

Daniel looked at Carly as they arrived, shaking his head and wincing. She arched a brow and nodded, looking down at the woman on the ground. The medical examiner was hunkered down at her side, and he looked up at them, scanning the faces of the law enforcement personnel surrounding him now. "Well, as ghastly as the scene appears, I don't believe she suffered much. I don't have test results yet, but close as I am, I do believe the young lady had a great deal to drink. I also believe you'll be relieved to hear she was suffocated—dead before the evisceration of her body began."

He spoke quietly, his gentle Scottish burr something that seemed to soften his words as well.

"Different, but the same," Carly murmured. "Not tortured, rather taken for the monetary value of her death to her killers."

"Aye, and burked," Daniel Murray said, his tone hard.

"I believe," Luke said, looking over at Brendan Campbell, "the killers—and there is more than one—are simple psychopaths with no thought whatsoever about the lives they are taking. However, they are not brutal or sadistic. The kill has to do with the fact it's a means to an end. Somehow, they have a market for human organs. While human life means little to them, they are aware there are those across the world who would give anything to survive—and that chance to survive depends on a viable heart, lung, kidney or liver."

"We've already heard my theory, but what do you think about the display?" Carly murmured.

Luke looked at her. "All right. They started out just being in it for the money. Maybe things changed. The media gave them so much attention that maybe they discovered they loved it. I don't believe they started out to be Burke and Hare. But because they are killing for the money a body can bring, and once they read that they were being compared to Burke and Hare, they decided they enjoyed the media sensation. They might even enjoy the fear it's creating in the city, or the historic significance of being compared to Edinburgh's most infamous killers. The first body, sir," he said, addressing Brendan Campbell, "it wasn't discovered in such a pristine and...peaceful state."

"Edge of the park," Campbell told him. "And, no. It was Mr. Walter Freeley, on vacation from Toronto. He was discovered off the road, covered with tree limbs."

"And the news media got wind of the body parts being removed," the medical examiner told them. "The next thing was that every news medium was comparing them to Burke and Hare. Of course, it helped that this is Edinburgh."

Carly spoke up quietly. "Sir," she said, addressing Campbell, "I suggest we study each case and each site bringing us up to date on exactly what happened where and when, who the victims were and how they were chosen, and the geography of the sites where they've been discovered. This woman wasn't killed here—there had to have been blood loss even if the heart was stopped when the removal of her organs began, and that isn't apparent here."

"Aye, you're right, of course," Campbell said. "Dr. Foster, your preliminary report—death by asphyxiation—the woman under the influence of alcohol at the time and..." His voice trailed and he shook his head.

"And as you can see," Dr. Foster continued, "the body was then dissected carefully from the throat to the groin, and the vital organs were removed with only the intestines left in a pile in the cavity that was created."

"Thank you," Campbell said, turning to the different law enforcement agents and officers surrounding him. "We have a headquarters set up in one of our holdings, just on the edge of Old Town, a place we've used before. Several bedrooms and a large dining room that suffices quite nicely as a meeting forum. We also have rooms for you there, for those of you who are not local. That would be you, Carly, Luke and, though he's local, we have a room for Daniel, too. And you need to know Inspectors MacDuff and Dowell, local detectives, are on the case," he finished, nodding toward the two officers they were just meeting.

MacDuff was about fifty, with steel-gray hair and deep brown eyes. Dowell was younger, maybe thirty, a tall, fit redhead who nodded grimly at the introduction, adding, "Carly MacDonald and Luke Kendrick. I see Campbell using your given names. Mine is Jordan and this old hand here is Michael."

Carly smiled and offered her hand as the others did.

"I have had everything sent to the headquarters—or house. You'll find you're set for whatever you need. And, of course, I'll be working on this as well," Campbell told them.

"And at this time," Michael MacDuff said, studying Carly and Luke, "you are the fresh eyes we need on this."

"Obviously, we all want this stopped as quickly as possible," Luke assured him.

"One more thing: your American coworkers are in France clearing up the recent Holmes Society creations there," Campbell said. "They'll be joining us as soon as they possibly can. Of course, one may not let one killer go to secure another."

"All right, then," Luke said, looking at Carly. "Let's get moving. These killings are happening quickly. Four victims in so many days. Let's see if we can stop this before we have another on our hands."

Luke hated it when killers were given cinematic names by the media. With most criminals in his experience, it heightened the delight they took from their crimes.

Of course...

These killings were different.

He sat at the table in the dining-turned-conference room and studied files on his computer, looking at the large corkboard that showed pictures of the victims along with the crime scenes—taken at different times during the investigation.

The first victim. Walter Freeley, thirty-five years old, Canadian, fond of hiking, a man in excellent physical form—until his death. Left by the road at the edge of Holyrood Park, covered with tree branches.

Killed elsewhere.

Like their recent victim, his autopsy had shown a heavy alcohol consumption prior to asphyxiation, death before the removal of his organs.

Victim two, Brian Dresden, thirty-nine, a businessman from New York, had also been discovered semi-hidden, this time in an extremely small vennel between two larger homes in Old Town, several blocks off the Mile. Coworkers had informed the police via video interviews that he seldom drank—but the alcohol content discovered in his body at autopsy had also been high. Like Walter Freeley, he was in excellent physical shape—before death.

The third body discovered had been that of Lila Strom, a budding actress from Hamburg, thirty-two years old, a dancer and in excellent form. She had been the first to be displayed, and like their victim this morning, she'd been discovered just off the Royal Mile.

Displayed beautifully. Her hair had created a magnificent golden halo around her head. An elegant silk trench coat had covered her lower form, and the sanitation worker who had discovered her had thought at first she'd had too much to drink and simply passed out in the vennel.

Until, of course, he'd moved the trench coat.

Luke set aside his computer and looked over at Carly, who was still studying her screen. Daniel Murray was watching him—as were Michael MacDuff and Jordan Dowell.

They were gathered at the house just on the edge of Old Town that would be their headquarters; as Brendan Campbell had promised, it was set up for them to work. It was both comfortable—more so than a hotel room since it offered a kitchen, space to be together and space to be alone. Apparently, it was known by the powers that be that he and Carly were a couple in every sense of the word, so they'd been assigned a beautiful room with a king-sized bed and a handsome refurbished bathroom, which even offered a whirlpool tub.

Carly had smiled at that, impressed. And he almost smiled in return, thinking what a lucky man he was. Carly was striking with her slim and shapely physique, dark hair and eyes. She would be notable almost anywhere on earth, he thought. Her name might be MacDonald, brought to the US by Scottish ancestors, but she had gained her stunning coloring from a grandparent from the Middle East. Such was America, he thought with a certain pride. Americans were everything—a people from just about every culture known to man.

And Carly...

She was amazing. A sharpshooter, able to be the most diplomatic person known to the universe and, in modern vernacular, kick ass with the best of them when a situation demanded such action.

He loved being with her in any situation—in the few moments when they'd been "off" and when they were working together as well. They both brought different thoughts or insights to a situation and respected those of the other.

"What are you seeing?" Michael MacDuff asked him.

"The killers aren't sadists. They aren't attempting to torture their victims in any way. In fact, they are purposely inebriating those they have targeted—"

"Wait," MacDuff said, frowning. "You are certain there are two—"

"Or more," Luke said. "Perhaps one plans the abduction without the victim having any idea whatsoever they're being abducted, leads them back to their killing grounds and then they work together to finish off the victim and—"

"But two?" MacDuff said, frowning. "If only one needs to find their chosen target and lure that target to a killing zone, why would they need—"

"I believe there can be only one reason for this—the sale of human organs. And if I'm right, the killers would need to see the organs are carefully preserved from the second they're obtained. Therefore, we don't need to just find these killers—we need to find their brokers."

"Brokers," MacDuff murmured.

"Whoever is paying them for the organs and seeing they are safely delivered—" Carly began.

"I know what a broker is!" MacDuff snapped.

"I apologize," Carly said.

"Don't mind him," Jordan told Carly. "He's an old fart!"

"Eh!" MacDuff protested.

Jordan shrugged and for a moment, they all smiled.

"My apologies, Special Agent MacDonald," MacDuff said, but he was smiling as well. "I am an old fart. I've seen my share through the years, but this case... In all this, forensics hasn't been able to find a print, a hair, the weest spec of a fiber! Four now dead—and we have nothing!"

"We will," Luke assured him. "They are a few assumptions we can make. They are still identifying our latest victim, but first, none of the others were local. They are targeting visitors to the area, those who might need guidance through the city. Most probably outgoing people who are happy to meet locals—"

"Y'think a Scot did this?" MacDuff demanded.

Luke smiled and shook his head.

"Sir—"

"Neither Burke nor Hare was born a Scot, y'know!" MacDuff told them indignantly. "Irishmen, they were!"

"I'm not blaming a Scot or an Irishman," Luke said.

"Good," MacDuff put in. "My wife is from Dublin."

"No one is blaming anyone—yet," Carly said. "Please, sir, every nation out there has produced horrendous individuals just as every nation has produced brilliant men and women."

"Eh! You know what a Scot invented—the flushing toilet!" Daniel pointed out. "Well, in 1775, Alexander Cumming filed the first flush-toilet patent. To be fair, Englishman John Harington started the whole thing back in 1596, under the direction of Queen Elizabeth I, and then after Cumming in 1860, a bloke really named Thomas Crapper created all kinds of modern improvements." Daniel grimaced. "Guess that's why we still go to the john or the crapper!"

They all stared at him and even Michael MacDuff burst into laughter.

"We needed that," Carly told him.

He smoothed back his unruly hair and grinned. "Aye, now, I'm useful at times."

They all nodded and glanced at one another. Carly said softly, "Seriously. Every country in the world has produced monsters. I don't believe we know who we are looking for now. Not necessarily a Scot, but someone who has come to know Edinburgh, the streets, closes, vennels. It's an old city, an old city that's arisen through the centuries on an extinct volcano, which allows for all kinds of things happening underground—if you know where that underground is."

"You think they are killing people underground?" Jordan asked.

"Not necessarily," Carly assured him. "I just think there are partners, and one—or both—of them knows the city of Edinburgh. I also believe they're trolling the nightspots, looking for their victims. They don't break into any homes with alarms. They watch out for businesses where others might identify them as someone a victim has been with. Here are the things we need to do—divide and conquer, for one. We need to go to nightspots and watch what's going on. Play the game ourselves—obviously, Luke and I make the best tourists. We don't have your beautiful accents."

Jordan laughed at that.

Carly arched a brow.

"He just means an accent is only cool when it's not your own," Daniel supplied.

"See, your accents are cool to us," Jordan assured her.

Carly smiled and Luke was glad to see it. Being immersed in so much that was painful sometimes made it difficult to hang on to humanity.

"Well, thanks," Carly murmured.

"So," Luke continued for her, "tonight, we all hit the town. You two—" he motioned to Jordan and Michael "—will need to give us the names of places where people hang out the most. I think we're all up to speed on the victims. Now we'd like to see the dump—and/or display—sites. And of course, I assume there has been a tip line set up? Discussions with the families or friends of the victims? Have the pictures of the victims been run through the various places we'll try out tonight?"

"Tip line, aye, thousands of calls, most of them bogus. With the recent trouble regarding the Holmes Society, both Police Scotland and the National Crime Agency have been stretched thin. As far as the calls go—"

"I understand," Luke interrupted, "but we can help with that. Jackson can set up a relay so that they're getting everything at our headquarters in the US as well. That can help thread through those just calling in because they're paranoid or need the attention and those that may really give us something."

"Then," Carly said softly, "we need to find the brokers. Their method of selling the organs to the highest bidder."

"I'll pick up some info from our people at headquarters and be back in half an hour to tour the sites you wish to see. I'll do the driving," MacDuff informed them.

Carly arched a brow and noted, "There are five of us."

"He has an NCA Escalade—we'll be fine," Jordan assured them. "Thirty minutes!"

"I'll be ready," Daniel said, rising as they did. "Quickie shower—I feel..." He looked from Luke to Carly and she finished for him.

"Icky?" she suggested.

"Aye, that's the word!" Daniel said.

She grinned. "Me, too. I need fifteen minutes."

"And she means it," Luke assured Daniel. "She's faster than the speed of light."

"In all things?" Daniel queried, grinning. "Whoops, sorry! You know, I meant with work and all!"

"Go take your shower!" Carly moaned, and Daniel quickly disappeared. She slid behind Luke, looking over his shoulders, her hands upon them. "I get his feeling. But we'll never wash off this horror, will we?"

Luke turned to her. "Oddly, as bad as the bodies may be...death was quick. And if they were seriously inebriated..."

"Right. We've seen worse. Still, I am going to take a shower."

"Go ahead." He looked up at her. "I'm not as fast as the speed of light," he teased. "You know, temptation and all that...and I want to give Jackson a call. He'll need to set up our people listening to the tip calls. I know they're good here, amazing maybe, but they have been stretched thin. Jackson can get some profilers in and maybe give us some insights we're not seeing. There's one thing I find curious, but that might get back to our killers being ordinary Joes, capable of seducing people—and I don't mean so much sexually, but as friends. Helpful people, ready to give tourists information on the best places, or even give them rides. I'm curious because our one victim..." He hesitated, referring to his computer again. "Brian Dresden. Friends and coworkers said that he wasn't a drinker. How did they get a man who seldom drank inebriated?"

"Seldom isn't never," Carly said. "And that's back to the friendship thing. He was probably out, possibly for a meal. He wound up talking to someone who gave him advice on what to do with his free time. He was talked into sampling whiskey and did it so that he'd be sociable with someone who was welcoming him to the country."

"They might not have started out as Burke and Hare, but they might well have accidentally made use of some of the ruses that the pair had practiced in their lethal form of body snatching," Luke told her. "It's not such a bad idea that we do study the original duo—now the killers have embraced the monikers, or so it seems. Historic information may prove useful to us."

"And tonight?" Carly murmured. "I think we'll need to split up—"

"Not necessarily. These people aren't seeking sexual partners. They just want healthy individuals. And we both fit that bill."

"But they haven't taken two victims at once."

"True. If we think we've got something..."

He broke off, shaking his head. "I've been investigating the illegal organ trade. Think about it. Say you're a billionaire. You have a child who desperately needs a kidney. You're going to pay anything to get it."

Carly nodded. "I was just reading about a case in Pakistan. Police raided an apartment building where twenty-four people were being held—alive, but as part of a human-trafficking organization—there for when their organs were needed. It's not an American thing, a European thing, or a thing that belongs to any one nation. This is just people wanting..."

"To be alive. To live themselves or to see a loved one live, and I imagine those who go to the illegal trade are simply desperate," Luke said. "The original Burke and Hare specimens had to have piqued Dr. Knox's suspicions, but he felt his need for the bodies in his classes was greater than his need to check on the origins of the product Burke and Hare were offering. With buyers of human organs, I believe those receiving them or procuring them for a loved one don't allow themselves to think of how they might be obtained. I'm sure they don't ask. They're just grateful and maybe lie to themselves, thinking that a widow, widower, children or parents of someone who died naturally might need the money."

"Whatever causes it, these people have a worldwide market. We're going to need to stop them—and just as importantly, stop the buyers! Maybe I should say the brokers. I think it must be...well, you have the killers who procure the organs. But I believe there must be someone else who knows where they need to go to fetch the highest price."

Luke nodded, leaning back. "So...you going to dress up for the night out on the town?"

She laughed softly. "Later, Romeo. Right now, jeans and a denim jacket. We're going to go play in the dirt at the dump sites and maybe need another shower after. And you, please! Tell me you'll clean up, too." She wrinkled her nose teasingly.

He sighed. "So picky! Sure, I'll shower."

Grinning, she touched his shoulder and headed for their room.

"Oh, hey! E.T., don't forget. You're supposed to phone home."

"Will do!"

He smiled, watching her go, but it faded as he stared at the massive corkboard again. Four lives. Stolen.

They needed clues. They needed something to go on.

He pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial for their headquarters back in the States.

He spoke with Jackson, who brought Brendan Campbell in on their conversation. Between Police Scotland, the NCA and their unusual bureau team, they would get it done. They had the best tech support in the world and a vast number of soldiers on the ground.

Yes, they would get it done.

When he ended the conversation, he found himself still staring at the computer.

And looking up everything he could find on the original Burke and Hare.

Because they might not have started out that way, but...

But the killers were now copycats. And sometimes, just sometimes, because of the past, copycats might be easy to catch out in a "historic" mistake.