Chapter 3
Despite having seen this exact crime scene in several other states around the country, Mateo never stopped growing sick to his stomach.
The victim lay in a heavily wooded area, stripped naked and sliced open.
The blood had long since dried on the ground around her—so much of it that it had gone from crimson to black.
Someone had preserved her dignity by draping her from the shoulders down, but he could see the pentagram carved into the lower part of her belly through the white fabric.
Smith knelt beside the corpse and lifted the edge of the sheet to keep from exposing her. Cringing, he quickly lowered the drape, then dragged it up to cover her face.
“We can send for an autopsy, but it looks like the same cause of death—exsanguination.”
Mateo nodded, staring down at the corpse, taking in every detail. On first glance, nothing seemed to be any different from the others. Even as his heart sank, he realized he shouldn’t have been surprised. This UNSUB was good at covering his tracks.
“Anything left behind that we can get DNA off of?” he asked the local detective who had arrived at the scene to offer them assistance.
“Nothing that could be found externally,” the detective replied. “We’ll be certain to have the M.E. inspect beneath her fingernails for skin cells and check inside for traces of semen.”
You won’t find any.
“Detective, I want this woman identified. Name, age, place of employment, address. Tell the M.E. I want to know everything they find in the autopsy, down to the contents of her stomach. If there’s a pattern in victimology we’re missing, then we need to be as thorough as possible.”
“Of course, sir. We’re working on that now. The victim didn’t have any I.D. on her, but we’ll run her prints. If she’s in the system, we’ll have a place to start.”
It boded well for him that this detective was being so cooperative.
Police officers or detectives with inflated egos could make Mateo’s job difficult, especially when they began to feel he encroached on their territory.
Usually, he was good at charming his way through, ensuring they knew he was on their side and wanted to work together.
Right then, he didn’t have that in him. Truly, he hadn’t had it for some time now.
“Garcia, I’ve got something here!”
Mateo whirled to find Williams crouched by on the edge of a pool of blood beneath the body.
As he approached, an officer appeared at her side to offer a latex glove and a pair of tweezers.
Williams used the tweezers to lift something small and square from beneath the sticky blood.
He couldn’t imagine how she had spotted it, but something that felt like hope seized his chest as she turned it over and displayed it to him.
“A matchbook?” he muttered, going down on his haunches and squinting.
The little square was covered with blood on one side, but on the other, he could make out some kind of print.
Blinking, he growled his annoyance at the evidence that he would soon need reading glasses.
It was never far from his mind that he was pushing forty-two, and his body never let him forget it.
Mari had teased him over it, as well as the strands of silver that had begun appearing along his jaw.
Williams turned the matchbook over and studied it. “It’s for some kind of bar, I think. Solstice, New Orleans, Louisiana.”
The back of Mateo’s neck tingled as Williams slipped the matchbook into an evidence bag and handed it off to an officer.
They were unlikely to gather much forensic evidence from it, but he wouldn’t disregard whatever clues could be found.
The randomness of a matchbook from New Orleans turning up in Little Rock aside, this was one of the first pieces of new evidence they had found in months.
There had been the customary coin left lying in the center of the victim’s chest and smudged with blood, but it wouldn’t tell them anything more than what the others had.
Moving toward the members of his team gathered nearby, he prepared to discuss their next move when his work phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he frowned. Carlisle never bothered him when he was in the field, trusting him to handle himself without being micromanaged.
“Garcia.”
Carlisle’s issued a sigh that was filled with foreboding. “I wouldn’t normally call when you’re in the field, but this is important. We just got a call … The Satanist struck again in another state.”
Mateo flinched as if he’d been slapped, shock jolting through him. “Not possible.”
“Whether or not it’s possible is what I need you to find out. When I get a call about a dead woman matching this UNSUB’s victimology and same cause of death, I don’t see how it could be anything else.”
Mateo pinched the bridge of his nose, his thoughts churning. “He never strikes again so soon. Not to mention, in a completely different state? No way can he move that fast.”
“He could be escalating,” she offered. “That wouldn’t be surprising given how long he’s been at it. It was only a matter of time.”
“We have the Arkansas crime scene to finish. The body is still lying where it was found.”
“Garcia, is there any new evidence at this crime scene that is worth remaining in Arkansas for, rather than getting to Louisiana to inspect this new scene? If he’s escalating, that means he’s making mistakes. This new scene—”
“Wait, what did you say? Louisiana? As in, New Orleans?”
A beat of silence passed before Carlisle answered. “Yes, actually. You’re expected in New Orleans this evening. How did you know that?”
Mateo glanced toward his team and found them watching him expectantly. The fatigue that had begun to plague him after such a long day and a shitty night’s sleep was gone. In its place, resolve settled in. They had just been handed the first major lead in the case since they’d taken it on.
“We found something here pointing us right at New Orleans. We’ll leave as soon as it can be arranged.”
“I emailed the details of the case and flight itineraries to Williams. And, Garcia?”
“Ma’am?”
“Nail this bastard to the wall. Don’t come home until it’s done.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Approaching his team while killing the call, he folded his arms across his chest. “That was Carlisle. We have another victim in New Orleans matching our guy’s M.O.”
Williams’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “That can’t be a coincidence.”
“Also,” Smith offered, “he’s never struck so quickly after a fresh kill. He’s escalating.”
Mateo shrugged. “That’s what Carlisle thinks. Williams, travel itineraries are in your email.”
Williams was already scrolling her work phone. “Wheels up at six p.m., sir.”
“I’ll meet you at the airport. I have to run an errand.”
Getting the attention of the first officer who crossed his path, Mateo hoped the guy was feeling charitable.
“Is there a gas station or convenience store near here?”
The officer pointed at the road stretching out just beyond the trees. “A few miles east. Need a lift, Agent?”
Mateo was relieved when the guy inclined his head toward a squad car with a friendly smile.
This would go easier than he’d expected, which was good.
He needed to get this done so he could refocus on the case.
If Carlisle could be believed, shit was about to get dicey, which meant he wouldn’t have another chance for a while.
A short time later, he stood on the curb outside a small but surprisingly well-stocked convenience store. Officer Knightly remained in his squad car, smoking a cigarette. He seemed content to allow Mateo all the time he needed.
He quickly dialed the number for his mother-in-law, pressing hard due to the stiff buttons on the brand-new phone. The torn-open package for the little prepaid flip phone rested beneath one arm, while the card containing enough minutes for this one call had been tossed into a curbside trash can.
“Digame!” called out the rough, accented voice of Mariana’s mother.
“It’s me, Valentina. Mateo.”
A beat of silence passed, during which she probably tried to decide if it was really him. He had, after all, urged her to be extremely cautious.
“I want to talk to Angel.”
“Si, she’s here.”
“How is she?”
“The same,” Valentina replied with a sigh. “Too quiet, and she doesn’t eat enough. The teacher says she does her work but doesn’t raise her hand or speak in class. She just sits there.”
Closing his eyes, he attempted to swallow past the lump in his throat. He’d hoped Angelica’s sullenness would eventually pass, but his absence seemed to have exacerbated the problem.
Mateo had arranged for Angelica and his mother-in-law to go into hiding.
Smith helped him make the arrangements, setting them up someplace Mateo knew nothing about.
If he didn’t know where they’d gone, he couldn’t be coerced into giving them up.
Not that he would, but the extra protection it offered couldn’t be denied.
Smith had them take on new last names, ensuring they had identification to match.
“Is therapy not working?” he asked, annoyed that distance kept him from knowing these things himself.
Being ignorant to his daughter’s location meant he knew almost nothing about her everyday life.
Valentina had been taking her to weekly counseling sessions, but Mateo only ever received the rare update about those.
“The therapist can hardly get her to speak either, so it’s hard to say.”
“Have you found a dance studio for her yet?” he asked, recalling their last conversation. “It’ll take her mind off things if she can dance again.”
“She won’t go,” Valentina replied, her voice quivering as if she fought tears. “I don’t know what to do, Mateo. She’s not interested in any of the things she used to like.”
Tightening his grip on the phone, he nodded—a confirmation of his earlier thoughts.
He was running out of time to put this to bed.
His daughter needed him. If she were here, he would make her grilled cheese sandwiches and let her eat them in bed with him.
They’d watch Frozen and Brave and dance to her favorite songs on the radio.
When she stood right in front of him, he knew how to make her smile.
That was something else the UNSUB had taken from him—his ability to be there for his daughter, to be a good father.
“Let me talk to her.”
He heard movement and Valentina murmuring, “Your Papi wants to talk to you.”
Angelica’s voice reached him, but so muted he couldn’t decipher any actual words. She must have replied that she didn’t want to talk to him because Valentina swiftly reprimanded her in Spanish, reminding her that it had been an entire month since Mateo’s last call.
A moment later, his daughter’s soft tone reached out to him over the line. “Hi, Papi.”
The knot in his throat grew even tighter at the sound of her voice. She sounded tired, sad. Not at all like the bright little girl he knew.
“Hey, mi hija!” he replied, trying to inject a little cheer into his tone for her sake. “How’s my girl?”
“Fine,” she answered.
Apparently, the habit of answering him in monosyllables would continue.
“Good,” he said, pretending he didn’t notice her flat tone. “Abuela tells me your grades are good.”
“I guess.”
Two words now. He supposed it could be counted as progress.
“I asked her to find a studio so you can pick up ballet again,” he offered, hoping it would be enough …
just until he could get to her. It had to be enough because at the moment, it was all he could offer her.
“Just until I finish things up and bring you home … then you can go back to your own studio.”
“Okay. I guess that would be fun.”
Tears sprang to his eyes. An entire sentence.
She’d barely spoken five words to him during their last conversation.
He should have known that getting her back into ballet would do the trick, at least temporarily.
Angelica seemed to have been born to dance, having begun ballet and tap dancing at the age of three.
She had flourished from the start, and he and Mariana had always gone the extra mile to ensure she could attend the best studio in D.C.
, and at least one of them could always come to her recitals.
“Okay, mi hija. I’ll make sure it all gets set up, okay? And it’ll only be a few more weeks. Then, we can go home.”
“Okay, Papi.”
He detected disbelief in her tone. Not that he could blame her. The few weeks he’d mentioned were his hope, but after more than a year of chasing this UNSUB with no end in sight, he began to think taking his daughter and leaving the country might need to be his next step.
What else could he do?
“Listen, I need to go now,” he told her. “I have to catch a flight, but I’ll call again really soon. I promise.”
“Sure.”
“I love you, Angel,” he murmured.
His breath caught in his throat as he waited for her to reply. A sigh of relief escaped when she said she loved him, too, before giving the phone back to Valentina.
“She agreed to try a dance studio,” he said, once his mother-in-law returned to the phone. “Find the best one in your area and let me know the cost. I don’t care how much, I’ll pay for it. Buy her new gear, too. Slippers, tights, leotards, the whole thing.”
“Thank you. I think she needed this call today. She seems happier now.”
He heard what Valentina didn’t say. Angelica seemed as happy as a girl in her shoes could be. Nothing would bring her comfort like being able to come home. After reminding Valentina to be careful and informing her he’d do his best to call again soon, he hung up.
Promptly tossing the burner phone into the garbage can, he threw the packaging in behind it, along with the receipt.
He always paid in cash and never used the same burner phone twice.
He couldn’t let this killer have any way of using him to find Angelica.
If he lost her, there was nothing left to fight for.