"Assistant Director Gabriel Stern and Agent Sam Ryan, SIU," he replied absently.
There was nothing patient, or gentle, in this woman's death. The murderer had slit her throat before gutting her — and had probably done so while she was still alive. There was tape stretched across her mouth, and a look of terror was permanently etched on her face. If it was the work of the same killer, something must have gone terribly wrong. Either that, or the madness that had set the killer on this path of destruction in the first place was getting progressively worse.
"It's not madness; it's anger," Sam said softly.
He looked up. She wasn't even looking at him, but somehow, she seemed to know his thoughts. It was almost as if there was some kind of connection between them — yet that was impossible, given he'd learned to raise shields so strong that not even his twin could share his thoughts. "What do you mean?"
She motioned almost absently towards the victim as she continued to leaf through the paperwork on the desk. "The murderer was angry with this woman. There's no care taken here, no time. Look at the way the victim's throat has been slashed. Another eighth of an inch, and she wouldn't have even hit the carotid."
He swept his gaze around the room. No ashtray full of cigarettes sitting on any of the tables. No immediate evidence that the killer had even stayed to watch this victim die. In fact, the only thing linking this victim with the other murders was the hole in her gut and the color of her hair.
"Why the anger here, though?" He glanced back at Sam, interested in hearing her observations — or was it something else? Not the training of a cop, but a perception coming from developing psychic talents? The clouded look to her eyes certainly suggested it was the latter. "Why not with the previous three victims?"
"That's presuming it's the same killer."
He nodded. She pursed her lips, her gaze finally rising from the desk and sweeping the room.
"Maybe in this case, it's something as simple as the white coat the victim is wearing." She hesitated, frowning. "I don't think the killer was expecting a doctor."
He frowned. "Yet the precision of the wounds on the first two victims indicate the killer has some sort of medical background. Our killer might even be a doctor. Why react so strongly against a fellow practitioner?"
Her gaze came to rest on his. Her blue-gray eyes were suddenly unclouded and amused. "Find the answer to that, and you might just find your killer."
True. He rose and crossed to the windows. Outside, rain had begun to sheet down, and on the street below, men and women scurried for cover. This street was always busy — surely someone, somewhere, had seen something.
The killer hadn't cut an escape hole in the smoke colored glass, so if their killer was a shapechanger, she certainly hadn't escaped that way this time. He headed into the doctor's office to check the windows there, but there was nothing. Nor did anything appear disturbed or out of place in the room itself. Meaning their killer had come in and out through the front doors — either in human or nonhuman form — and had to be on the security tapes.
He returned to the reception area. Sam was looking through the diary.
"Anything?"
She shook her head. "No appointments during lunch. Looks like the postman had just been here, though." She motioned toward a stack of mail, half of which had been opened.
"We'll track him down, see if he saw anything." He frowned and studied the corpse for several seconds. "Someone must have seen the killer leave this time. If she left in human form, she would have had blood sprayed all over her."
"Anyone checked the restrooms?"
"You up to it?" The trembling in her hands had definitely eased and color was back in her face.
She nodded and walked from the room. He squatted next to the body again. It didn't make any sense. The killer had been so careful up until now, so why do this? And why up the time frame?
He shifted slightly and caught the glint of silver in the carpet pile, close to the woman's outstretched hand. He slipped on a set of gloves and reached across. It was a small medallion, depicting an eagle entwined in barbed wire. The insignia of the Hopeworth Military Base.
"Crimecorder, record evidence found in carpet near victim's right hand."
The black sphere buzzed into action. "Recorded," the metallic voice stated a moment later.
"Resume original position." He turned the medallion over in his hand. On the back was a number — zero four. It should be easy enough to check whether the victim had ever served with Hopeworth.
And if the medallion belonged to the killer, then he finally had his first real clue. The viaphone vibrated against his side. "Yes?" he said, flipping the medallion right side up. The eagle had a small cross engraved on its chest.
"Think you'd better come down to the restrooms on the twenty-first floor."
Sam's voice was devoid of all inflection, giving no hint as to what she'd found. "On my way."
He made his way over to the main door. O'Neal stared at his com-unit, viewing the security tapes.
"Anything?" Gabriel dug a plastic container from the crime kit and dropped the medallion inside.