Chapter Two: Ground Zero

Mercifully, I got into the office early enough to avoid most people. My case file was where I had left it the night before, and when I opened up my computer the information I had requested had been emailed to me. It was the exact location of the shooting, along with a few speculations about the exact location of the shooter. What struck me as unusual was that there were no witnesses at all, despite the fact that it had only been eleven at night and it was in Washington, D.C.

My questions were answered when I viewed a report about a scuffle that had occurred a street over, leaving the already relatively secluded are around Tessa's location to become empty. It was then that she had been shot.

I learned that the interviews were scheduled for the next day, so I drove to the crime scene to examine it. Being two blocks from the nearest Metro stop, the sniper would have had only a short window in which his target would have been available, owing to the fact that her house was not quite four blocks from where she had been killed. He would have had to be fast.

It was the space between two buildings on a fairly quiet street. Blood had dried in a pool on the sidewalk, and there was blood splatter on the edge of one of the buildings. I flashed my badge at the officers guarding the site and stepped under the ribbon of yellow tape around the small area. I crouched along the edge of the largest space of blood, trying to visualize where the body had been.

It was easy to spot. Spreading out from beneath where the shoulder wound had been was a large blood stain consistent with what I had observed. The blood splatter on the building wall was consistent with the height of Tessa's shoulder, a few inches below my own. I calculated a few things, then glanced at the roof of the building the sniper had been on. It was six stories up with a very narrow window to shoot; I suspected that the sniper had extensive training and experience.

My phone buzzed and I checked the screen, seeing that it was the Assistant Director with the forensic reports for the bullet found. I typed a response and opened the file to examine the reports. The bullet was unusual, and one I had not seen before in person. It was made and sold very exclusively in the UK, mostly England. It was also hard to trace, because a large amount of this ammunition was sold to criminals and without sales records.

This was turning more and more interesting by the minute. Untraceable ammunition, no murder weapon, no evidence, and no suspects. A challenge, which I had not received for ages. Finally, something worth my time. But first, I had to find the murder weapon. It would give a huge insight into the shooter, whom I already knew was employed my someone who was British or was British himself. That narrowed the window down a lot, but it was motive that I needed.

I snapped a few pictures of the crime scene and returned to my office to analyze what I had found. There was not much, but it was a start. It was motive that I needed the most, and that was what I did not have.

It was what the friends said now that mattered the most, and, when I walked into the interview office the next day, I knew that what I found would be meager.

The small group of friends and family all but filled the tiny room. There were the friends I knew would be there, Demetria's inner circle, and there were people I assumed to be family waiting near the door. A grim-looking man whom I recognized as Cane Evans, one of Demetria's friends, walked out the door. His sister, Kate, took his place in the room. I watched as the door swung shut with ominous finality. There were no leads, and the room was only filled because protocol demanded these interviews.

Just as Kate Evans' interview was finishing, I pulled open the door and stepped inside, taking my usual place at the table. I nodded for them to carry on and listened while observing. Boring, boring, boring, and even more boring. There was nothing here; four interviews later, I learned that this applied to everyone.

By the time we concluded interviews for the day, absolutely nothing had been gained except the fact that everyone seemed to agree that Tessa Lee had no enemies, she owed nothing to anyone, and she was altogether a wonderful person. If this continued, the Bureau would dump this case.

I arrived home too late to do anything but go to sleep and hope that the interviews tomorrow, of which Demetria was one, would go a bit better. My hopes were obviously misplaced; when I arrived after lunch, as I usually did for this sort of thing, the officers' and agents' faces were grimmer than the day before. I once again took my seat just as Demetria cautiously stepped through the door and sat in the opposing chair.

Routine questions were asked and we received the same answer as the day before. I read her and she, like everyone else, was not hiding anything. This was quickly turning boring, until Demetria sat up straight and began to speak.

"Wait, there was something strange. Two days before she was killed, someone left a note on Tessa's counter. All the doors were locked, nothing had been disturbed, and she assumed it was one of her friends pranking her. It just said, 'You are a message to her.'"

"A message? To whom? Why would that be a message?" I questioned. She gave me a look.

"I don't know, Raven. Honestly, that is all I have. That's all she said," Demetria replied. I sighed in disappointment. If I could figure out who "her" was, I might have a lead. As it was, the note was all we had to go on, and it had been thrown away.

The trail was still turning cold, though. I had a lot of work to do if I wanted to keep the case or to solve it, and I had a feeling that my superiors would have something to say about this one.