Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Frankie

"You ready for this?" Jay's tone is somber, probably because of the wife's tears that have a way of sticking with you long after the disgusting images of the vic's body fade from memory.

"Probably not," I grumble, making my way to the cheerful blue front door. "But we're here." I nod toward the door like it's mocking us. "You?"

"Fuck no," he growls and motions for me to go first. Typical Jay.

I let out a breath as I step inside the home. A few officers stand sentry near the exits to protect the crime scene until the forensics team arrives. I offer a grim smile as we head toward the back of the house.

"The side exit near Johnston is the key. Sneaky way in and out without being spotted," I mutter.

Jay scoffs. "There are forty thousand cameras in this city, plus tens of thousands more of those doorbell cameras and other home surveillance systems. There's no way the perp got in and out without being seen."

"You hope," I say, looking at the staircase leading to the split level basement. Feels claustrophobic already. "Not much room to maneuver down here." The room is only about eight feet high and full of gym equipment.

"Don't need a lot of space to yank out someone's guts," Jay grumbles as we approach the body on the incline bench, a five-foot blood stain surrounding it like a fucking rug. "What the fuck?" he sighs, running his hand through his hair.

I pull on some gloves while examining the body from head to toe, noting the similarities to our other victims before giving my first thoughts. First, the disembowelment. It points to the same killer, but not quite. "The cuts are different this time." I point to the incision where the navel used to be. "He cut his belly button out."

Jay leans in, carefully examining the cut. "That's fucked up. It's like he did it to cause more pain." He looks up at me, a question in his eyes. "You still think this is your guy?"

I roll my eyes. "He's not my guy. But it could be a copycat. Or he's changing his M.O. again just to fuck with us." My gut is telling me that this isn't a copycat, that this guy is fucking with us. I lean forward to get a better look at the body.

Jay's gaze shifts to the glue around the mouth. "He likes glue."

I nod, but nothing makes sense. "Eyes are closed, too." I lift the eyelid, nothing but an empty socket. "No eyeball." The other eye, same fate. "Both gone."

"That's new," Jay says with a bit too much glee.

I glare at him.

"What? It's just a nice twist. Something new. Maybe you and Novak can figure out what the fuck it means."

I scribble a note about the missing eyes for later and turn my attention back to the body. "Do you think this is the same guy?"

"I'm leaning toward it. Too many similarities to cut him out completely."

That's what I'm thinking, too. "It's weird that the killer did three back-to-back kills and then took a few weeks off for this one. It's like he was in a frenzy and then calmed down. Weird, right?"

Jay and I walk back up the short stairs to share notes when the forensics guys arrive. I spot Nate and answer his welcoming smile with a professional nod and get back to dissecting the killer's profile with Jay. I don't need my ex messing with my head right now.

"Maybe something came up at his day job? Maybe it's just a copycat with a sadistic streak? Or maybe he met someone who makes him not want to be a fucked-in-the-head murderer." Jay shrugs. "It could be anything, Frankie. Focus."

He's right. I push what I know of the earlier kills to the back of my mind and focus only on this one. "This body has been here for at least a few days. Why did the wife only find it this evening? It's after eleven at night. Isn't that odd?"

"Nope. They were fighting, and she's been with her sister for the past few weeks. She came back because he stopped answering her calls." Jay shakes his head. "She feels guilty as fuck."

"Too guilty?"

"Nah. Flight records confirm she was in Colorado until a few hours ago."

My shoulders fall because, so far, we have nothing. Again. "Hopefully, fingerprints will give us something."

Nate bounds up the stairs and joins us. "Don't count on it," he says with a slow shake of his head. "I just spoke to Vera and this whole area is clean."

My brows knit into a frown. "No fingerprints?" Shit, killer's being extra careful, which isn't a good thing for us.

"No," Nate sighs. "No fingerprints at all. The whole place is completely clean."

Jay says, "Fast work," just as I open my mouth to ask the next obvious question, but Nate cuts me off.

"None on the side door either, which probably indicates that's how he got in and out." He flashes that charming smile, probably thinking of all the times we did this same dance at a crime scene and answers a question before I even ask it.

And that pisses me off.

Jay takes a step closer. "What makes you say that, Robinson?"

"Because everything got wiped clean. We're getting the wife's prints and DNA to rule her out, but Vera is one of the best agents on fingerprints, and she can't find anything." Nate turns his gaze back to me, a little softer and more patient. "There's also a substance on the forehead and the chest. Could be the perps, but I won't know until we get it back to the lab."

"Really? That's new." Maybe this killer isn't the same guy. First time he's left biologicals behind.

"Who knows?" Jay scribbles on his notepad. "Usually, he dumps the bodies in public places, so for all we know, he's been blowing his load all over the crime scenes."

"Good point." I turn back to Nate. "Rush results on those fluids?"

"Yeah, when I get done here. But it doesn't look like semen. I'd be surprised if it is."

"Okay." This is too weird. But it might be a lead. "It's too messy, disorganized. Not his style."

"The scene?"

"Everything. The scene, biologicals, the mess." It gnaws at me. Now, I'm second guessing if this is the same killer, or just another murder on the books?

Maybe I'm just upset that I haven't heard from the gorgeous billionaire who rocked my world since he sent me flowers, my sarcastic subconscious adds. Truth is his absence nags at me. I haven't heard from him since the flowers a few days ago.

Why did I call him? I'm sure the stupid voice mail I left made me seem like a fan girl, not a grown woman.

I berate myself again. A quick, no-strings night, I tell myself, and then I reach out. Foolish. The ideal one-night stand is satisfaction without strings. The mildly hurt, pissed off woman in me says fuck him and the horse he rode in on because I have enough on my plate with a serial killer along with all the other crimes that take place every day. I don't need to focus on Damien or his motives.

But, it still kinda hurts.

I shake those thoughts free and let out a cleansing breath. The only man I'm interested in right now is the one leaving all these bodies around my city.

"Hey, Frankie, are you all right?" Nate reaches out to grip my shoulder.

"Fine," I snap, unnecessarily. "Just thinking about a few things," I add, softening my earlier tone. "Thanks for rushing those fluids."

I walk away, grounding myself in the task at hand—not the handsome billionaire.

My thoughts shift back to Nolan Petrovic.

The psycho disemboweled this man in his own home. His story demands my full attention.