Prologue

Ride

"I'd die for you," that's easy to say

We have a list of people we would take

A bullet for them, a bullet for you

A bullet for everybody in this room

But I don't see many bullets coming through

My horrible habit of chewing on pens is in full force as my professor proceeds with his lecture.

Professor Marsden turns on the projector and shuts off the lights. "This is a recorded statement of an event that happened two years ago. An 81-year-old woman was found raped with 14 stab wounds in a ditch off of a Costco parking lot in Columbus. The suspect was a minor, a 15-year-old boy who was identified through some hair strands on the woman's body."

The professor presses a button and the screen lights up, a static noise filling the room as the camera is shuffled into place. I watch a young boy sit with his arms folded and a slight smirk on his face that makes him look much older than 15.

I lower my pen to my desk as I watch him look at the camera then the person behind it who's interrogating him.

"State your name for the camera."

"Jordan Tumlin."

"Where were you on the evening of February 12, at approximately 3-10pm?"

"At home maybe... I don't know."

The smirk on his face is what convinces me he's lying, that he knows exactly what happened and what he was doing. I think everyone can tell he's guilty, but there's so many procedures and laws on minors that we can't convict someone on facial expressions alone.

"You don't know? Think about it carefully, Jordan," the interviewer says calmly and gently.

"Actually... hmmm, the 12th, you said?"

The interviewer must nod in assent, because the boy, Jordan, continues.

"I think ma might've sent me to run some errands."

"Did you do any grocery shopping?"

"Hm. Might've." The boy has a secret smile, and it's glaringly obvious he's playing with them. It's like he doesn't care if he gets caught or not.

The detective changes her course. "Do you know why I'm asking you these questions?"

The boy spreads his arms out. "No clue. Thought it was a social call, babe." His following chuckle at his own joke grates on my ears.

"No, not quite a social call. A woman was found raped and stabbed in a Costco parking lot on Tuesday, the 12th."

"Sounds bad. My thoughts go to her family in this time of grief," Jordan says insincerely, fake sympathy in his voice.

"Yes, her family is by her bedside," the detective says in a neutral tone.

Jordan flinches, then tries to mask his reaction and school his features. "Bedside? I thought you said she was stabbed."

I hear shuffling of papers off camera, as do the rest of my classmates, and we watch the screen with intrigue.

"Yes, that's correct. She was stabbed, and is expected to make a full recove-"

The detective is cut off as the boy starts laughing almost hysterically. "No. No, no, no, no."

"Pardon? What's 'no'?"

Jordan's face twists. "No. You're wrong. No, the bitch was dead."

Got him, I think.

"Are you saying the woman was dead when you left her in that ditch?"

"I'm saying there is absolutely no possible way she's alive. Y'all are just fucking with me."

"She's alive and expected to make a full recovery."

A snort escapes the boy, and he shakes his head with a crazed look in his eyes.

"No. Nope. She was dead," he shakes his head.

"Mr. Tumlin, are you admitting to the rape and stabbing of Lynn Kane?"

The detective slides a paper across to him, and the boy doesn't even look at it.

"I don't know who the fuck she is, she's dead. She's dead!" He shouts, slamming his cuffed hands on the metal table, jostling the camera a bit.

Professor Marsden pauses the video, and turns to us. "The rest of the clip is just the detective and the suspect going in circles for a bit, until they eventually get a full confession out of him. He was placed in juvie, and will go through another trial when he turns 18."

Professor Marsden turns to face the class, his eyes roving over us. He makes eyes contact with me for a prolonged moment before continuing.

"Now, you have to be especially careful when dealing with minors, and careful with the way you interrogate them. They have more laws in place to protect them and their rights. Now, the detective did everything right, she was calm and collected, even when he had outbursts, and she took his schizophrenia into account while speaking to him. She had read him his miranda rights when she took him in, she let him know everything that was going on, and eventually exactly why he was there. But there is one thing she didn't do here that almost cost the whole case. Can anyone tell me what that is?"

I look around, my teeth nibbling on the end of my pen again.

One frat-looking guy has raised his hand, not even waiting for Marsden to call on him before speaking. Also, we're in Seattle... why is he wearing a tank top? To show off those noodles for arms?

"She didn't state exactly what he was suspected of?" he asks.

I roll my eyes to myself, then look to Professor Marsden to see him staring at me with a small smile before looking back to noodle guy. "Not quite, Dean. She didn't have to state the specifics of the crime, all she had to say when she took him into custody was that he was a suspect, and they needed to interview him for the investigation. Which she did do correctly. Anybody else have any ideas?"

I look around, bored, to see nobody with their hands up and studiously avoiding the professor's eyes.

"C'mon, nobody has any ideas?"

I can metaphorically hear the crickets in the room. "Fine, I guess I'll start calling on people then."

I sigh, then take one for the team and raise my hand.

Professor Marsden looks at me in pleasant surprise, since I'm the last person to ever raise my hand or volunteer any information at all. "Yes, Miss Remy?"

"He didn't have a lawyer or legal guardian present during the interrogation, which breaks procedure because of his age. He may not have been given the opportunity to have one, or he wasn't informed, but a legal guardian must be present in a specific interrogation room unless there's consent otherwise."

Marsden smiles widely at me. "That is correct, Remy. The detective did read him his miranda rights, but did not call his legal guardians or anybody that can consent to the interview taking place. Despite the full confession they later obtained, this mistake almost cost them the whole case."

"I'll let you guys out early today, but you do have homework. I'd like you to bring in a copy of the interrogation dialogue- which is posted on the website- and then I want you to write out the way each of you would have asked questions, what you would've done or said differently. His responses are all the same though, guys! Have a goo-"

I'm out the door before I can hear the rest.

I go to the rest of my classes at Peninsula, before finally heading to back to Marsden's class for part of my internship.

I walk through the door to find Marsden absorbed in his laptop screen, putting his hand up in a weak imitation of a greeting.

"Sup?"

He looks up at that.

"Remy, why is it that you can talk to me- a professor, basically an authority figure, using casual terms like 'sup', but you can't have a normal conversation with one of your peers or basically...anyone?"

"Mars, you don't count as a real professor in my book. And I'm working on my social skills, okay?"

He looks absolutely affronted. "A real professor?"

I sigh and roll my eyes. "Okay, technically you're a professor, but you work for the FBI! I mean, c'mon!"

Marsden has a thoughtful look on his face. "Do you realize that that should make you less comfortable with me?"

I wave a hand to shoo the idea away and begin pulling out my laptop.

I have been helping Marsden out with his current cases, doing research and statistics, and we've been calling it an 'internship'.

It's really me getting experience and being his unpaid slave.

I see out of the corner of my eye that Marsden is closing his computer, causing me to focus my full attention on him.

"Uhh-"

"Remy, I wanted to talk to you about something," his tone is serious, which isn't unusual when he's talking business.

"I've been working on a case, one that you haven't been informed of yet because I wasn't sure if you would legally be allowed to do what I want you to do."

I can feel a smile creeping on my face. "Illegal, you say? Do tell."

Marsden rolls his eyes, but slides a folder onto my desk. "There's a case I was just assigned."

I skim through the papers, raising my eyebrows. "This is a serial murder case...you don't do these."

Marsden is basically good at everything, and his main field is homicide, but he avoids serial murders like the plague if he can help it.

"I do when one of the murders takes place in my hometown."

I look up at him.

Marsden is young, in his late 20's or early 30s, and he was a good agent and a good teacher, but couldn't decide between either so he chose to divide his time between Peninsula Community College and the FBI. He had a darker skin tone from sun, not genes, and dark blue eyes.

I took my first class with him a few years ago, and he was looking for some help with cases. I was looking for experience to see if this was the field I wanted to enter. After a few years, I knew.

I still work with him on cases, and he's still the one person I'm most comfortable with.

"I once asked you where you were from and you said 'everywhere' so..."

"I don't really like to admit where I'm from . It's a tiny town surrounded by other tiny towns. But anyways, we're looking at a serial killer here. The victims seem to be at random, but based on this signature the UNSUB is leaving, they're connected somehow. That's where you come in. You're the best profiler I've seen in all my years at the agency, and you're not even an agent."

A warm feeling spreads through me at his words, but I show no outward reaction.

This is what I'm meant to do.

"And how is this illegal exactly?"

Marsden smiles uncertainly, like he's still not sure he should be doing this. "You're coming with me as a... partner of sorts. We have a lead down in the Forks area. We need to leave as soon as you're ready."