Peter Strahm
He looked down at the latest victim, another woman with her sternum broken, her ribs now spread like the doors of a bird cage. As with the M.O. of the killer, her heart was missing.
It had been the thirteenth victim in the past year. Erickson had given him the file as soon as he showed up that Monday, back from the Rosello case. No rest for the wicked, he thought to himself as he looked around him. They were in a tobacco field, the tall and thick leaves of the plants providing significant cover in the southern Virginia farmlands. The body was discovered by the farmer, the man hysterical and in need of immediate counseling and no help to them while he muttered to himself incoherently when questioned.
"All victims had traces of a bioluminescent algae on their skin, suggesting they had been in contact with a large body of salt water. The algae is often found in tropical climates. The coroner explained there was an indication that they were submerged for at least several hours before death, based on the state of their skin and the traces of algae found in various orifices of their body, except above the neck."
Strahm looked up at his supervisor, Dan Erickson, the man looking grim. "He follows his pattern religiously. Almost as if there's a ceremony behind the removal of the heart." Strahm stood up, looking around at the roving hills of red clay and leafy green crops. "Victims have all been found on the east coast. From New York to Miami. He must have a localized location within driving distance. The algae is native to South Australia, so he must have a tank."
"He?"
"No markers indicate a female serial killer. No accomplices. This man is a loner. A man who has a poor relationship with a woman that fits his victims' appearance. Early to mid twenties. Caucasian, and likely well educated. I'm assuming the suspect is around the same age and race. He's not rash, he's careful. He won't make mistakes, at least for the time being. He may develop a feeling of invincibility if he's not caught soon." Strahm grimaced. "If we're not fast enough."
"Tell me what you need to nail this sonofabitch."
"Perez. And any available agent." Strahm took out his pen, clicking it as he ran through the logistics. He needed some perspective. "We may need some outside help, too."
Erickson raised an eyebrow. "We've already coordinated with the Richmond PD."
"They'll do their best. But I know two cops who would be excellent in this case."
Erickson shook his head. "Best to keep this down low until we have a better sense of what this guy's about."
"Thirteen not enough, Dan?"
"We can't afford to throw the nation in a panic. See what you can do with what I can spare. If things get worse, I'll consider bringing in your hand picked choices." Erickson wiped sweat off his brow with a handkerchief, shaking his head. "There's been a recent uptick in violent crime this past year. The media's gone nuts with it. The higher ups are already on edge and out for blood. It'll not be a good look if the FBI needs help from some city cops. Otherwise, I'd give the go ahead."
"Politics," Strahm scoffed, anger rising up and out of him.
Erickson gave a sympathetic nod. "Always. For now, you've at least got Lindsey. You both are excellent at what you do. Have a little more faith in your own kind before running for help." Erickson walked away to talk to forensics.
Strahm looked back down at the victim, her eyes vacant and glazed. Flies were already buzzing in her mouth. He grit his teeth, wondering how the family would recover. They'd have to inform next of kin as soon as they were done at the crime scene, having identified her immediately. It was going to be a long day.
Angelina Hoffman
She refused to cry.
She threw her arms around Peter one final time before he went to board the plane. "I'll write to you. Call me whenever you can."
"Sure thing, babe. Don't worry, it's only for a few months." He hugged her tightly, squeezing her until she couldn't breathe. "Before you know it, you'll see me again. With a tan." He smiled, trying to make her laugh.
"That's too long," she whispered, her voice cracking. They had only just been married. He had only just returned from boot camp and he had changed so much since then. He had a hardness in his face she hadn't seen before. His floppy hair had been shaved completely off. He was firmer and louder. Confident.
And now, he was going to Iraq, only a week after the news of the invasion of Kuwait reached her awareness. This was all happening so fast.
Peter stood before her, in desert camo, a man that had changed before her eyes. She hardly recognized Peter Acomb anymore.
"Last call for Flight A2041," the feminine voice on the intercom had Peter look back at the gate. "We will be closing the door in five minutes."
"That's me," he grimaced and backed away. "I love you."
"I love you!" Angelina waved back as Peter Acomb disappeared down the boarding gate. She wiped the corners of her eyes and sniffed, sadness squeezing her heart tightly. A hand touched her shoulder, squeezing it gently. She turned to her brother, who gave a comforting look.
"He'll be back, Ange."
She nodded, trying to put on a stiff upper lip. "Yeah." She went with Mark as he drove her home, the day sunny and warm. She tried to think of tasks to get done. Things to keep her mind busy and distracted. She had work and preparations for her new cafe. She had catering contracts to handle. Another charity function.
She wanted to go with him, her life here seeming pointless and trivial compared to what he would face.
The radio cracked, Mark's personal car was equipped with a police scanner. A familiar woman's voice sounded off. "Hoffman, 10-20."
"Hoffman," he responded, "leaving the airport. On the way back." He had the faintest of smiles on his face.
She studied him. "That was Will."
He looked over at her before refocusing on the road. "Yeah."
Though he didn't make any sudden movements, she could tell he felt cornered. This was a break from the darkness, a comforting distraction that made her grin. She always suspected those two would hook up. "Do you guys talk on the radio often?"
He didn't respond but it was clear he knew what she was hinting at. "All the time."
"Mark," she turned on him, her smile growing. "I haven't seen you glowing this bright since - Natasha?"
"Natalie."
"Right. Oh my God, why didn't you tell me?"
"Nothing to tell."
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you two still working together?"
When he didn't respond she shook her head. "Won't you two get in trouble?"
"Lay off," he griped. "It's my business, Ange."
She smirked, folding her arms and turning to pout out the window. "Well, it's about time. But does this mean you two can't be partners anymore?"
He remained silent and she realized she was poking at a sore spot. She quickly changed the subject. "I'm thinking of bringing some blueberry muffins to this weekend's potluck." She was referring to the MPD picnic, a yearly event hosted in the summer.
"Yeah, that sounds good."
It was clear she wouldn't hear anything from him where Will was concerned.
She figured she'd get the gossip from Will herself, then.
Eric Matthews
Daniel was now walking. Actually, he was running. Eric watched him as he stomped across the room with high pitched glee. When did he start doing that?
Jane slid the papers over to him. "Just sign it." She never looked him in the eye anymore. She kept looking down at her hands, a tan line on her wedding finger along with a fresh manicure made his throat tighten.
"Is that what the alimony is covering?" He nodded at her nails. "And child support?"
"You have no right," Jane's eyes brimmed with tears. "I know you and Allison were fucking this whole time. I didn't want to believe it. But I'm sick. And tired. Of letting you disrespect us. Daniel deserves a father that is here. Who cares about his family. If all you can do is provide financial support, then fine. But don't you fucking dare lecture me."
Her words were like the crack of a whip. He gripped his fist under the table. His lungs itched for a cigarette and his blood coursed through his veins like boiling acid. He knew there was truth in her words.
Regret. So much fucking regret.
He hated himself and everything that led to this moment.
So he signed the divorce papers.
There wasn't much he could do. Even if he spent the time to get a good lawyer, he was fucked either way.
He left as soon as he could, walking out to his car. He kicked at a nearby can. Kerry was watching him in the passenger's seat, exchanging with him a sympathetic frown. Now what? He got into the car, gripping the steering wheel and remembering how to breathe.
"You ready?"
He didn't look at her. Instead, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and put one between his lips, squinting off in the distance. "Let's get to work," he growled, starting the engine.
Steven Sing
He looked down at the pale form of a teenage boy, long left for dead in an alley on 118th Street. He studied the spray painted 'K2K' at the scene.
"Looks like Rosello left one hell of a void. It's a goddamn free for all," Tapp shook his head, his footsteps crunching gravel against concrete. "Another body found. Apparently the motherfuckin' yakuza are trying to take over. And taking advantage of the chaos while K2K was busy trying to take a chunk of the pie. The fucking yakuza, here. Those bastards usually keep a low profile."
"Hate to say it, but it's culling the herd. So far, no civilians have been killed."
"You mean found," Tapp reminded him. Sing begrudgingly nodded.
"Yeah. Found." Summer seemed to bring out the worst in the city. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the pollen. Either way, it was hot and humid and fucking miserable underneath the noon sun. Sing wiped at his face, sweat pouring. "Looks like we've got our work cut out for us."
"Just in time for performance review," Tapp joked when the world suddenly slammed into the two of them. Sound had magnified and a blast flicked the two men like ants as a pillar of fire erupted from the ground.
Sing's ears were ringing and the orange light of fire danced in the corners of his eyes. He was on his back. His cheek was wet. And every inch of him felt like he was sunburnt and raw.
"Sing!" Tapp's voice was croaky as rubble clicked and tumbled nearby. He looked up to see Tapp, eyebrows knit and face terrified. "You're okay, Sing?"
"Yep." His voice was scratched. "Just a Tuesday, Tapp." He let out a low chuckle as he forced himself up.
"At this rate, we'll need to bring in the motherfuckin' national guard."
Sing winced, his ears ringing. "Yeah. I don't know how much more this city can take before it breaks."
"She's already broken, Sing." Tapp was coughing and brushing the front of his suit, trying to get the dust off of him. It wouldn't come out. "She's been broken and we're all eating what's left of her."
