Mike Omer - In the Darkness

Lieutenant Jensen intercepted them both as they entered the division. He seemed to be dressed in a brand-new suit, his hair carefully combed, his shoes shiny. “Agents, good to see you’re here. We were just about to start the task force meeting.”

“What task force?” Tatum growled.

“The chief of police instructed us to form a task force to investigate the Medina murder case,” Jensen explained. “We were hoping you’d be able to join and provide your opinion on how to proceed.”

“Right,” Tatum said dryly. “Provide our opinion.”

“Through here, Agents.” Jensen walked down the hall.

“I’m not an agent.” Zoe followed him. “I’m an FBI consultant.”

“Oh?” Jensen said in disinterest. He strode at a brisk pace, but his short legs made it easy for her to walk beside him. Tatum stomped behind them, a dark maelstrom of discontent.

“I’m a civilian consul—”

“In here.” Jensen marched through a door into a large room. Most of the space was taken by a large off-white rectangular table and two rows of chairs. There was a large whiteboard on which someone had written Nicole Medina, September 2nd . Three people sat by the table. Detective Foster sat on the right side next to a redheaded woman, her hair swept back into a ponytail. On the other side sat a bald man, his bushy eyebrows intersecting into one perfect unibrow. The brow seemed like a bird in flight, and the man raised it a fraction when Zoe looked at him, making the bird flap its hairy wings. It was very distracting.

Jensen closed the door and clapped his hands together. “Right,” he announced. “Now that we’re all here, we can start. First let’s introduce everyone. You’ve already met Detective Foster. That’s Detective Carol Lyons . . .”

The woman nodded at Zoe and Tatum.

“And you probably know Agent Shelton.” Jensen gestured at the man with the birdlike eyebrows, apparently assuming all federal agents knew each other.

“No, we never met,” the man said. “Brian Shelton from the San Antonio field office.”

“Oh?” Jensen said. Zoe suspected it was his response whenever things went off script. “Well then. These are Agents Gray and Bentley. I mean, Agent Gray and . . . uh.” He seemed suddenly at a loss of words.

“Dr. Bentley,” Zoe said frostily.

“Now we all know each other.” Jensen clapped his hands again.

Zoe sat down by Agent Shelton. Tatum sat down next to Detective Lyons. Zoe met Tatum’s gaze, and he glanced away, clenching his jaw.

“Let’s go over the details of the case,” Jensen said. “Detective Foster?”

Foster cleared his throat and launched into a summary of the case, ending with the discovery of Nicole Medina’s body the day before. Consulting the pages in front of him, he began to detail the initial findings.

“The cause of death is assumed by the medical examiner to be environmental asphyxiation,” Foster said. “He estimates the time of death to be between two and eight a.m. on September third, though we’ll know more once he concludes his autopsy. The victim was buried inside a wooden handmade box. A small infrared camera and a microphone were mounted inside the box to capture the video. They were connected to a cable that ran out of the grave. The cable’s other edge was clipped and covered with earth, presumably to hide it once the murderer finished recording the video. We found a lot of fingerprints inside the box, and we’re comparing them to the victim’s fingerprints. No fingerprints on the camera, the exterior of the box, or the cable. We also collected some DNA samples from the interior of the coffin, mostly hair, a broken fingernail, some blood . . .” He glanced at Agent Shelton.

“Our lab will be processing those samples shortly, comparing them to the victim’s DNA and checking them against CODIS,” Shelton said.

“We have some tire marks from the scene, but . . .” His eyes darted toward Zoe for a short second. “They were mostly covered and erased during our attempt to rescue the victim.”

Zoe’s face remained blank, and she didn’t bother to point out she had told them as much the day before. She never understood people’s urge to say, “I told you so.” It was like taking pride in the fact that you weren’t convincing enough.

“The crime scene technicians are doing a second sweep this morning, collecting shoe impressions from the ground. However, the topmost soil is thin dust, and it was very windy two days ago. Add to that the people who were digging up the grave, and I’m not optimistic.”

Jensen cleared his throat. “Our top priority had been to save Medina’s life, if it was possible, of course.” It was an obvious attempt to avoid accusations of professional inadequacy.

Zoe tried to catch Tatum’s eyes, knowing that on any other day he’d roll them comically. But he focused on Foster, ignoring Zoe.

“The autopsy is scheduled to start in the afternoon,” Foster said. “Our crime scene technicians are currently working on the box, trying to get as much information about it as possible.”

He glanced at his papers. “The mobile phone the killer used is offline, so we can’t track it. It seems it was turned on for the first time near the grave site, so we can’t use it at the moment to analyze his movements before the burial either.” He tapped his pages on the table, aligning them into an orderly stack. “That’s what we have so far.”

“Good, please send your summary by email to all the participants of this meeting,” Jensen said.

“Yup, will do.”

“I guess the most important question on the agenda is obvious. Is this a serial killer?” Jensen glanced at Tatum and then at Zoe expectantly.

“A serial killer is defined as a murderer who kills at least two people on separate occasions,” Tatum answered. “So far, we have no evidence that’s the case.”

“Doesn’t it take at least three victims to define a serial killer?” Jensen asked.

“No.” Zo answered a fraction of a second before Tatum and Agent Shelton said the same. Zoe leaned forward. “We changed it back in 2005. The definition is an offender who kills two or more victims in separate events.”

“The video that he published is titled ‘Experiment Number One,’” Jensen pointed out. “Should we expect another victim in the future?”

“We have absolutely no way of knowing that yet,” Zoe said. “We need to investigate further. There’s a clear possibility it really is a serial killer.”

“There’s a press conference in”—he checked his wristwatch—“thirty-two minutes. What do we tell them?”

“Nothing. You cancel the conference.”

“That’s impossible. They already know a body has been found. Someone will connect it to the video. We need to stay in control of the situation.”

“I agree completely.” Zoe clenched a fist under the table. She now understood why Jensen was dressed so nicely. “Which is why you must avoid involving the press for as long as you can. At least until we know more.”

“As I said, that’s impossible.” Jensen turned to Tatum, like a patient looking for a second opinion. “Our aim is to reduce rumors and panic.”

“If this is a serial killer,” Tatum said gravely, “he might react to the press interest in him. It might prod him to kill again. I agree with Dr. Bentley.”

“Oh?”

Zoe suspected the press conference would happen no matter what. “Give them the barest details. With no room for interpretation. If you want to reduce panic, you should refrain from using the term serial killer .”

“Right.” Jensen clapped his hands again. “That’s settled. Now, for our next steps, I think we have some promising leads. The Mexican Mafia for one. We should talk to Medina’s father—”