I dropped the files on Catherine O’Connor and Harrison Moore onto the desk. “I haven’t looked these over, but these are copies of the Politia’s case files.” I’d received these copies from Maggie to study in my spare time.
Before I hadn’t cared to look at them, but now that so much was on the line, I couldn’t not go over them.
Andre scooted his chair next to mine and our legs brushed. Suddenly, the files were intensely fascinating.
I opened them up. On the first page, a photograph of the victim at the crime scene had been paper clipped to the pages that followed. Seeing the victims as they were originally found brought on a wave of nausea. I could never unsee and unsmell these two.
Catherine, the first victim, had been posed in the shape of a cross. Harrison, meanwhile, laid on the ground, his arms and legs spread apart.
“Two different positions, two different genders, two different locations,” I murmured. I was new at investigating, but it seemed from what I’d heard about serial killers that they usually had one underlying motivation—they were predictable, one just needed to find the pattern. I wasn’t seeing it yet.
Andre studied the photos next to me. “This doesn’t seem like a vampire’s work.”
I glanced at him. “Why do you say that?” I was curious. Andre had definitely seen more vampire murders than I had, yet it seemed obvious that the victims’ wounds were the work of a vampire.
“I saw the bodies at the crime scene. Something about them just doesn’t sit well with me.” He traced a finger over Catherine’s position. “She was placed in the sign of the cross. And he,” Andre’s attention moved over to the second victim, “his position makes me think of a pentagram.”
With his finger, Andre drew a star over the victim’s body. Sure enough, Harrison’s head, arms, and legs could easily be interpreted as points of a star. “Both are religious symbols. And vampires tend to not be the religious type, considering that we’re damned.”
I winced. “Isn’t the pentagram an evil sign?” I asked.
Andre studied the photographs. “Not for the most part. It’s often used as a sign of protection. It’s a very old, very powerful symbol.”
So there was a pattern. “Whoever is doing this is incorporating religion into the crimes.”
“It appears that way.”
“Do you think that the victims’ supernatural abilities have anything to do with the sign they were paired with?” I asked.
Andre rubbed his jaw. “There could be, although the connection between the two would largely be based on the killer’s perception rather than on some objective standard.”
I watched him. This Andre who was unaware of himself, who thought deeply, was intensely attractive. I felt like I was being let in on a secret by seeing this side of him.
“There might also be a connection between the religion and the victims’ lifestyles,” he said. “However, finding a link would require access to the victims’ homes and belongings—access that we do not have. You might pass this information back to the Politia and let them handle this aspect of the investigation.”
I scribbled down notes on our discussion to pass along. “If the Politia is going to investigate the victims, then what aspect of the case should we investigate?”
Andre’s face was grim. “The crime scenes themselves.”
***
We spent a bit more time flipping through the files, but they didn’t tell us anything more than what we already knew.
I turned over the last page in Harrison’s file. Catherine’s sat closed next to it. “Well, it looks like that’s it.”
I closed his file and slipped them both back in my bag. Once I did so, I faced Andre. “You really have no idea who’s responsible for this?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Gabrielle, not all of my subjects are particularly fond of me right now. Not after what I did on my birthday.”
I swallowed and felt a twinge of remorse. That had to rank as one of his shittiest birthdays. Watching your house burn, parting ways with your soulmate, killing one of your oldest friends and all the vampires he sired.
“It could be any one of my subjects. I just don’t know.”
“How do you know I didn’t commit those crimes?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
He searched my eyes. “You didn’t. I know that for a fact. You still smell.”
“I smell?”
A shadow of a smile crossed his face. “It’s a compliment, siren. I’d imagine all supernaturals with great olfactory senses have trouble around you. It’s not just your looks that draw others in.”
His eyes flicked to my lips, and my breath quickened at the thought of kissing him. I brought us back on topic. “So I smell—what of it?”
“Your scent would’ve been all over the crime scene. It wasn’t. Vampires, on the other hand, don’t have scents. They can only release pheromones when they’re turned on and when they captivate prey.”
“But you smell.”