Dr. Monk studied her for a moment, andZoe was sure that the game was up. Dr. Monk was a therapist—of course, shecould tell when someone was lying to her. She would press the point, get Zoe toadmit the secret fear she had buried deep inside of herself for so very long.
But all she did was close her notebookand place it carefully on her desk, turning on a brilliant smile. “We made somefantastic progress today, Zoe. We’re at the end of our session, so please putthat meditation into your nightly habits and try to stick with it. I’d like tohear if you’ve made any progress when we next meet.”
Zoe stood and thanked her and left,feeling like she was saved by the bell.
And then there was a more literal bell,a ringing coming from her pocket. She dug her cell out as she walked throughthe waiting room, seeing Shelley’s name on the caller ID.
“Special Agent Zoe Prime,” she said. Itfelt good to use the proper, official address, even when she knew who was calling.
“Z, it’s me. Chief needs you to come tothe airport right away. We’ve got a case in LA. Grab an overnight bag, and I’llmeet you there.”
“How long do I have?” Zoe asked.
“Forty-five minutes, then we fly.”
“See you there,” Zoe said. She hung upthe phone and strode more purposefully through the hall, calculating how muchtime she would have for packing after allowing for travel time to the airport.
Inside, she thrilled, just a little. Ithad been a while since their last case, all paperwork and court dates andbureaucracy. Even if she wasn’t exactly happy that someone had died, it wouldbe good to get stuck into a nice, easy murder case—and she mentally crossed herfingers that that was what they were going to get.
CHAPTER FOUR
Zoe looked out the window at the clouds,passing by under the plane’s wing. Perhaps there should have been a kind of peacein that for her. There was nothing to count, after all. But she didn’t enjoythe sensation of being so far above the ground, and she never would. She hatedthe thought that someone else was fully in control of and responsible for herlife.
“SAIC Maitland left us these files,” Shelleysaid, proffering a couple of manila folders to get Zoe’s attention.
Zoe turned back from the window,blinking her eyes to get herself to focus. “All right. What are we looking atthat is so urgent we could not wait for a briefing in person?” Shelley’s blondehair was neatly tucked into a bun behind her head, her makeup as neat andprecise as ever. Zoe wondered briefly how she always managed to look soput-together, even with a young child at home—and even when getting on a planeat short notice.
“Two victims,” Shelley said. She spreadthe files apart. “Evidently the team on the ground felt that they were nevergoing to get anywhere without Bureau help. They turned it over voluntarily.”
“Voluntarily?” Zoe’s eyebrows shot up. “Nowonder Maitland wanted us over there as quickly as possible. He probablythought they might change their minds.”
It wasn’t often they got a case that wasvoluntarily handed over. Law enforcement tended to be territorial, to want tosee a case through from beginning to end. Zoe understood that. Still, itusually led to tense atmospheres and only the most begrudging assistance. Theofficers tended to suspect that the FBI were there to take their jobs andreport them as not fit for duty, even though that usually had no grounding inreality. It might be refreshing to actually be welcomed somewhere.
Shelley opened up the first file andstarted reading from it. “The first victim to be found was a male, Caucasian,early thirties. Name of John Dowling, although it took the locals a good whileto ID him.”
Zoe tried to ignore the name and the wayit had cut into her heart. John was a common enough name, after all. Sheshouldn’t need to imagine John bleeding out or shot or strangled in order toget past it. “Why so?”
“The body was heavily burned. Postmortemsays that his throat was cut first, and then he was taken elsewhere and burnedbefore discovery.”
“Do we know where the crime wascommitted?”
Shelley studied the notes. “No locationyet on the actual killing. It’s thought it may have happened in a private home,since there would be a lot of blood, and nothing has been reported. The bodywas taken out to an isolated street and burned in the middle of the night. Bythe time a local resident noticed and was brave enough to go check it out, alot of damage had been done.”
Shelley wordlessly handed over aphotograph. It showed a blackened and twisted body, almost to the point ofbeing unrecognizable as a human. It looked like a movie prop, not a realperson. Zoe had to hand it to whoever had managed to determine cause of death.They must have had a real job on their hands.
There was another photo in the file, asmiling image of a young man. John Dowling in life, probably taken from one ofhis social media pages. He was in a dark room, with people visible in thebackground—probably a party. He looked happy.
“Any leads so far on him? Enemies,grudges?”
“Nothing yet. Investigation is ongoing.”
“All right. And the second one?”
Shelley closed the first file and pickedup the other, sucking in a breath through her teeth. “Similar story. Throatcut, then burned. A young woman, Callie Everard. Mid-twenties. She was pretty,too.”
Zoe just managed to refrain from rollingher eyes. It never failed to amaze her that people, even her esteemed partner,could put weight on such things. Young, old, pretty, ugly, thin, fat—dead wasdead. Any life taken was something that should be investigated, any killersomeone who should be punished. The particulars made little difference.
“The location?”
“This time it all took place in the samealley. Looks like the killer approached her, cut her throat, let her drop downdead, and then set her on fire. That’s one small mercy. She
