Christenson released an audible sigh. “As soon as the medical examiner finishes the autopsy, I’ll make sure you get a copy.”
Aidan regarded at Shaun. “After I pull together some information, I’d like to have a debriefing. I think eleven will give me enough time.”
“Of course.”
He turned to Christenson. “You’re more than welcome to join us. Actually, I highly recommend you do. We’re going to need to work together on this. The offender’s known to kill for a few months and disappear. We need to work quickly and the more people we have on our team, the better.”
Christenson nodded. “I’ll see you at eleven.”
“If you’re ready, I can drive you to the office,” Shaun offered. “We’ll get you settled on a car shortly.”
“That’d be great.”
Aidan turned to where the media and other bystanders had begun gathering to watch the scene. The buzz of the audience grew as they neared, and the reporters were brash at trying to get their story.
He dealt with a lot of things that got under his skin throughout the ten years of being a federal agent, but there was nothing he despised more than the media.
They had to walk by them in order to get to Shaun’s vehicle. As usual, they were bombarded with questions the media knew they wouldn't—or couldn't, for that matter—release right away.
“What’s the victim’s name?”
“Do you have any suspects?”
“How long has she been dead?”
“What interest does the FBI have in this murder? Do we need to worry about a serial killer?”
The reporter who spoke jammed his microphone under Aidan’s nose, and he considered the consequences of what would happen if he jammed it in the reporter’s mouth.
“At this time, I'm not at liberty to say anything about the circumstances,” Aidan told them, pushing the microphone away from his face.
“You're not at liberty, or you don't know?” the reporter pressed.
“We're still assessing the situation,” Aidan replied, trying to remain calm. “The FBI and the Columbia County Sheriff’s Office will release a formal statement later this afternoon.”
Before another inquisitive reporter had the chance to press for more information, Aidan and Shaun slipped underneath the tape and began to head for the car.
“You heard it here first,” Aidan heard the reporter say to the camera. “This is Jordan Blake reporting live at Clarks Hill Lake.”
“I hate reporters,” Aidan muttered as he opened the passenger’s side of the car.
Shaun chuckled. “They are a feisty bunch, aren’t they?”
After they settled in the vehicle, Shaun buckled before turning his head to regard Aidan. “So, you’ve been investigating The Carnations Killer for ten years?”
Looking over at his new partner, Aidan replied, “I was fresh out of the academy.”
Shaun whistled, turning the ignition.
“And he always requests you?”
Aidan hesitated with a frown as faces from previous murders flashed in his mind. “Ever since four years ago, he does. And just so you know, I don't really know why.”
4
“THIS IS MAYA Gibson,” Aidan said, using the clicker to change the slide to a photograph of their victim. He glanced at the large projective picture of a young woman, a broad smile plastered on her face. She wore her blonde hair in a ponytail. Her right ear had several earrings lining her lobe while the left only had one.
Aidan cleared his throat before continuing.
“Her husband reported her missing last Tuesday night when she didn’t come home from her yoga class.”
Aidan hadn’t had the chance to be properly introduced to the handful of men and women who sat in their chairs, but they kept their concentration focused on him as he spoke. Lieutenant Christenson sat in the back corner of the room, seemingly apprehensive about being enclosed in a small space with a group of federal agents.
“Date of birth is May 5, 1988. She was attending graduate school at Georgia Regents University.” Aidan paused and looked back at the team. “She moved here with her husband and two children three years ago from Utah.” Pushing the clicker button again, the slide changed to the crime scene photos. “She was found at six fifteen this morning by two teenagers at Clarks Hill Lake.”
Aidan told them what they knew of the crime scene, which, unfortunately, wasn’t much. He went on to say the medical examiner confirmed that despite Maya not wearing a bra and panties, she hadn’t been sexually assaulted.
“The time of death was last night at eleven, give or take.”
He pressed the button again on the clicker and fifty small images he’d compiled flashed on the screen.
He knew their stories by heart. They would forever be embedded in his mind every day and night.
With a hard swallow, Aidan went on to tell the agents what he could: “We believe the man responsible for the death of Maya Gibson is the same man responsible for the deaths of these women. The media referred to him as The Carnations Killer.
“You'll find the names of the victims in the database. They were all murdered in a ten-year span across the United States. All beaten, all tased, all posed. They were picked at random except for being in excellent shape and having blonde hair. He would contain them for about week before dumping the bodies the night he murdered them, where they would be found the following day. If the offender learned we hadn’t yet discovered a body, he would call in an anonymous tip. No evidence has ever been found at the scenes. He left no DNA, no fibers, nothing.”
“What do we know about the offender?”
He looked in the direction of the speaker. It was Carolyn Monroe, the assistant special agent-in-charge. When Shaun and Aidan arrived at the downtown office, Shaun had introduced them. She had graciously shaken Aidan’s hand, thanking him for joining her team on short notice.
Monroe was two inches shorter than
