Marie Ferrarella - Colton Copycat Killer

“Zoe,” Sam said as she began to rise from her seat.

Zoe was on her feet, but her hands remained on the armrests, as if she expected him to tell her to sit down again. “Yes?”

“Did you see anyone hanging around the bridal room when you left or when you were coming back?” Maybe she had seen the killer and hadn’t realized it.

But Zoe shook her head. She’d already asked herself the same question several times, trying to conjure up someone in the shadows. But she always came up empty. She hadn’t seen anyone.

“Everyone was in the church, waiting for the ceremony to start,” she told Sam.

“Well, there had to be someone,” he said, talking more to himself than to Zoe. “Celia didn’t just shoot herself—the angle’s wrong,” he added almost matter-of-factly, as if arguing the fact in front of a board of inquiry.

Since he’d already dismissed her, Zoe left the shelter of the chair. But she felt she needed to say something before she walked out of the room. Celia’s motive for tricking Sam into marrying her had been clear. Celia had loved money and she’d wanted to live the high life. The Coltons, once pariahs because of their father, were once more a wealthy family and had been accepted back into the community’s good graces.

As far as she could ascertain, Sam was marrying Celia to give the unborn child he thought was coming a name. But maybe somewhere within all that noble behavior, he had actually loved her sister. For that reason, she offered him her condolences, even though the words were somewhat hackneyed.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Sam,” Zoe told him softly.

Sam’s expression never changed. She might as well have said it looked like it might rain later. But he went through the obligatory motions and said, “Yeah, same here,” because, after all, she had lost a sister, and that loss undoubtedly meant more to her than his losing his wife-to-be did to him.

What he did regret, far more than he’d ever thought he would, was that he had lost his unborn child in all of this.

Zoe offered him a small, rather sad smile and said “Thank you,” just before she left the room.

Sam rose to his feet a moment later. There was still a church full of people to question and he sincerely doubted the backup crew he’d called in had managed to make more than a small dent in that crowd.

Leaving the reverend’s office, he started to go down the hall and back to the church, only to run into Trevor. His oldest brother had been invited to the wedding along with their other siblings and at first, Sam thought Trevor was looking for him to offer his condolences, just like Zoe had.

But one look at the FBI profiler’s grim expression told him that wasn’t the reason why Trevor was looking for him.

“Good. I found you. I just got a look at the victim,” Trevor said, not bothering to offer any perfunctory niceties first.

His brother stopped directly in front of him, blocking his path back to the church. It was obvious Trevor wanted to talk to him away from the others, even though they were both law enforcement agents.

This was, in part, a family matter and not a conversation either one of them would want overheard by just anyone.

“And?” Sam asked, waiting for the rest of it, because there was obviously a “rest of it.”

Trevor frowned, as if saying the words actually caused him pain. “Your fiancée fits a new emerging pattern.”

For there to be a “new emerging pattern,” there had to be more. “Go on,” Sam urged quietly.

Trevor gave him a quick summary of the details that he had. “In the past two months, two young women, both in their twenties with long dark hair, were found murdered in Blackthorn County. Each of them had a red bull’s-eye drawn on their forehead. And, in each case, the red dot was just slightly off center, same as your fiancée. Now here’s the really weird part—”

“Right, because the rest of what you just said isn’t weird at all,” Sam commented sarcastically.

His own world had ceased being normal the day his father had murdered his mother, but this seemingly baseless murder was hard for even him to come to terms with.

Trevor continued as if his younger brother hadn’t said anything. Given the shock Sam had just received, minutes away from taking his wedding vows, Trevor felt that under the circumstances, his brother could be given a great deal of leeway.

Trevor continued with his narrative. “The first victim’s name started with the letter A, and the second victim’s name began with B. And your fiancée’s name began with—”

“The letter C,” Sam concluded. His eyes never left his brother’s as he tried to put the facts into some kind of coherent order. “So what are you saying, that this was all premeditated? That the killer is playing some kind of a sick game, copying his murders after another serial killer, then adding his own sick twist to it?”

Trevor nodded. “Yeah, weird though it is, that’s what it’s beginning to look like,” he confirmed. “Up until now, it was only speculation on our part. Two similar murders makes for a coincidence. Three similar murders makes it a pattern, and,” he added, “it also throws these crimes into the realm of the murderer being a serial killer.”

Sam paused, trying to assimilate this latest information he’d been given.

“So it’s not just murdering when the urge hits him, killing women who just happen to fit a certain ‘type,’ the way Matthew did with his nine victims of choice. This killer had to know his victims ahead of time in order to stick to his pattern of choice.”

Feeling momentarily oppressed and weary, Sam looked at his oldest brother. “How did the world get to be so screwed up?”

“Not the world, Sam,” Trevor told him. “Just certain bad seeds in it. And to answer your question, I think it’s always been like this to a certain extent.”

About to say something else, Trevor paused instead, searching for words to express his sentiments. Words didn’t seem to come easy to any of them in the family, he thought ruefully.

Still, he knew he had to give it his best shot. “Look, Sam, I’m sorry about your fiancée—” he began.

Unwilling to watch Trevor struggle needlessly, Sam waved his hand at his brother’s attempts to express his regrets.

“Yeah, I know.” And then, in a far firmer voice, he told Trevor, “Let’s just get this SOB and make sure he doesn’t kill anyone else.”

Trevor couldn’t have agreed with him more. “Amen to that.”

Just then, a thought occurred to Sam. “You think he has a list?” he asked his brother.

Trevor looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“A list of names,” Sam specified. “You know, women he’s interacted with or maybe just stalked for a while. Women who fit that rather run-of-the-mill description that seems to set him off for some reason. He finds out their names, writes them down, then alphabetizes them so he can eliminate them in order. All that takes time, planning,” he pointed out.

“Who knows what he thinks,” Trevor countered. “But that would seem like the logical way to proceed,” he granted, and then laughed. It was a hollow, almost sad sound.

“What’s so funny?” Sam wanted to know. The whole situation was the complete opposite of funny as far as he was concerned.

“A logical serial killer,” Trevor answered. “It’s not funny, really. More like absurd,” he corrected.

“Not to the victims,” Sam commented.

For a moment, Trevor realized he’d forgotten how very personal the last murder was. He hadn’t meant to sound so insensitive about the woman who would have been Sam’s wife by now if she hadn’t been murdered.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I meant no offense.”