A/N: Thanks for the reviews. I truly appreciate it.
I remember watching the show when it first aired on TV and thinking that Sara had a biological brother, as mentioned in "One Hit Wonder", and that he'd show up on the show. And with episodes like "Down the Drain" and "The Unusual Suspect", I thought Sara's storyline was headed that way, but then it didn't happen. So, I'm taking my AU in that direction. Also, again, I know it probably only matters to me, but the actor in my head for Nathan is Lukas Haas.
Chapter 4
"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"
It was getting too hard to run as his shoes kept slipping on the sandy dirt. Every few steps his legs would snag a bush and he would tumble into a tree or to the ground. His face felt numb as his chest burned from running as he desperately raced through the dark night to find anything or anyone. It was getting harder to see the path that would guild him out of the dark desert that surrounded him.
He had to keep moving, keep going, or else he wasn't going to make it. Looking over his shoulder, he couldn't see him, but he knew he was there. He was being chased. Followed. He was coming. Pounding one foot in front of the other, he forced his heavy tingling legs to not slow down even though he wanted to. His body wanted him to give up as his ribs hurt and legs tensed. He was feeling physically sick and drained because the gnawing fury of pain twisting his abdomen was excruciating.
Keep moving. You won't die if you keep running. He's coming. He listened to the words in his head as he stumbled to a stop at the foot of an incline. The hill was steep and from what he could barely see there was no way around it. He had to go up. Taking the death grip off his ribs, he felt the warm stickiness on his hand before he grabbed onto a branch of a mesquite tree and pulled himself up as he started to climb.
"Yeah, there's this crazy man on the side of the road," a woman's voice said. "He's covered in blood—What'd you think you're doing? You're not stopping!"
His legs kept sliding out from under him as the rocks and sand moved under his bare feet. Digging in, he pushed his tired, sluggish body up the hill until he reached the top. A small smile grew on his face as he spotted a road, finally. A road meant cars and with cars came help. And right then he needed all the help he could get.
He took one step and fell. His body rolled and tumbled down the hill into a fence. He laid there, moaning into the ground, as he felt the exhaustion try to weaken his body. He had to keep moving. Run. Get up and run, you weak little boy.
"Shut up," he mumbled into the ground as he reached up to grasp the chain link fence.
It stretched the length of the road, so he had to climb. His hands and feet ached as he scaled up and over the fence before falling to the street. His feet stumbled over the pavement as he hurried down the road in search of help. There was no time to rest, or to breathe as he looked down at the blood that was on the front of his shirt. His left hand was pressed firmly against his ribs, trying to stop the pain. Gritting his teeth at the pain, he closed his eyes as he felt every painful step.
"Ma'am? Ma'am—Who's covered in blood? Is there someone injured?"
He didn't want to die out there. He was coming, but he was too tired to run. So damn tired. The coyotes were around even though he couldn't see them; they were there, and they wanted to tear him apart. He pushed a little harder into his ribs as his breathing slowed.
He was still in shock at what happened. Things had gone from bad to worse in just a short month. Things that he still couldn't wrap his head around. There had never been a time when he felt safe, and things were just fine. His life had always been chaotic. The anger and yelling, all the abuse and pain. Pain and fear had been his whole life. Then one day, it got good. He was in Las Vegas, and he thought, maybe…Maybe things could be different.
"Yeah, sorry," the woman said. "He's trying to get into the car—Dan just go!"
Once he got a job, stability, and things working for the good then he could see her. He had to be right first. Get right and show proof. He wanted her to know that he was okay. All he wanted was to see her. All he ever wanted was forgiveness. But everything changed. It was hard for him to adapt to change. So, instead of adapting, he got angry. His anger had always been his problem. He never knew how to control it. It burned inside of him until it exploded.
Lost. He was so lost. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. However, not once did he ever feel as uncertain and afraid as he had been this entire month. Suddenly, he was feeling very tired of moving as his legs buckled, sending him stumbling into the fence. He doubled over as the pain ignited a fire within his gut. As his knees hit the edge of the road, he knew what was about to happen. Death. He was dying.
A month ago, he wondered if he had made the right decision. Now, staring down the rural deserted desert road, with no lights or sounds of life anywhere around him, he knew the answer to that. Even if it ended like this, with him dying right there, it was the right decision. Maybe she would be the one to find his body.
"Don't tell me what to do!" a man's voice in the background spoke over the woman.
Out of the dark, he saw a light. Lights that blinded him as they headed his way. Raising a hand up, he waved it as he tried to get the driver's attention. They probably wouldn't even care. No one ever cared about him except for her. A white car sped by, he nearly cried out in pain before he saw it brake. Red taillights lit up his face as the car lurched to a stop. Stumbling up to his feet, he headed for the car.
"Please," he was saying as he got to the passenger door. "Please, help." His voice was oddly calm for him being so afraid. His bloody hand landed on the window as he reached for the door handle. " I need help, please—" The car jolted forward as he heard yelling behind the glass as the door handle was ripped from his fingers. "No!" His calm voice screamed as he hit the back of the car as it started moving. He stumbled to the ground. "No, please…He's coming!"
"Don't you dare stop this car! Dan! Dan!..."
The car slammed on its brakes again before backing up. It was coming back, he thought as he breathed out another breath.
"Hello? Ma'am? Are you still there?"
"You're crazy!" the woman yelled. The passenger door opened as a girl got out. She was screaming at someone in the car. "You're crazy! Let's just go!"
"I'm not leaving him lying here in the road," another voice yelled back. A guy. "He might—"
"—get hit by a car—" a man's voice said in the background.
"Ma'am, hello, where are you—?"
"Yes, yes," the girl said as she turned around. He saw her holding a cell phone to her ear. "We're near the corner of 5th and Cheyenne, by a park– What's the name of the park? Dan, what's the name of the park?"
"City View," Dan said as he hurried over to him and dropped down to help him to his feet.
"City View Park," the woman caller answered.
"Hey, hey, dude, what—" Dan saw the blood on his shirt. "Ash, hey, Ashley, get the first aid kit out of the trunk!"
She yelled back, "You get it—"
"I think he's hurt," Dan called back over his shoulder.
"What's your name, ma'am?"
Stumbling along with Dan to the car, he leaned up against it as Dan opened the trunk to get the first aid kit. "We have to go, tell her…We have to go. He's coming…He's—"
"Ashley."
Dan quickly looked around the area as he told him, "Who's coming? Nobody's around—"
"Okay, Ashley, and you said the man is injured?"
"Don't tell me there's no one out there!" he yelled as he pressed his hand into his left side. "You think I did this to myself! I didn't do this! He's out there!"
"I don't know! He looks pretty bad. There's blood, he has no shoes on his feet. I think he's homeless."
"Okay," Dan said as he held up his hands as fear filled his eyes. "Take it easy. What's your name?"
"Nathan."
"...Unit 576, proceed to the corner of 5th and Cheyenne Parkway for a 404, possibly a 401A. Caller is a woman, two males are also on site, one with blood on him and no shoes."
"Okay, Nathan. I'm Dan. Let me check you out—"
"This is 576. We're enroute to the corner of 5th and Cheyenne Parkway. ETA, five minutes."
Nathan asked, "Are you a doctor?" His head was pounding as he slumped back against the car. "I'm not crazy," he said as the world started to spin.
"Ashley, is anyone else injured? Ma'am, was there an accident?…Hello, ma'am?..."
"Medical student," Dan said. "I didn't say you were. Let me look, and maybe I can at least bandage—" he trailed off as he lifted his shirt. He didn't like the way he tensed, or the confusion in his eyes. The eyes were always the giveaway. Dan dropped his shirt and took a step backwards.
"...What is it?" Ashley asked away from the phone.
His vision blurred as he saw more lights coming around the corner. He'd been found.
"Dan?" Her voice grew more distant. The phone was far away from her mouth. "Da—" The call went dead.
"Hello, Ashley? Hello?...Unit 576 are you on scene?"
"We're nearing the corner of 5th and Ann."
"Be advised 404A. I lost connection with the caller."
…..
"Dispatch, 576, requesting an ambulance. There are two bodies, one male, one female...4—Oh, hell. 419—We have two dead bodies here."
Detective Bill Nowlins had worked his way up from a deputy to detective having first worked five years in Narcotics and now his first full year in Homicide. He'd thought he'd seen it all, but getting another call-out to the scene of a stabbing was proving him otherwise. In all his years as a cop he'd never been involved in anything like this. And it just so happened that an old colleague from the streets, Deputy DeVante Adams, was pushing bystanders away as he got out of his detective's car.
"You gotta be direct and stern, Adams!" he said as he slammed the car door.
Adams shot him a glare and said, "I am! They won't listen."
"That's when you make them."
"And get my picture all over the morning news, I don't think so."
Before he neared the crime scene tape, he surveyed the area first. Grassy hill and fence that closed off the park from the street, a limestone quarry across the street, further up the road were houses, and back behind him the I-15 overpass and a green, orange, and white neon sign for the 7-Eleven one block down.
He eyed the sign and realized what the cross streets were as he muttered under his breath, "I'd be damned."
"What?" Adams asked.
Shaking his head, he turned back to the crime scene and then ducked under the tape. He smiled as he reached out his hand to shake Adams hand. "Been a long time, my friend."
"The last time I saw you, you were an undercover narc. How was that?"
"Snow is overrated," he said as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and took in the scene before him. The two victims were nearly lying on top of one another next to a white 2005 Ford Focus. Blood was splattered on the street, the car, and it had pooled under the bodies.
Adams laughed as they headed towards the bodies. "I bet it was hella fun, though."
"Not my idea of fun. I'm a cold beer sitting on a porch swing kind-of guy. Who called it in?" he asked as he saw the cell phone on the ground away from the bodies.
"Female vic. Ashley Lang. The guy is Daniel Vetrini." Adams sighed and shook his head. "What a waste. She reported a homeless man covered in blood with no shoes on his feet. BOLO's been sent out."
Nowlins pulled his flashlight and shined it over the bodies, around the street, and then over the car. There was blood on the back passenger door handle and on the window a bloody palm print. He knelt down and shined his light under it. Something reflected the light back to him on the other side of the car. He walked around to the driver's side, saw the blood splatter across the trunk, and then spotted the weapon on the ground. It was a box cutter.
"Killer left the murder weapon."
"Is CSI enroute?"
"Called them before I got here. It'll be Grissom." Nowlins glanced at Adams and asked, "Did anyone see anything?"
"When we arrived on scene," Adams said as he gestured to his partner who was on the other side of the crime scene tape further down the street, "there was no one else around. Park's closed. The buildings the next block down, they're all closed. The looky-loos were driving by, that's why they're here."
Nowlins let out a breath. "A homeless guy running around at night with blood on him and no shoes on his feet…No other vehicle." He turned and eyed the fence and grassy hill. "My guess is he came from the park."
He left the street as he crossed over to the sidewalk and headed towards the entrance to the park. Using his flashlight, he checked the ground under him as he walked, making sure not to disturb any possible evidence. He immediately saw blood, or what appeared to be blood and stepped aside. After a few steps the blood disappeared.
Continuing to the park, he passed the fence that separated it from the street and walked around through the opening and saw the man-made pond on his right, benches, trees, and a steep hill off to his left. The park was huge, all man-made to bring a little greenery and water to the desert. There were BBQ grills, horseshoe pits, and a children's playground. Even a waterfall and stream, low rock walls, and open fields for football or baseball or soccer to be played.
Approaching an open field, he saw something else on the ground. Pulling his radio as he rushed over to the body, he called it in, "Davis 142, I've got another body. City View Park, open field near the playground."
He shined the light on the young woman and let out a deep breath. Brunette, brown eyes, and as he knelt down and used his gloved fingers to part her mouth, he saw the gap between her two front teeth. On her neck and along her chest were slashes made from a knife.
They'd gotten most of the evidence collection completed when he received another phone call from Detective Nowlins. If it was the same killer, he was on a spree. Usually serial killers had a "cool down" period between murders, but this guy was all over the place and had very little time to cool down.
"Greg," he said after he hung up the cell phone, "finish up here and then get everything back to the lab. I'm trusting you to conduct proper—"
"I know what to do," he said as he placed another bag of evidence into the back of the SUV.
He knew Greg did, it was one of the reasons why he was becoming a great CSI. After a few mistakes along the way, the young man had taken it upon himself to learn as much as he could. Greg could have easily decided that the field wasn't for him and returned to the lab, instead, he dug in deep and strived to become a better CSI. That dedication and drive was what led him to choose Greg to be his apprentice.
Handing him the keys to his work truck since all the evidence was in it and not the one Greg had driven, he told him, "If you do happen to forget something, just call me. There's no shame in asking for help. I do it all the time; that's one of the reasons you're here."
Greg took the keys as he dug into his pocket and pulled out another set and handed it to him. "What's the other reason, besides the protégé part?"
He'd been learning to open himself up to his team more and more over the years. With Greg now one of his subordinates, he reminded himself that he needed to give out a compliment when a compliment was due.
As he took the keys, he told him, "You're good at what you do."
"Yeah, yeah," Greg said as he shut the hatch to the truck. "I'm the best. Rub it in."
He smirked as he said "Don't let that go to your head. You're good, but there is always someone better."
Opening the driver's door to the SUV that Greg had driven to the scene, he got in and backed out as he left the scene to go to another scene of a double homicide involving a knife. It was halfway across the city, nowhere close to the hiker in Anthem Hills Park in Henderson. As he drove, he heard the call come in over the police scanner.
"Davis 142," it was Detective Nowlins, "I've got another body. City View Park, open field near the playground."
Their double homicide just turned into a triple, most likely by the same killer. Six murders in less than a month, with three in one night indicated a spree killer. However, most spree killers didn't have a specific type. They killed anyone with no regard to physical characteristics.
The killer was also constantly moving; running, hiding, and planning their next move. And it often ended in suicide. He didn't know too much about the other victims, but what he did know was that this was just getting started. There was now a ticking clock on this case. Every second mattered because there was no cool down period. There was no weeks to months until the next victim. It might only be hours.
Approaching a railroad crossing, he braked as the crossbar dropped and flashing red lights blinked at him. He looked down the track and saw the white light of the approaching train along with something else that wasn't supposed to be there. It was a dog. German Shepherd. He stared at it as the train got closer. The dog didn't move, its eyes locked onto his, as the train raced towards the intersection.
Before he had time to blink, the train rushed by as the dog disappeared. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, a ringing in his head, as the red light continued to blink. The dog hadn't actually been there. It wasn't real. His hands gripped the steering wheel as he closed his eyes against the blinking red lights. He didn't open them until the train was gone. The crossbar lifted, red lights blinked off, and he pushed out a deep breath. Glancing around the road, he didn't see the dog anywhere.
Less than thirty minutes later, he parked behind a detective's car and got out and headed towards the scene with his field kit in hand. Deputy Adams was securing the scene and Detective Nowlins was on the phone.
"Coroner on the way?"
"Yeah. They should be getting here anytime now," Adams said as he jotted his name down on the clipboard.
"Must be a busy night," he said as he ducked under the tape.
Pulling his flashlight, he shined it over the car, seeing the bloody handprint on the back passenger window. There was also blood on the handle. The car doors were open and keys in the ignition "The killer wasn't after the car." He looked around the street and said, "No bus would've picked him up…He left on foot—"
"Grissom," Nowlins called out to him, "before you start, come take a walk with me."
He left his field kit near the car and ducked under the crime scene tape. Nowlins started walking down the street, towards the corner, and he swept his light around the ground as he followed. With every step he took, he felt it inside of him. The dog was pacing back-and-forth as he felt the ground under him move. It was an odd feeling, but one he's had many times before while asleep. The ground felt like quicksand and any moment now it was going to open up and suck him under.
They walked past the corner of Cheyenne and 5th and kept going. To his right was a vacant desert lot, the left were buildings for various businesses. This was an industrial area with a lot of business parks for trucking companies, construction, landscaping, imports and exports, delivery companies for all sorts of different products including clothing, food, vending and other services. Past the park in the opposite direction were single family homes and schools, and up in front of him was the overpass for the I-15 with apartments and townhomes on the other side.
As they walked, he saw blood spots on the road. They were following a blood trail. He smelt the air as a few feet in front if him the dog reappeared. It was also following the trail with its nose to the ground.
"Did Kevin tell you what happened in Montana?" Nowlins asked.
Without taking his eyes off the dog in front of him, he answered, "Not really."
"I was there, you know. Used my tie to make a tourniquet to stop the bleeding."
He hadn't known that. "Thank you."
"I wasn't telling you that to get a thanks."
"I'm thanking you anyway. You probably saved my son's life."
"Is he okay?"
Without much thought, he told him, "He's fine."
"From my personal experience, fine is relative. Just because someone is fine on the outside doesn't mean they are on the inside."
He suddenly realized that this wasn't just small talk to pass the time as he asked, "What's this about?"
"I told you I was there."
The dog stopped as its ears perked up. He stopped walking as he glanced over at the detective.
Nowlins stopped as he turned to him and explained, "I have two boys of my own. I know from experience when they're not telling me something. I just think you should talk to him."
"Is there something you're not telling me?"
There was nothing in them but concern as he said, "Not me."
He had never wanted to pry, and if Kevin didn't want to talk to him about what happened then he wasn't going to push him into it. But Nowlins was right, Kevin wasn't okay. He thought maybe they could talk at the game but then Sara left and—
Getting that out of his head, he focused back on walking his dog; if only in his head.
Nowlins kept talking. "When I first called the Sheriff to tell him of my suspicions of a serial, he didn't want to listen. Told me I was jumping the gun. I told him there was no such thing if this was what I thought it was. Better safe than having a bunch of dead girls on our hands. That's when he told me to get what I had and take it to the FBI field office."
"The Sheriff was the one who called Kevin?"
"He called him while I called you."
"What was it that tipped you off?"
"Their look, the identical cuts, and the fact that they all have a criminal record."
He looked over at Nowlins as he said, "They all have a record?"
"That's how I was able to ID them so fast. All of them have been fingerprinted. Samantha Ivers had several possession charges and prostitution. Same with Evelyn Olson, the second vic, along with fraud. That hiker, Amanda Henley—"
"Drunk and disorderly, assault and shoplifting," he said as they approached the corner of Cheyenne and Losee. There was a McDonald's, and a 7-Eleven gas station. Nowlins headed for the gas station. "If all you wanted was a cup of coffee, you could've had one of the deputies get it for you."
"I might just grab a cup for the walk back." Nowlins checked his watch and said, "That was about a ten, eleven-minute walk."
Just as he was wondering why Nowlins had timed it, he showed him around to the side of the building, back away from the street. There were two parking spaces next to the dumpster. A wall separated the drive-thru of the fast-food restaurant from the parking lot of the gas station.
Nowlins shined his light over between the dumpster and the side of the building. "That's where Samantha Ivers was found."
He raised his eyes as he looked over the ground, spotted he dog sniffing around the dumpster, as he shifted his eyes toward the direction of the park.
"Two victims found within a ten-minute walking distance. He knows the area. He either lives, or works, within a mile of here."
The dog was staring straight at him again as he felt the ground start to sink lower. He didn't like that his body felt so unstable. Starved, hungry, and pacing back-and-forth. "Do you know what the most dangerous animal is, Detective Nowlins?" Not expecting an answer, he said, "Man. And the most dangerous game of all? Man hunting another man."
Nowlins was watching him, but he didn't have that look most got around him. Instead, he saw understanding as he pulled out his radio. "Captain Brass picked a hell of a time to take a vacation."
"His daughter is in town," he said off-handedly as he remembered why Brass was on leave. "They have a lot of catching up to do."
"I'm going to start a canvas. Hopefully, once you print that bloody hand left on the car window, we'll have a face to show around." Gil gave him a look as he pulled out his cell phone. "Who're you calling?"
He dialed the number and put the phone to his ear as he told him, "The FBI profiler on the case."
After he'd talked to his dad, he'd gone home to eat and then back to the office while he waited for Amanda Henley 's body to be autopsied. Getting impatient, he left his office and went to the M.E.'s office to see the other victims of their killer. It was his first visit to the morgue since he'd been in Las Vegas. For the last few months, he'd been mostly working up profiles for other types of criminals: terrorists, arsonists, rapists and other violent offenders.
His last case involved threatening letters sent to a casino mogul that threatened kidnapping and murder if they didn't get money. Turned out to be a disgruntled employee who'd been recently fired. He'd take a disgruntled employee over a serial killer any day.
Pushing the door open, he walked into the autopsy room and spotted a young black guy holding a scalpel over a dead woman's body. The woman was the hiker found up on the overlook of Anthem Hills Park. "Are you Ben?"
The M.E. never took his eyes off his work as he answered, "That's me. You're Grissom's son?"
He smirked as he stopped at the table and looked down at the brunette on the table. Under the lights of the M.E.'s office, he could see her face more clearly, along with the knife wounds. "Gotta get used to everyone around here calling me that."
"Welcome to the club. My mother was the day shift M.E. around her for decades. The day I came onboard, all I kept hearing was how I was Mrs. Williams' son. Even now that she's gone."
"Retired?"
Ben glanced up at him as he smiled, "Sipping cocktails somewhere on a beach out in California. That is until she has a grandchild, only then, she said, she'd return to Vegas."
"Don't blame her. All she knows of Vegas are dead bodies. Whatcha got?"
"Well, I haven't finished with Miss. Henley yet, but the others…" Ben sat the scalpel down as he walked over to two doors and opened them. He pulled out two different but very similar looking bodies. One was that of Samantha Ivers and the other was Evelyn Olson. "See this cut here, between the neck and shoulder? He hit the vagus nerve, cut their trapezius muscle, completely severing it. They couldn't lift their arm to stop the attack. Instant immobilization."
"He stopped them from blocking the other two cuts?"
"Exactly. The cephalic vein is at the top right side of the chest, above the pectoral muscle. This horizontal cut to the outer side of the pectoral went right through the cephalic vein. That was the kill shot. It bled profusely. They were dead in thirty seconds."
"How about this one across the neck?"
Ben looked up at him as he said, "Kept them from screaming out. Right through the vocal cords."
Kevin shook his head as he took all that in and said, "Three cuts, each one with a specific intent. No hesitation."
"He knew what he was doing."
"He's done it before." He stared at the cuts as he felt a growing knot in his gut.
He stepped out into the desert heat as he heard laughter. Standing in the middle of the military compound were a group of soldiers with Special Forces. In the middle of them, was Yusef, a brother to a man named Karam, who was supplying weapons to a terrorist cell. He was the CID member, which was the Army Criminal Investigation Division, who'd apprehended Yusef along with several MPs.
As he walked towards the group, he saw one of the soldiers push Yusef, who'd been restrained, to the ground and then kick him. And they were laughing. Every single one of them.
It made his stomach sick. "Hey," he said as he stepped up to the soldier and pushed him right back. "None of this is funny. You're supposed to be transporting him back—"
"I'm not helping this Arab—"
"You will. I'm responsible for him. You work for me, so that makes you as equally responsible for his well-being. Is that understood?"
Special Forces Corporal Mike Howell, thought differently. Under the heat of the desert sun, a man laid at his feet begging and praying as Howell said, "Our mission is to kill the terrorists—"
"Our mission is to serve our country dutifully and honorably while stopping another attack—"
"How are we supposed to stop anything if we don't kill—"
"He's not a terrorist—"
"His brother is."
"That gives you no right to treat another human being like garbage." He shook his head. "He's a person. He has a family—"
"Why are you so upset? You got what you came for. He told you where Yusef was hiding—"
"So, since I'm done interrogating him, you thought, hey, might as well beat and kill 'im?"
Howell looked him dead in the eyes as he said, "Yeah. Killing's the easy part." He removed the knife from his belt and said, "All it takes is a cut here." He placed the knife blade against his uniform, between his neck and shoulder, "The vagus nerve, and,'' he brought it down to his chest, "a downstroke right through the bleeders. Like I said, easy, and over in less than a second. This is war. What are you doing here if not to kill the enemy."
"See, I guess that's where we differ. I don't want to kill my enemy. I want to learn from him. Learn as much as I possibly can to save as many lives as I can."
"In order to save lives, you just might have to take a few."
He knew that all too well. His dad saved many people's lives by killing, but because of what his dad had to do, and the things he taught him along the way, he understood how one way made a monster and the other a savior. "I understand that. I do. But there's a right way, and there's a wrong way. You kill him here, now, like this...You're wrong. It's murder. No one here is committing murder on my watch."
Howell stepped in closer to him and said, "Don't forget who's in charge of getting you back home, Collins."
"That's Sergeant First Class Collins, Corporal Howell. I outrank you. Don't you forget that. Now, get him cleaned up and take him back to the brig. Make sure you give his beads and prayer rug back, 'cause I already know one of you took it." He looked to the sky and saw the setting sun. "It's almost time for the Maghrib prayer."
Ben was watching him. "You got that Grissom look."
He blinked back as he realized he'd been in his head. "The killer knows anatomy. This was expertly done. It looks military."
"Why military?"
"I was in the Army. Knew a Special Forces guy who was always showing off, bragging about how easy it was to kill someone. All it took, he said, were two cuts. One to the vagus nerve, the other, a downstroke to cut the bleeders. I guess he didn't care much whether or not someone screamed out. This guy does."
"Jesus," Ben said as he slid the bodies back into the freezers and shut the door. "I wish you all the best in finding and stopping this psycho."
"Thanks. We're doing our best." He left the room, and as he headed out into the fresh air, he got a phone call. It was his dad. "Hey, you got something for me?"
"Unfortunately, I do. Three more bodies."
TBC…
I know we didn't get any Sara in this chapter, but she's heavily featured in the next, which should be up tomorrow or Sunday.