CHAPTER FIVE
“Has something happened to my sister?” The woman standing at Brittany Hall’s apartment door demanded. “This officer just told me this is a crime scene.”
Riley’s breath caught. The woman who’d lived here had been murdered two days ago, and Brookman had only mentioned contacting an estranged mother.
Yet this person stared at them with eyes that mirrored the dead woman’s she’d seen in photographs—dark, intense—and there were other similarities in their features.
“I’m Detective Brookman with DC Metro,” he stepped forward. “I’ve already reached out to Ms. Hall’s mother. She said there were no other family members …”
“That’s my mom,” the woman replied emphatically. “My name is Cathy Perkins. Born Cathy Hall. What’s happened to Brittany?”
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but Brittany Hall is dead.” Seeming at a loss for what to say next, he gestured toward to Riley and Ann Marie. “These are Special Agents Paige and Esmer from the FBI.”
The hallway suddenly seemed too narrow, too public for the conversation that needed to happen next.
Riley glanced at the apartment door standing ajar behind Officer Mendez, then at the curious faces peeking out from neighboring apartments.
“Ms. Perkins, perhaps we should continue this conversation inside,” she suggested gently.
Brookman nodded in agreement. “Good idea. Officer Mendez, continue securing the scene.” He turned back to Cathy. “If you’ll follow us, Ms. Perkins.”
They led Cathy into the apartment, closing the door behind them. When Brookman glared at the one officer still at work there, he stepped out of the living room, giving them space to talk.
Riley watched the woman’s reaction closely, noting how her grief-stricken expression shifted to something more complex—confusion …shock—as she took in the surroundings.
“What... what are all these?” Cathy whispered, moving toward one of the origami figures on the coffee table—a perfectly folded crane with wings extended as if preparing for flight. “Did Brittany make these?”
“We believe so,” Riley replied. “You seem surprised.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this. Not from Brittany.
” Cathy reached out as if to touch the paper figure, then pulled her hand back.
“She never did anything like this. Never had the patience for...” Her voice trailed off as her gaze traveled around the room, taking in the dozens of intricate origami creations that inhabited every surface. “When did she start making these?”
Riley exchanged a meaningful glance with Ann Marie. This was consistent with what they’d learned about Rachel Bennett—a sudden, unexpected interest in origami that coincided with an improvement in mental stability.
“That’s one of the things we’re trying to determine,” Ann Marie said, her voice carrying that perfectly calibrated blend of professionalism and compassion that seemed to come so naturally to her. “Why don’t we sit down?”
They arranged themselves in the living room—Cathy perched on the edge of the sofa, Riley and Ann Marie taking the two armchairs, and Brookman opting to stand, his back against the wall as if he couldn’t quite commit to the intimacy of sitting.
“Ms. Perkins,” Brookman began, “Do you have some identification? Something to show …”
“That I’m actually Brittany’s sister?”
She whipped a wallet out of her handbag and showed them a photo of the two women together, standing in front of a Christmas tree. “I don’t know what else,” she said.
“Thank you. That will do for now,” Brookman said, his tone gentler than Riley had heard from him all day. “Your sister’s body was discovered two days ago by the building superintendent after neighbors reported her door had been left open for several hours.”
Cathy’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening. “Two days ago? I just spoke with her last week...”
“Based on our investigation, she was killed by an intruder,” He paused, seeming to weigh how much detail to share.
Cathy’s breath hitched. “Who? Why?”
Brookman made a decision and plunged ahead.
“There’s been another victim killed under similar circumstances.
In both cases, the medical examiner determined the cause of death to be respiratory failure induced by a paralytic drug.
The killer left each of them positioned on the bed with an origami figure placed on her chest.”
“Oh God,” Cathy whispered. “So it’s... what, a serial killer? Targeting women in DC?”
“That’s what we’re working to determine,” Riley said.
“We’re still early in the investigation,” Ann Marie said, “but the similarities suggest the cases are connected, yes.”
Brookman cleared his throat. “Ms. Perkins, as I told you, we did notify your family about Brittany’s death. Our records indicated your mother lives in Maine...”
“That woman,” Cathy spat with sudden venom, her grief momentarily eclipsed by anger. “Let me guess—she was too drunk to comprehend what you were telling her, or maybe she just didn’t care?”
The vehemence in her voice caught Riley off guard. “You don’t have a close relationship with your mother?”
“Close?” Cathy let out a bitter laugh. “My mother hasn’t been close to anyone except a bottle of gin for the past twenty years.
Brittany and I both cut ties with her years ago.
I’m not surprised she didn’t mention me.
I’m surprised she even remembered she had a daughter named Brittany when you called. ”
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Ann Marie said softly. “It sounds like your family situation has been difficult.”
“Difficult is one word for it.” Cathy’s eyes glistened with tears that she stubbornly refused to let fall.
“Our father drank himself to death when I was nineteen, and Brittany was seventeen. Mom started her own journey down the same path not long after. I got out of college, marriage, kids, a house in Buffalo with a yard and a dog.” Her voice cracked.
“I tried to get Brittany out too, but she was already... struggling.”
Riley nodded, encouraging Cathy to continue. Family history often revealed crucial context.
“I’m the only one in my immediate family who managed to build a normal life,” Cathy said, a hint of defensive pride threading through her grief. “Brittany tried, she really did, but her... condition made it hard for her to maintain relationships, hold down regular jobs.”
Brookman shifted his weight, arms still crossed over his chest. “Ms. Perkins, you mentioned you flew down from Buffalo. What brought you to DC today specifically?”
Cathy looked down at her hands, now twisted together in her lap. “Brittany called me, out of the blue, a few days ago. Asked me to come visit her.”
“That’s unusual?” Riley asked, though the answer seemed evident.
“Very.” Cathy swallowed hard. “We hadn’t spoken in almost a year.
We had a falling out last Christmas. That’s when the photo was taken.
I invited her to Buffalo to spend the holidays with my family, and she.
.. well, she had an episode. Scared my kids, broke some things.
My husband asked her to leave.” She shook her head.
“I tried to call her afterward, to check on her, but she wouldn’t pick up. Eventually, I stopped trying.”
Riley leaned forward slightly. “When she called you recently, did she seem like she might be in some kind of trouble?”
“That’s the strangest part,” Cathy said, her brow furrowing. “She sounded better than I’d heard her in years. Calm. Centered. She said she’d ‘turned a corner’ and wanted to make peace with me.”
“Turned a corner?” Ann Marie echoed, exchanging a significant look with Riley. The building superintendent had used those exact words to describe Brittany’s recent behavioral change.
“Those were her words, yes. She said she’d found something that helped her control her impulses, that she was making progress in a way she never had before.
” Cathy gestured helplessly at the paper menagerie surrounding them.
“I guess this was part of it. Though she never mentioned origami or any kind of hobby.”
“She specifically invited you to visit?” Riley prompted.
Cathy nodded. “Said she wanted us to reconnect, to be sisters again. I was skeptical, honestly—Brittany had periods of improvement before, but they never lasted. Still, something in her voice sounded... different this time.” Her voice broke.
“So I booked a flight. Landed at Reagan this morning, rented a car, came straight here.”
The reality of the situation seemed to finally crash over Cathy then. Her face crumpled, and she buried it in her hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Ann Marie moved immediately to the sofa, sitting beside Cathy and placing a comforting hand on her back.
“I’m so sorry,” Ann Marie murmured, her voice carrying the practiced comfort of someone who had guided countless families through the first stages of grief. “Take all the time you need.”
Riley watched as Ann Marie’s gentle presence worked its magic—magic that Ann Marie had learned from growing up around her father’s mortuary. Cathy’s breathing gradually steadied, and after a few moments, she raised her tear-streaked face.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just hitting me that she’s really gone.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Ann Marie assured her. “This is an enormous shock.”
With the same gentle skill that Riley had observed Ann Marie employ many times before, the younger agent guided the conversation forward. “Cathy, if you feel up to it, we’d like to understand more about your sister’s mental health. It could help us understand what happened.”
Cathy nodded, drawing a deep breath. “Brittany was diagnosed with intermittent explosive disorder in her twenties.” She glanced at Riley and Brookman. “It’s a condition where—”
“She had difficulty controlling aggressive impulses,” Riley finished, connecting the diagnosis to the building superintendent’s description of Brittany’s confrontational behavior. “Episodes of rage or aggression disproportionate to the situation.”
“Yes, exactly,” Cathy confirmed. “She’d be fine for weeks, then something would trigger her—often something small, insignificant—and she’d just..
. explode. Screaming, throwing things, sometimes getting physical.
Afterward, she’d be mortified, full of remorse.
She tried medication and therapy, but nothing seemed to work long-term. ”
“Is that why she moved around so much?” Ann Marie asked.
“She never stayed in one place more than a couple of years,” Cathy agreed. “She’d have an incident, alienate everyone around her, then start fresh somewhere new. She was brilliant with computers—could always find remote work—but maintaining personal relationships was nearly impossible for her.”
“And yet she called you recently,” Riley noted. “Saying she’d improved.”
“She sounded like a different person on the phone,” Cathy said, shaking her head in lingering disbelief. “Said she’d been practicing techniques that were helping her manage her impulses. I was skeptical, but hopeful.”
Riley’s mind flashed to Rachel Bennett, whose husband had described a similar transformation. Two women with different mental health conditions, both suddenly finding stability, both taking up origami, both murdered in the same distinctive way. The connection was unmistakable.
“Cathy,” Ann Marie asked gently, “did Brittany mention participating in any kind of therapy program recently? Support groups? A new doctor?”
“No, nothing like that. Though honestly, we didn’t talk details.
The call was brief—she just wanted to know if I would come visit, said she had something important to share with me in person.
” Cathy glanced around the apartment again.
“I guess maybe it was this? Her newfound skill with paper folding?”
Brookman spoke up again. “Ms. Perkins, I know you’ll want to go through your sister’s belongings, but I have to inform you that this apartment is still an active crime scene.”
“Of course,” Cathy said, wiping at her eyes. “When will I be able to... you know, take care of her things?”
“Later this evening, most likely,” Brookman replied. “We should be finished processing the scene by then. In the meantime, I’d suggest checking into a hotel nearby.”
“Yes, I’ll do that.” Cathy rose unsteadily to her feet. “I just need to... I need a minute ….”
“I understand,” Brookman said. “Officer Mendez will escort you out and can recommend some nearby hotels. We’ll need your contact information before you leave.”
After Ann Marie helped Cathy exchange information with Brookman, the traumatized sister left with Officer Mendez. The three investigators remained in the apartment, surrounded by Brittany Hall’s paper creations.
“Well,” Brookman said, breaking the silence, “I need to head back to the Bennett scene, check on my team’s progress. Also want to follow up with the husband’s friend, Kevin Hitchens, to verify his alibi. I’ll assign our other officer on site to the door while Mendez is gone.”
Riley glanced at her watch, surprised to see it was already past noon. Her stomach reminded her that breakfast had been hours ago. “Ann Marie and I are going to grab some lunch, talk through what we’ve learned so far.”
Brookman nodded. “I’ll call if anything significant turns up. We’ve got the autopsy scheduled for Bennett this afternoon. I’ll send you the preliminary report when it comes in.”
They parted ways, Brookman heading to the back room to speak with his officer while Riley and Ann Marie made their way out of the building.
As they approached their car, Riley pulled out her phone, checking for messages.
The screen revealed no missed calls, no texts.
April usually texted or called by this time of day, a brief check-in that had become part of their routine since she’d started college.
Riley stared at the blank screen, rational explanations presenting themselves: April was in class, her phone had died, she was having lunch with friends, and simply hadn’t thought to reach out yet.
All perfectly reasonable scenarios, she told herself, yet her thumb hovered over April’s contact, ready to call.
No—she was being ridiculous.
She slid her phone back into her pocket, forcing her attention to the case at hand.