“And you had no leads?”
“Nothing solid.” Drawing in another breath just had his scent filling her nose. Not a good thing if she wanted to keep her mind on business. “The killings stopped as abruptly as they started, and with nothing new to go on, I was told to drop it by the upper brass.”
“No DNA was left at the scene?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “DNA evidence didn’t come into police investigations until the latter half of the 1980s. This was before that time.”
He blinked for a moment, and she realized that during his career, he had always had DNA evidence. This was before his time, too.
Damn, she felt old.
He shook himself. “Okay, walk me through what you remember, and I’ll request the original files from New Orleans be dug out, dusted off, and sent over.”
She could probably recite everything that was in the files, but she didn’t say that. The FBI agents needed to see the paperwork for themselves. She didn’t mention that the pictures were of scenes that visited her nightmares. Looking down on Bess’s murdered corpse had disturbed her more than other atrocities she’d witnessed in her long life. War, famine, plague. She’d seen it all, but these four murders? They’d haunted her.
Why she knew to her bones that this wasn’t a copycat, she couldn’t say. It was him. How and why he’d ended up in Seattle, she didn’t know. But she’d find out when she caught him, locked him up, and threw away the key.
Finally.
It was strange having Selina Grayson in his office. She took up a lot more space than she should have, considering how petite she was.
Or maybe it was just Jack’s intense awareness of her that wouldn’t let him focus on anything but her. It wasn’t like him to have his mind drift off of work. When he was here, he was all here. Hell, when he wasn’t here, his thoughts were often preoccupied by his cases.
Usually, he liked it that way. It kept him from reminiscing about things he’d rather forget. If he kept busy, kept moving, he could outrun his ghosts. It had worked for him for almost two decades, so he went with it.
A short knock sounded on the door, and Peyton stepped in silently. He nodded to both of them, stroked his tie against his chest, and took the seat next to Selina. The man had a knack for fading into the woodwork when it suited him, and he made use of that talent. He was the most unassuming werewolf Jack had ever met.
Jack scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and looked at Selina. “I know it was a long time ago, but is there anything you noticed that was different about this scene than the ones you handled in New Orleans? Anything you can remember would be helpful right now.”
Her dark gaze cooled until not a single expression showed. “I’m pretty clear on the details. Senility hasn’t gotten me yet.”
Peyton snorted, what passed as a smile for him fluttering the corners of his mouth, but he said nothing. Selina didn’t so much as crack a grin, her lips a flat line.
Jack might have attempted to tease her into a laugh if they’d been alone, but they weren’t, and what she’d said at the Winston residence told him she didn’t want anyone to know they’d slept together. He kept his voice even. “That’s good to hear. Were there any obvious differences between your cases in New Orleans and this one?”
“No.” She crossed her legs, and his gaze dropped to her slim thighs. Those legs had cinched around his waist last night while she lit him up with pleasure spells. His body reacted predictably to that little trip down memory lane, but he ignored it and forced himself to look at her face. Her gaze was clear and cold. “For each crime scene, there was an obvious entry point—window, back door, balcony. We were never sure how he got through people’s spell shields on their homes, but it’s possible his victims didn’t use them. After he entered the residence, he shot them twice. There was always a violent attack that included the use of black magic and—when the victims were Magickals—the application of sunlight or allergen metals, followed by draining the victim’s body in their own bed. There was never any sign of sexual assault. That seems consistent with what I saw today, though you’ll have to wait for Tess and your CSUs to get back to you for something more conclusive.”
“You know how long it takes to process a scene, but Dr. Jones should be done with the autopsy later today or tomorrow. Or Monday, since tomorrow’s Sunday. It depends on how large her backlog is.” He shrugged. Since she was a cop, he didn’t have to explain. “Were there any connections between the victims?”
“None that we found. Different economic backgrounds, different areas or suburbs of the city, different friends, ages, jobs ... everything. They didn’t even use the same bank, eat in the same restaurants, or shop in the same grocery stores.” She blew out a breath at the incredulous look on Jack’s face. “Yes, we were desperate enough to examine their lives that closely. Two of the victims weren’t even Magickals. One was a human who’d married a Fae, the other was a Normal who’d been adopted by a Magickal couple.” She tapped her fingers against the arm of her chair. “That was the only connection we found. All the people this guy killed were Magickals who’d married Normals or Normals who knew about magic. Since vampires are notorious for their disdain of every other Magickal species, not to mention humans, we figured it was a bloodsucker taking his hate to the next level and punishing those who dared to mix.”
“I’ve put in a request with the NOLA PD to have those files sent here.” Peyton spoke for the first time, and Jack nodded.
Jack steepled his fingers together in front of him. “But Ms. Winston wasn’t married to a Normal, according to our records.”
Selina shook her head. “There has to be a connection, because that was no copycat. I’m certain of it.”
“Copycats can have an obsession to detail that—”
“I’m aware of that.” Her gaze bored into him. “But this isn’t a copycat, and Mary Winston had something to do with a Normal finding out about magic. We just haven’t found out how.”
Jack held up a hand in surrender. “Maybe, maybe not. We haven’t received her files from the All-Magickal Council yet, so maybe that will show more.”
He wasn’t sure which he hoped they’d find in those documents—that their victim hadn’t brought a Normal into the Magickal world, and this murder was just a freak coincidence in its resemblance to an older string of crimes, or that they found this was a serial killer resurfacing after decades of silence.
Neither was a good option. And no matter what the file showed them, he still had a dead body on his hands. Merek’s clairvoyance and Selina’s experience said this was connected to the murders in New Orleans. Even if he didn’t trust them or their Magickal precognition, he trusted his own instincts. They’d kept him alive through a war and countless deadly situations since joining the FBI. The way the hair prickled on the back of his neck told him that this resemblance was no coincidence.
They had a Magickal serial killer on their hands.
Fuck.
“Her next of kin might be able to tell us,” Selina pointed out.
As if on cue, the phone on his desk buzzed, and he scooped it up. It was the receptionist letting him know that Mary Winston’s sister had arrived. He sighed when he hung up.
Selina straightened in her seat. “The victim’s family?”
“Yep. Dorothy Lapinsky.” He looked to Peyton. “I’m hoping you can take care of something while we question her. Do you have any contacts on the Normal side of the Seattle PD?”
The wolf’s chin dipped in a nod, while Selina’s brow furrowed. Her fingers tapped a steady beat against the arm of her chair. “You think Ms. Winston might not be the first victim in Seattle.”