CHAPTER EIGHT

"You ever wonder how these people make it this far?" Michael asked.

Faith's brow furrowed. "What? Where did that come from? What people?"

The light turned green, and Michael slowly accelerated. "I mean the killers. The people we track down. Do you ever wonder how they make it as far as they do?"

Faith's shoulders tensed. "Well, things are different now. Serial killers used to go months in between victims. Sometimes years. People had time to develop a profile, determine a motive, identify potential victims and sometimes even suspects before anyone else was hurt. We have to do all of those things rapid-fire. Honestly, it's miraculous that we manage to solve cases as fast as we do. I feel for the victims, of course, but we do the best we can, and better than anyone else could. Imagine how many victims we'd have if we didn't move as fast as we do?"

Michael glanced at her. "Are you okay, Faith? I didn't mean what you thought I meant at all."

She blinked. "What did you mean?"

"I meant that it's surprising that killers don't get identified and put away long before they kill. Not all killers, but the wackos like the ones we get. Like Langeveldt. That guy kidnapped people in public, paralyzed them and left them at his house until they dehydrated or had a heart attack. Or that one guy who killed soldiers and arms dealers and drew symbols in their blood. I'm just saying that's advanced mental illness. I just don't know how people who are that screwed up get away with it for so long."

"They don't, though," Faith said. "They lead normal lives until they snap. They might come across as weird or awkward, but do you look at every awkward person you see and wonder if they have a fetish for dropping women into wells?"

"Honestly, after sixteen years in the FBI, yes."

"But do you really? Do you follow those people or interrogate them or try to get search warrants for their houses?"

He nodded slowly. "I think I see your point."

She nodded. "The worst part is that most of those people are harmless. Weird people aren't usually murderers. They're just… well, weird. I read about a guy once who collected shrunken heads."

"Shrunken heads?"

"Yeah, like what headhunters from those tribes in South America make."

"Christ."

"Exactly. You look at a guy like that, and you think he has to be psycho. But this guy lived for eighty-nine years and never so much as ran a red light. He had a wife, kids and grandkids. He volunteered at a soup kitchen and voted in every single election. He just happened to like shrunken heads, so when he got wealthy enough, he spent a lot of money to collect them and display them in a room in his house."

"I'm willing to say that he's not a murderer," Michael said, "but one hundred percent that guy wasn't all kosher. He might have been smart enough or had enough self-control to know he wouldn't get away with murder, but I'll bet he fantasized about it."

Faith shrugged. "Maybe. But my point still stands. There really aren't many truly harmful people in the world. So those that are truly harmful fly under the radar. Until they murder women, strip them naked and sprinkle colored powder on them so they can live forever."

Michael nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Still, it boggles the mind how they can reserve enough brainpower to function in normal society."

He parked the cruiser in front of the precinct, and the three agents walked inside and met Detective Hilary. He looked five years older than he had when they saw him last.

"Everything all right, Detective?" Faith asked. "Do you need to be with your mother?"

"No," Hilary said. "I just finished talking to the boyfriend. It's just hard to see the loved ones sometimes. Losing someone that close to you is a pain I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy."

"I understand that," Faith said.

Hilary sighed and gestured to a hallway lined with interview rooms. "Anyway, he's ready for you. He's in room two. That's the first one on the right."

Michael clapped Hilary on the shoulder briefly, and then the three agents headed to the interview room to talk to Giacomo Medici.

As soon as Faith stepped into the room, she understood why Hilary was so affected. Giacomo's shoulders were slumped, and though he wasn't weeping now, his eyes were puffy and red with the tears he had shed. He lifted those eyes to the agents, and the depth of his pain seemed to emanate from his gaze.

Faith recalled the time when Franklin West had beaten David nearly to death. The thought of spending her life without him was inconceivably frightening. That thought had become reality for Giacomo.

"Giacomo Medici?" Michael asked.

The well-built young man—Faith guessed he was twenty-five or so, younger than Samantha—nodded. "Yes, sir." His voice carried a slight trace of an Italian accent.

"I'm very sorry to have to talk to you about this today," Faith said.

Giacomo took a shaky breath and nodded. Turk trotted over to him and placed his head on Giacomo's lap, staring up at him with his big brown eyes full of sympathy. He could have a wonderful third act as a therapy dog. Something to consider.

"How long were the two of you together?" Michael asked.

"Four years," Giacomo said.

"Long time," Faith observed.

"Yes. We met at her yoga studio. I was in Chicago to train with Robert Palhares." He pronounced Robert in the French manner: Ro-bear. "I was just entering the professional world, and my instructor believed that Robert would help fill in some gaps in my game."

"You're talking about jiu-jitsu?" Faith asked.

"Yes. Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Robert suggested that I practice yoga for flexibility and mental fortitude. I took one of Samantha's classes. She was a little older than me, but she was easily the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen."

"She was beautiful," Michael agreed.

Giacomo looked away, tears forming in his eyes. His well-defined arms flexed and relaxed as he squeezed his fists reflexively. It wasn't hard to see why Samantha was attracted to him.

"Did you two live together?"

He shook his head. "No. I wanted to move in with her, but she wanted to take things slowly. She… I think she wasn't as sure about our future as I was. I knew the moment I saw her that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I think she thought that since I was younger, I would lose interest. But we would have been married eventually. Of this, I'm sure."

Faith shared a look with Michael. Now came the hard part. She leaned forward and folded her hands. "Giacomo, I know this is hard, but can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Samantha?"

He sighed again and began to rock back and forth. "I don't know. She was so kind to everyone, so giving. She was the person who if you had a problem, she would stay up all night talking to you to make you feel better. She would visit her friends with food, and she would volunteer at nursing homes and hospitals. She was such a kind person. I can't understand why anyone would do this."

"Did she mention having problems with anyone? Anyone new in her life who made her feel uncomfortable?"

He frowned and nodded. Faith's ears perked up.

"A student," he said. "In her class. Sometimes, the men, they take these classes because they like to see the pretty girls bend their bodies in a sexy way. You know?"

"I can imagine," Michael said with a slight smile.

"So sometimes, she has to tell people, ‘Hey, eyes forward' or ‘Look at me, not her.'"

"You mean she catches men leering at women and tells them to behave themselves?" Faith said.

"Yes. Like that. Usually, the men, they just stop coming. I would be embarrassed if I was caught staring. I never thought anything of it, though. I mean, all men look, right? And Samantha is beautiful. I am sure that many men looked at her and wished they could be with her. That is what happened to me. But I didn't think any man would go so far. I guess I was a fool. I just…"

His lower lip trembled, and he hung his head. Turk whined softly and nestled in closer.

"Did she have any trouble recently with an inappropriate student?"

Giacomo nodded. "His name was Oliver, I think? He would stare at the women all the time. He didn't care that she warned him to stop. He would just stare. Samantha let him stay for three months, but when she saw him taking pictures of the girls, that was the last straw. She kicked him out."

"When was this?"

"A month ago. I didn't think he'd do anything, though. He was a creep, but he was very timid. He didn't seem like he would be so violent."

So many serial killers came across as timid. Faith didn't point that out, though. "How did he react when Samantha kicked him out of her class?"

"Like that. Like timid. She said he turned red and looked at his shoe and only nodded when she talked to him. She said she felt bad for him because he looked so embarrassed, but she couldn't feel that bad because he was her age. He was old enough to know better."

"That's definitely old enough to know better," Michael said. "So has she seen him again after kicking him out?"

Giacomo stiffened a little, then nodded.

Faith and Michael shared another look. "When?" she asked.

"He still goes there."

Her eyes widened. "To her class?"

"No, to another instructor's class. There are five teachers at the studio. Samantha teaches the evening class. Oliver started going to the afternoon class."

"You don't happen to know anything about Oliver? Where he works, where he lives, anything?"

Giacomo shook his head. Then he lifted his eyes to Faith. There was pain there, but there was a hardness behind the pain. "If I knew where he worked or lived, I wouldn't have come here to talk to you."

Faith nodded. "Giacomo, I promise you, revenge is a dish best never served at all. I know how much you're hurting right now, but please promise me you won't do anything foolish."

"I can't," he said. "I don't know where the person who killed her is."

"We don't know who he is yet," she said. "We'll talk to Oliver, but not all stalkers end up murderers."

Still, this was a damned good lead, their best one so far. If they could establish a connection between Oliver and Cassidy, then they would have their first true suspect.

"Someone ended up a murderer," Giacomo said.

His words were soft, but Faith picked up the slight accusation there.

"Yes," she agreed, "And we'll find them, whoever it is. I promise."

The three of them left Giacomo there and headed to Hilary's office. When they reached the detective, Faith said, "Detective, I need a list of everyone named Oliver who attends classes at Lake Yoga."

"Samantha Reynard's school?"

"Yes. We might have a lead. Looks like Samantha caught a guy named Oliver taking candid pictures of the female students. She kicked him out of her class, and he started taking the class right before hers."

"Huh. Any connection to Cassidy Holt?"

"That's one of the things we want to find out."

Hilary nodded. "I'll get you that list. In the meantime, if you want lunch, there's sandwiches and donuts in the break room."

"Donuts for lunch?" Michael asked.

Hilary smiled drily. "We're police officers. There's always donuts."

The three of them headed to the break room. Faith was hungry, but she hoped their lunch would be cut short. For the first time since taking this case, she felt excited. They were finally doing something.

And if they were lucky, they would stop this alchemist before he completed citrinitas.