Carol Ericson - The District

Nothing jumped out at her, not even those vague feelings that sometimes insinuated themselves into her psyche. Once she’d found the killer’s perch, she’d readied herself for a rush of feelings, feelings that often made her nauseous. This time she’d only experienced the taste of evil at the base of the tree.

She brushed away the trickle of sweat at her hairline and lowered herself back to the ground. She swept her jacket up from the carpet of mulch and froze.

A twig cracked again.

She jerked her head in the direction of the sound. Her gaze darted between the branches and leaves of the dense foliage. She held her breath. The entire park held its breath, too, waiting for someone to make a move.

“Agent Sandoval?”

The interloper crashing through the trees behind her set the forest in motion. Birds took flight, scattering leaves in their haste. A squirrel scurried up the tree trunk, pausing to blink at her with its bright, challenging eyes. The trees took up their groaning and creaking once more.

Christina turned, holding out her hands, palms up. “Careful there, cowboy. I’ve probably already done enough damage here.”

“Ma’am?” The officer cocked his head, looking all of twelve.

“Call me Christina.” She pinched the evidence baggie between two fingers and wiggled it in front of her. “Another tarot card. I think our killer scoped out the victim from this tree.”

The cop’s mouth dropped open as he took a step back. “I’ll get the lieutenant and have him send the CSI guys out here. Did you find anything else?”

“Nope, just the card.” And one helluva creepy feeling. Somehow she knew Lieutenant Fitch would dismiss any and all creepy feelings, so she’d keep them to herself. She always did.

She followed the broad blue-clad back through the trees, back to the running trail. The young cop was already hopping from foot to foot in front of Lieutenant Fitch and gesturing with his hands.

Fitch gazed over his officer’s shoulder and narrowed his eyes as Christina emerged into the clearing. Did he think she’d planted the evidence? As FBI, she’d worked with resentful detectives before, and Fitch seemed to be taking his place among them.

If she hadn’t already been here due to the previous tarot card murder, Fitch probably wouldn’t have bothered contacting the FBI about this one.

She plastered on her sweetest smile and waved the plastic bag. “How about that, Lieutenant? Looks like our boy stationed himself in one tall tree, staking out his next victim.”

“Let me see that.” He snapped his fingers and held out his hand.

She dropped the evidence baggie into his palm. “Another tarot card—the fool this time. Those cards mean something to him. He’s leaving us a message.”

The cop swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his thin neck. “Maybe he’s a fortune-teller?”

Fitch practically growled at him. “Go get some more yellow tape and tell CSI the crime scene’s just been extended.”

Christina called after the hunched shoulders. “You might be on to something, Officer.”

The lieutenant snapped his reddish brows together. “Don’t encourage him. He’s just a rookie on patrol. I can assure you, Agent Sandoval, you’re not dealing with some hick department.”

“This is San Francisco. I never thought I was, Lieutenant.” She turned her head and covered her mouth with her hand. Inferiority complex much? “Can you tell me anything more about the murder?”

“Without an autopsy, it’s what we suspected at first—severe head trauma followed by the slitting of the throat.”

“Blunt object?”

“Yep.”

“He must be incapacitating them with the blow to the head, which then allows him to cut their throats.”

“Victim lost a lot of blood.”

“Just like Liz Fielding and the one up in Portland.”

“At least he’s consistent.”

“Except for this.” She flicked the bag he still held in his hand. “Unless we missed something at those other crime scenes.”

“Is this going to send you back up to Portland, Agent Sandoval?”

She tossed her ponytail over one shoulder. “Why? Trying to get rid of me, Lieutenant Fitch?”

“Naw, we love it when the fibbies come around and trample all over our procedures and protocol.”

Arching one eyebrow, she said, “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“You’re all right, so far, Agent Sandoval. We’ve just had a few bad experiences with you boys...ah, folks.”

“You can start by calling me Christina, and I’m not here to trample over your procedures and protocol. I’m here to find a killer and get some justice for these victims. I hope that’s your objective, too, Lieutenant Fitch.”

He thrust out his hand. “Call me Charlie.”

“Done deal, Charlie. Now let’s nail this SOB.”

* * *

“I MISS YOU, Kendall. Be a good girl for G-Ma.” Christina blew kisses at the laptop until her mother’s face filled the screen.

“I’m taking her to the park today. What are you doing? Are you going to stay in the city? At least you’re not too far away this time. You can pop in for a visit.”

“With this third murder, I’ll be here for at least another week, but it looks like I need to go back to Portland for some further investigation.”

Her mother ran a hand through her still-lustrous dark hair streaked with silver. “I wish you’d take some nice desk job and settle down. Kendall needs a father and some stability.”

Christina put a hand over her heart where the guilt stabbed her. “Kendall has a father and right now you’re providing the stability, Mom. After this case, I’m planning on doing more profile work. Believe me, I’ll be spending lots of time at my desk.”

“Yeah, well about Kendall’s father...”

“Oops, gotta go, Ma. Have fun at the park and if you have time take Kendall for a shaved ice at that new place. She loves that stuff, even though half the ice ends up in her lap.”

Her mom shook her head. “You need to get your life in order.”

“I will. I am. Love you, Ma.”

She ended the videoconferencing session and shoved the computer off her lap. She hated it when her mother was right.

She rolled off the bed and headed to the bathroom. Now that she had Charlie Fitch on her side, he’d invited her to the station today to review the report on the latest murder. The Portland P.D. had done some more background on the victim, and she had nothing in common with the previous victim in San Francisco or the woman yesterday—nothing except the tarot cards shoved between their cold, dead fingers.

And the other tarot card? Had there been another tarot card in the vicinity of the other victims that they’d missed?

She’d called her bureau chief, Rich Greavy, to report this recent finding, but she had to leave a message for him. The fact that he wouldn’t take her call didn’t surprise her. Even if he didn’t get back to her, she knew he’d give his approval for her to return to the other crime scene in Portland—as long as she stayed out of his hair.

She showered and changed into yet another pantsuit, the unofficial uniform of the female FBI agent. She paired the beige slacks and jacket with a peach blouse and some sky-high heels. They went well with the .45 she’d strapped to her body.

Fifteen minutes later, she wheeled her small rental car into the parking lot of the station. She strode through the squad room toward the detectives’ area and knocked on the lieutenant’s door.

“C’mon in.”

She poked her head into his office. “Good morning, Charlie. Do you have the reports?”

“All ready to go.” He tapped some file folders on his desk. “So the Bureau’s sending one of your brethren out here to help you.”