by Angela Kay
Aidan hesitated before he spoke.
“Black dresses are usual funeral attire. It’s his sendoff for the women. As for the white carnations, I believe it’s a message for us.”
“What’s that?”
It was Shaun who answered. “It means ‘good luck.’”
Aidan nodded his agreement.
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 Aidan’s five foot seven, slightly on the round side with thin legs. She wore red lipstick, just enough of a pink blush to give her cheeks a soft glow, and her black hair in a tight bun.
She hadn’t been in the room when they began the briefing, so she had at some point crept into the conference room without Aidan realizing. She stood by the door, a large file resting in her arms.
“The only fact we know is that he’s hedonistic,” Aidan answered. He scanned the room before finally resting his eyes on Monroe. “He enjoys torturing these women. He doesn't kill for sex. He uses the taser, probably to subdue them at first, possibly as a way to torture them. Then he kidnaps them. I believe he plans the details before the actual abductions. Probably takes the time to study their routines. He's careful. And he craves attention. He wants us to know we can’t get him. This is why I believe he leaves the white carnations trademark on the victims’ bodies.” Aidan swallowed. “And the notes to me.”
“Could it be a copycat?” an agent in the middle of the room asked.
“Highly unlikely. Maya was tased, and we’ve kept that information confidential.”
Aidan set the projection remote on the table, grabbed his water bottle and took another sip.
“The Carnations Killer is known to murder three to seven women within six months’ time before disappearing. It’s vital we work together as quickly and efficiently as we can. I want each of you to look over the information on the intranet. This is our main priority. He must be stopped before he kills again.”
“How do you propose we do that?” one of the female agents asked.
“To start, I want teams to go over the previous victims. Familiarize yourself with them. Find differences, similarities. In both t
he victims and the autopsy reports. I want you to re-question the previous victims’ families if possible. We’re going to treat this with a new set of eyes.”
After the debriefing was over, Aidan sat at the desk they chartered out to him, staring at the photos of Maya Gibson as though the answers he sought would begin to reveal themselves. He scanned the notes from her crime scene versus the other victims’.
However, nothing new stood at attention, and after a while, his vision began to blur.
Aidan stopped to rub his fingers against his eyelids, trying to erase the sleeplessness and apprehension.
Shaun was at his desk making phone calls, and Aidan wished he’d hurry. They’d planned on a quick lunch before making their way to Maya’s yoga studio. Aidan wasn’t hungry, but he hoped eating something would boost his metabolism. Additionally, he left the apartment before grabbing breakfast, so he knew he’d need to have a little food to fuel his stomach.
Aidan closed the file and snatched the landline from its holder. Punching her number on the keypad, he called Cheyenne.
Aidan imagined she wouldn’t be too appreciative that he’d abandoned her for work when he was supposed to be on vacation. They had hoped to spend a few days together, doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company. It was a rare treat because quite often, something would come up.
Case in point.
“Hey, honey,” Cheyenne answered.
“Hey,” Aidan replied.
“You’re not supposed to be back at work until next week.” He could almost see her lips turning into a frown.
Aidan smiled. “It’s better than hearing that raucous snoring you had going on.”
“I don’t snore,” she asserted.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said. “But they needed me.”
She knew he couldn’t give her specific details on an ongoing investigation even if he wanted to, so she didn’t bother to ask.
“Will you be coming back this weekend?”
“I don’t know,” Aidan admitted after a short pause. “I’ll try. But...”
“I know,” she whispered. She cleared her throat, then added, “You know, my sister lives in Augusta. Maybe I’ll call her and visit.”
“I don’t know about that,” Aidan replied. Although she didn’t fit the profile of the offender, the thought of her being in the same city as a serial killer didn’t appeal to him.
“I’ve been wanting to see her anyway,” Cheyenne said. She already seemed to have made a decision.
“Okay,” Aidan agreed. “I guess that’ll be fine. Let me know when you get to her place, so I know you’re safe.”
“I will.”
“Good. I’ll find time to stop by later today, okay?” he promised.
“You better,” she warned. A pause. “Be careful, Aidan.”
“Always.” Aidan spotted Shaun walking his way, so he told Cheyenne he loved her and ended the call.
“Wife?” Shaun asked him, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Girlfriend.”
“Ah, I see. I’d like to learn more about her. Ready for lunch?”
Aidan grabbed several folders from the desk and rose. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
5
DOWNWARD DOG WAS a small yoga studio tucked in the corner of a strip mall. If it weren’t for the large sign on the side of the road, Aidan would have overlooked it. The parking lot was full, so Shaun parked along the side near their destination, and they climbed out.
Aidan had been staring at his notes for most of the trip, muttering to himself about the information in the federal database.
The offender’s first known victim was a young woman named Sherry Finch. She was thirty-three, married to a law professor from Harvard University. One child. Sherry had long blonde hair that she always kept in a ponytail. She had a pretty face, wore no makeup with the exception of a light-colored lipstick. She had a college degree in English and chose to be a stay-at-home mom rather than pursuing a career.
Originally, the main suspect in Sherry’s murder was a man by the name of Albert Cross. He’d been arrested once for peeping through her bedroom window and watching as she dressed. Other than that, his rap sheet was clean. Shortly after Albert Cross left jail, Sherry had been kidnapped in the night, tortured and strangled to death by a thin wire. Her posed body was found a week later, on the concrete next to a dumpster by an elderly man taking out the trash. She had on a black dress, no undergarments, and the white carnations bouquet in her hands. As with the victims following, she’d been tased.
A few weeks after Albert Cross was arrested for suspicions of her murder, a second victim was found on a folding chair at an apartment pool. He’d obviously had an alibi for the second victim, and the police soon discovered that Cross was in New York during the time Sherry was killed. So they released him.
Over a few months’ time, three more victims popped up with no leads as to who may have killed them.
Aidan followed Shaun into the yoga studio, hoping they would catch a break. Maybe the killer messed up and kidnapped her while someone watched.
Aidan doubted it, but it was always a possibility.
The studio was large on the inside, containing two rooms and a reception desk. People doing various yoga moves occupied both rooms.
The receptionist typed furiously at the computer, her eyes narrowed in deep concentration as Aidan and Shaun made their approach.
Aidan set his credentials on the countertop.
“Good afternoon, miss. I’m Agent Aidan O’Reilly, this is Agent Shaun Henderson.”
“Hi, um, can I help you?” She blinked, taken aback by the interruption.
“I hope so,” Aidan told her, noting her name tag read Brianna. He handed her a photo of Maya Gibson. It was a recent picture her husband had given them earlier in the day. “Do you recognize this woman? She used to come here.”
Brianna took a long look at the photo before she nodded. “Yes. She attended classes every Tuesday and Thursday night like clockwork. I heard about her when I came in to work. It’s so sad. She was always so nice.”
“Have you noticed whether she may have seemed bothered by anyone?” Shaun asked. “Maybe he was trying to pull advances and she didn’t like it?”
Brianna shook her head. “No. Not really. Some of the guys would look at her. I mean, she was perfect. I'd kill to have that body, you know? But I think they all knew she was happily married, so they didn't try to come on to her or anything.”
“Did she ever go out with anybody from her classes?”
“Yeah. Every Tuesday night, they’d go for drinks. Mostly it was the women, but sometimes the men would join in. Mrs. Gibson was the type you can’t help but love and want to know, you know?” She shook her head. “She made friends with everybody. She invited me a few times.”
“Has anybody new begun coming to the studio? Particularly on the days she’s usually in attendance?”
“We get a few new people just about every day. We do keep a list, but I’ll need to check with my boss and make sure it’s okay to give it to you. He’s in the back.”
“We’d appreciate it,” Aidan told her.
The receptionist replied she’d be back, then went past the two yoga classes and entered through a door on the opposite side of the building.
Aidan watched as the class nearest to them did a pose. Cheyenne liked doing yoga from time to time, and she’d mentioned a few pose names, but Aidan couldn’t remember what this one was called. They were in a squat position, arms wrapped around the back of their bodies, hands linked together. Most of the group seemed to perform the pose exceedingly well, with the exception of one or two. The yoga instructor weaved around the room, fixing bodies the way they needed to be.
“Pasasana,” Shaun said from behind Aidan.
Aidan turned to see Shaun leaning against the reception desk, his dark arm blending with the black counter.
“What?”
He motioned toward the yoga room. “That pose. Called Pasasana. Or
Noose Pose.”
Aidan realized he must have been muttering to himself, as he’d been known to do when in deep concentration trying to figure something out.
“Looks painful,” Aidan commented.
Shaun set the brochure he was skimming through on the counter and flashed Aidan a smile, his teeth white, almost reflecting off his skin. “Takes practice.”
“You do yoga?”
“Shocked?”
“Actually, I am,” Aidan admitted.
Shaun shrugged. “It’s one way for me to release stress. But as you can see, I’m a big guy, so it’s a bit hard for me to do some of the poses. They are, as you said, painful.” He grinned again.
“What’s your other stress-reducer?” Aidan asked.
“Punching things,” he said simply.
Before Aidan could ask him what things, he spotted the receptionist returning, a man trailing after her. He allowed the conversation to fall into silence.
“Agents,” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m Craig Jones, the manager.”
Shaun and Aidan accepted his hand.
“I understand you’re looking into Maya Gibson’s murder?”
“Yes sir,” Aidan told him. “We were hoping to get a list of your newest customers—dating back to...the beginning of last month should be good enough.”
Jones nodded and looked over at his receptionist. “Go ahead and give it to the agents.” He looked back at them. “When I heard Maya was dead, I couldn’t believe it. I’ve known her for a few years. It’s horrible what happened to her.”
“How long have you known her, exactly?” Shaun asked.
“Two or three years,” the manager replied.
The printer whirred as it spit the documents onto the tray.
“Do you have any suspects yet?”
“We’re prohibited from discussing the investigation at this time,” Aidan told him. “As soon as we can, we’ll release the information.”
“I hope you catch this guy soon,” Jones said.
“Did you see her leave with anyone last Tuesday night?”
Jones shook his head, exchanging glances with the receptionist, who stood by the printer. “Brianna and I were both closing up as usual. I think Maya was the last to leave, but I can’t be sure. You don’t ever think about how unsafe the world is until it’s too late.”
