walked away, he answered his phone. “This is Simon Granger.”
“Simon, it’s Stevens. I’m out of the building but I just got word there’s been another murder in Golden Gate Park. I need you and DeMarco to check it out. SFPD is there right now holding the scene for you in case it’s connected to Louis Cann.”
Adrenaline immediately started pumping through Simon’s veins. Despite doing everything he was supposed to and then some, he’d hit a dead end in the Cann case. His gut clenched at the notion he might be getting another shot at solving that murder case but only at the expense of another victim. “Have they ID’d the victim?”
“Not yet. He didn’t have a wallet on him.”
“Was the victim stabbed?”
“Yes.”
“Any witnesses?”
“Not that we know of so far.”
“Any reason we should think this victim isn’t related to Cann?”
When Stevens responded in the affirmative and explained the details, the world around Simon seemed to still. A roar louder than the surf sounded in his ears. Horror and disbelief immediately crashed through him, and his gaze automatically sought out Nina.
She was walking toward him, a smile on her face, and he quickly averted his gaze so she wouldn’t see how freaked out how he was. He didn’t want to make her panic. Not until he had more facts. But he was acutely aware of his own feelings of panic. Of his immediate instinct to grab her and hustle her away someplace safe. Safer than SIG headquarters, even.
Coincidence.
It has to be coincidence, he thought.
“Simon, did you hear everything I just said?” Stevens asked on the other line, snapping Simon back to the situation at hand.
“I’m on it, sir.”
He hung up but immediately started dialing his phone again. “DeMarco?” he barked when the other man answered his cell. “There’s been another murder in Golden Gate Park.” Nina stepped up to stand beside him. He held up a finger to indicate he’d be another minute. He thought about walking away and hiding the truth from her, but then dismissed the idea.
She’d just been smiling, but now she was staring at him, a slight furrow between her brows, her expression one of concern. She’d obviously caught on that something was seriously wrong.
And she was right. Something was very wrong and unfortunately she was going to have to hear about it eventually. It was best she hear about it now, when he had his team close by, able to help him protect her. It was best she hear it from him.
Much like he’d done with Stevens, DeMarco peppered Simon with questions. Keeping his gaze level with Nina’s, he answered, “Yes. No. Yeah, same M.O. as Louis Cann. But this time, there was something else. The victim had initials carved into his back.”
Nina’s eyes flared and she sucked in a breath.
Simon placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to lend her his support. His strength. “The initials are BD,” he said quietly.
Nina turned ghostly white and swayed on her feet.
He tightened his grip on her shoulder. Coincidence, he thought again. It had to be.
BD.
The initials that had been carved into Nina’s cat.
The initials that matched those of Lester Davenport’s daughter, Beth.
* * *
SIMON HADN’T WANTED to leave Nina. All he’d wanted to do was hold her and do his best to wipe the fear and horror off her face, but, of course, there’d been no time for that. Knowing he had a job to do, he explained that Carrie would drive her home and stay with her until Simon got there.
She’d nodded. Said she’d understood. Tried to look brave.
And even as he’d gotten into his car and driven off, Simon had wanted to put his fist through the damn windshield.
He met DeMarco at Golden Gate Park. There, they met with the patrol officer holding the murder scene as several others kept the milling crowd at bay.
“A family of four was heading to their car after visiting the Natural History Museum,” the patrol officer, who introduced himself as Ken Richards, said. “They took a detour through the Aids Memorial Grove and found the victim lying behind a massive boulder. They haven’t touched him and neither has anyone else.”
“Show us,” Simon ordered.
Officer Richards led them onto a wooded trail and to a boulder that was approximately five feet tall and eight feet wide. Behind it, a man lay on his stomach. He was naked from the waist up, his back bloodied, the initials carved into his back jagged and grotesque.
BD.
He’d known they were there, but Simon still felt a