Mark of the Demon (Kara Gillian 1)

“So, Kara,” Doc said as he removed the lungs. “How’d you get lucky enough to get into Homicide and snag this case as primary?”

I shrugged. “The captain says I’ve busted my ass enough in property crimes, and handling a big case like this will be good experience for me.”

He glanced up at me, a lung in his hand. “Well, that’s a pretty big vote of confidence.”

I smiled wryly. “Now I just have to make sure I don’t fuck it up.”

He tsked at me and placed the lung on the cutting board, slowly slicing through it and looking for defects. “You have a team, you have your supervisors, you have your coworkers, and you even have me.” He grinned and gestured grandly at himself with the bloody knife. “The only way you could really fuck it up would be if you got in over your head and didn’t ask for help.” He sliced a sample of the tissue off and dropped it into a tub of formalin.

“Careful, I may end up bugging the shit out of you,” I teased. “Of course, I also have a sneaking suspicion that they figure it’s not that risky to have me working it, since the Symbol Man victims are usually ‘nobodies.’”

An annoyed expression crossed his face. “Much as I would love to argue with you, I think you might have a point, serial killer or no,” he said. “No one gives a shit about this woman. She hasn’t been reported missing, and she’s apparently never been arrested. She’s possibly mentally ill and probably has been homeless or living out of shelters for years.” He took up a pair of large scissors and began to cut out the heart. “The serial killer in Baton Rouge got a ton of reaction because the victims were young women from nice families. The serial killer in St. Charles got about a tenth of the attention, because the victims were homeless men who led ‘high-risk lifestyles.’” He shrugged. “The response to this killer has always been a bit below par, in my opinion. But that’s just my take on it.”

“Yeah, well, I give a shit.”

He glanced up at me and smiled. “I know, Kara. That’s why you’re going to do great.”

I could feel a blush rising, and I ducked my head as Doc returned to his examination of the woman’s interior.

A tapping on the observation window drew my attention, but I couldn’t see who was standing on the opposite side. The other room was darkened to make it easier for observers who didn’t want to get too close to the smell and gore to view the autopsy. Doc apparently knew who it was. He lifted a blood-covered gloved hand and motioned the person in.

The door to the autopsy room opened, and a man dressed in a dark-blue suit with a bland yellow-and-blue-striped tie entered. Brown hair that held just the barest touch of red in it was cut short but still had enough length to show that it would probably be wavy if ever grown long. Green eyes flecked with gold that were almost too pretty for a man were set in a rugged face that was not pretty but still managed to be handsome. He had an athletic build and was taller than I was by about a head, which I figured made him about six feet tall. And he was a Fed. I could almost smell it on him.

He gave me a brief, almost dismissive glance, then turned his attention to Doc. “Good morning, Dr. Lanza. I’m sorry I’m late. I hope I haven’t missed too much?”

I kept my expression controlled, trying not to show my annoyance at the way he’d dismissed me. Okay, so I didn’t look very detectively at the moment, wearing jeans and a T-shirt with my hair in a ponytail, but I’d learned the hard way about wearing nice clothing into an autopsy. Had a task force been formed already? Was this one of the Feds assigned to the case? It would have been nice if someone could have given me a heads-up.

“How ya doin’, Agent Kristoff?” Doc said. “Have you two met? This is Detective Kara Gillian. She’s the lead on this case for the Beaulac PD.”

Agent Kristoff returned his attention to me again, eyes narrowing in another appraisal—one I obviously failed the second time around as well, since he merely gave a tight shake of his head. “No, not yet. Special Agent Ryan Kristoff, FBI.” He extended his hand and, when I returned the gesture, he shook my hand for the absolute minimum length of time necessary for politeness, then dropped it and returned to ignoring me—even going so far as to step around me and approach the body.

Doc caught my eye and gave a barely perceptible shrug. I just sighed. And to think I’d been looking forward to having the help of the FBI.

“Dr. Lanza,” Agent Kristoff said, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned over and peered into the already dissected torso, “does the symbol on this victim match what was found on the previous Symbol Man victims?”

Doc gave Agent Kristoff a slightly puzzled smile, which delighted me, since I knew the expression was a total act. “I can’t say, Agent Kristoff. I haven’t reviewed the old case files to be able to make a comparison.” He paused. “Detective Gillian’s the resident expert on the Symbol Man.”

At that moment I loved Doc.

Kristoff’s eyes slid back to me. “You know the case?” he asked, the trace of disbelief so slight that I wasn’t sure if it was even there. Maybe I was being overly sensitive.

“I do. I’m sorry, but are you on the task force?” I asked, keeping my tone ingenuous.

The skin around his eyes tightened fractionally. “Yes, I was assigned this morning. I just drove over from New Orleans.”

I put on a friendly smile, forcing my face into the position. “Ah, I see. I’ll have to get you up to speed, then.”

“I’ve read the files,” he said flatly. “I was only hoping that Dr. Lanza had some recollection of the markings from when the previous Symbol Man was working this area.”

Dr. Lanza shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you. The only Symbol Man victim I posted was three years ago, right after I first came over here. We had a hard time finding the symbol at first, and even when we did it was tough to make it out. I just trusted the detectives when they said that it matched the others.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m sorry, Agent Kristoff, but you keep saying ‘the previous Symbol Man.’ What makes you think this isn’t the work of the same person?”

His expression shifted to something between a glower and a smirk. “I’m not willing to jump to the immediate conclusion that this is the same person. That line of thinking would limit the investigation far too much, and I don’t think that would be a wise thing to do so early on.”

Holy shit, how I wished I could smack the smug right off his face! But through sheer force of will I managed to merely give a shrug and a nod. “I suppose I can see that point of view. But, in my opinion, it’s a waste of time and resources to be looking for other options when so much of the data and evidence points to it being the same person. Sure,” I hurried to continue when he opened his mouth to speak, “I can understand that we need to keep other options open, but I prefer to keep them on the back burner at the moment, unless some compelling evidence comes up to give us more of an idea that it’s a different individual.” I tilted my head and smiled. “I’m pretty familiar with the case and the symbol and all of his methodology.” And the arcane traces, I added silently. “So I figure that if this guy is a copycat, he’s a damn good one. Which means that he’ll most likely follow the same methodology as in the previous murders. Which means that focusing on that methodology would be a good thing.” I found myself masking a grin. Had I really just said all that?>Carl snapped pictures of the body, starting with overall shots, then focusing in more closely on face and hands. The pictures of the injuries took a while, but I knew how important it was that all of this was documented thoroughly, and I didn’t mind waiting. Finally he unslung the camera and set it aside, then retrieved a syringe from the table by the sink. He glanced at me with a questioning look and the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Ready to give it a try?”

He did this to me every time. It was the only evidence of a sense of humor I’d ever seen in the placid tech. “No way,” I replied, shuddering.