CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Margaret Brogden fastened the thin leash to Daisy’s collar, the terrier-mix already dancing in impatient circles by the front door.
Dawn hadn’t quite broken—just a pale suggestion of light softening the eastern sky—but this had been their routine for years, rain or shine, weekday or weekend.
The neighborhood slept around them, house windows still dark.
These precious minutes before the world awakened belonged to Margaret and Daisy alone, their private communion with Liberty Meadows Park before joggers and commuters reclaimed it for the day.
“Patience, little one,” Margaret murmured, zipping her windbreaker against the morning chill.
September had brought the first whispers of autumn to DC, crisp mornings that gave way to pleasant afternoons.
She checked her pocket for the small flashlight—a habit from her teaching days when preparedness had been second nature—and tucked a handful of biodegradable waste bags into the other.
Daisy’s nails clicked eagerly against the concrete as they descended the three steps from Margaret’s porch.
The street lamps still cast pools of amber light across the sidewalk, their glow still comforting in the gathering dawn.
Margaret inhaled deeply, savoring the particular stillness of early morning.
The entrance to Liberty Meadows Park was just two blocks away, marked by wrought-iron gates that stood perpetually open.
As they passed through, Daisy’s pace quickened, her compact body vibrating with familiar excitement.
Margaret allowed a small smile to creep across her face.
Sixty-two years old, retired from shaping young minds, and here she was, finding great joy in these simple morning walks with a creature who loved the world without reservation.
“Where shall we go today, girl? The pond? The rose garden?” She spoke aloud, her voice carrying in the quiet. A chickadee answered from somewhere in the trees, its distinctive call piercing the dawn chorus just beginning to swell around them.
They followed their usual path, a winding trail that curved through groves of oak and maple, past carefully tended flower beds now fading with the season.
Margaret nodded to the single jogger they passed—a young woman with wireless earbuds who acknowledged her with a breathless smile—then continued toward the western edge of the park, where a small meadow offered Daisy room to explore within the constraints of her leash.
The first indication that this morning would diverge from routine came when they approached the cluster of ancient oaks that bordered the meadow.
Daisy, normally content to trot slightly ahead, suddenly stiffened.
Her ears shot up, her nose twitching rapidly as she sampled the air.
Before Margaret could question the change, the dog lurched sideways, yanking the leash toward a dense grove of trees set back from the main path.
“Daisy, no,” Margaret admonished, tugging gently to redirect her companion. “That’s not our way.”
But Daisy, sixteen pounds of sudden stubborn determination, dug her paws into the path and refused to budge.
“What’s gotten into you?” Margaret’s annoyance fluttered at the edges of her voice.
Sixty years of conditioning had taught her patience—with children, with colleagues, with the various disappointments life had dealt her—but at this hour, with caffeine still an unfulfilled promise, her reserves were limited. “Come along now.”
But the dog pulled harder, her collar straining against her throat, a low whine building in her chest.
“Daisy?” Concern replaced irritation as Margaret knelt beside her companion. The dog’s eyes were fixed on something beyond the trees, her entire body trembling. “What is it, girl? What do you see?”
The whimpering was punctuated by small, forceful tugs toward the grove.
Margaret straightened, squinting into the shadows between the trees.
The rising sun had not yet penetrated this corner of the park, leaving it wrapped in gray half-light and morning mist. Nothing moved there—no squirrels to chase, no other dogs to greet—just stillness and silence.
Despite the encroaching daylight, this secluded grove suddenly felt removed from the safety of the familiar world. But Daisy was persistent in tugging toward those trees.
“Alright,” Margaret sighed, relenting. “Let’s see what’s troubling you.”
She allowed Daisy to lead her off the path, stepping carefully over exposed roots and fallen branches.
The ground was soft beneath her sneakers, cushioned with years of decomposing leaves.
As they moved deeper into the grove, the ambient sounds of morning traffic faded, replaced by the subtle creaking of branches overhead and Daisy’s increasingly agitated breathing.
The dog stopped abruptly at the edge of a small clearing dominated by a massive oak, its trunk so wide that Margaret couldn’t have encircled it with her arms. Daisy’s whimpering quieted to a series of small, distressed sounds, her body pressed against Margaret’s ankles as if seeking reassurance.
That’s when Margaret saw her—a woman seated at the base of the great oak, back resting against its rough bark.
Her posture was peaceful, almost meditative, head tilted slightly as if she’d dozed off while contemplating the canopy above.
Dark hair framed a face that even in the dim light appeared young, perhaps in her early thirties.
Her hands were folded in her lap, cradling what looked like a delicate paper swan, its white surface luminous against the woman’s dark clothing.
“Oh!” Margaret’s surprise emerged as a soft exclamation. “I’m so sorry to disturb you.”
The woman didn’t stir. Didn’t blink. Didn’t acknowledge Margaret’s presence in any way.
“Miss?” Margaret ventured again, taking a tentative step closer. “Are you alright?”
There was no reply.
Something cold and leaden settled in Margaret’s stomach as she pulled out her flashlight, turned it on, and moved close enough to see the woman’s face clearly for the first time.
Her skin was the bloodless white of marble, lips tinged blue, eyes open but vacant—staring at nothing, seeing nothing.
No rise and fall of breath disturbed the perfect stillness of her chest. The paper swan in her hands—exquisitely folded from what appeared to be pristine white paper—remained motionless despite the gentle morning breeze that stirred the leaves overhead.
“Oh, God,” Margaret whispered, instinctively reaching for her phone.
Her hands trembled as she dialed 911, her eyes unable to leave the woman’s face—young, peaceful, and utterly, irrevocably still.
The emergency dispatcher’s voice seemed to come from miles away as Margaret struggled to describe where she was, what she had found.
*
The harsh chirp of Riley’s phone sliced through the darkness, dragging her from a dreamless sleep into instant alertness.
She reached for it reflexively, squinting at the glowing screen that read 6:32 a.m. and displayed Brookman’s name.
Only one reason for the detective to call at this hour—the origami killer had struck again.
Riley pressed the phone to her ear, already swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
“Paige,” she answered, her voice clear despite the early hour.
Years in the FBI had conditioned her to wake completely in seconds, to transition from unconsciousness to decision-making without the luxury of adjustment.
“We’ve got another one.” Brookman’s voice was tight, clipped. No need to specify what he meant. “Liberty Meadows Park, northwest section. A woman walking her dog found the body about twenty minutes ago.”
Riley closed her eyes briefly. A third victim, despite their efforts, despite the protective detail they’d arranged for Mae Simmons.
“Cause of death?”
“Can’t confirm yet, but it has all the hallmarks. Female victim, no signs of struggle, and—” Brookman hesitated, “—there’s an origami figure. A swan, according to the first responding officer.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” Riley said, already mentally mapping the fastest route to Liberty Meadows Park. “Have you called Agent Esmer?”
“Just got off the phone with her. She’s expecting you to pick her up at her apartment.”
“On my way,” Riley ended the call and flicked on the bedside lamp.
The sudden illumination revealed a bedroom meticulously organized—a necessary counterbalance to the chaos Riley confronted in her work.
She dressed quickly, selecting dark slacks and a charcoal blazer that would be practical for a long day at an outdoor crime scene.
No time for a shower; she combed her hair hastily, splashed cold water on her face, and applied the minimal makeup that had become her professional armor—just enough to hide the shadows beneath her eyes, remnants of too many interrupted nights and haunting cases.
Her movements were efficient, her mind already shifting into analytical mode.
Three victims now, each with an origami figure placed on their body.
The first, a fan with the message “Do Not Unfold.” The second, a crane designed to disintegrate when touched.
And now, apparently, a swan. The killer was communicating something through these choices.
Fans, cranes, swans—each figure held symbolic meaning in origami traditions.
Each was becoming more complex, more sophisticated.
What would the paper design tell them this time?
Riley checked her weapon and badge, then grabbed her phone from the nightstand. A text from Ann Marie confirmed she was awake and waiting. As Riley descended the stairs, she caught the scent of coffee brewing—a reminder that in her household, she wasn’t the only early riser.
Gabriela stood at the kitchen counter, already dressed in her customary slacks and blouse, her salt-and-pepper hair neatly pinned back. She turned at Riley’s approach, her experienced eyes taking in the agent’s appearance with one swift assessment.
“Another murder?” she asked, reaching for a second mug without waiting for confirmation.
“Yes,” Riley said, grateful for the routine they’d established over the years. “A body in Liberty Meadows Park. I need to meet Ann Marie and get there as soon as possible.”
Gabriela nodded, pouring coffee into a travel mug and securing its lid before handing it to Riley. “I will make sure Jilly gets to school safely and on time,” she said, answering the question Riley hadn’t needed to ask. “And I will tell her you had an early call.”
“Thank you,” Riley said, the simple phrase carrying the years of shared understanding. In many ways, Gabriela was as much a partner in raising April and now Jilly as Riley herself—the steady presence who maintained the household’s equilibrium when Riley was pulled away by the demands of her work.
“I made banana bread yesterday,” Gabriela said, already reaching for a cloth-lined basket on the counter. She wrapped a thick slice in a napkin and pressed it into Riley’s free hand. “You need to eat something.”
The simple gesture—so characteristic of Gabriela’s practical care—brought a rush of gratitude. “You’re a lifesaver,” Riley said, meaning it literally on more occasions than she could count.
Gabriela waved away the thanks. “Go. Catch whoever is doing these terrible things.”
Riley nodded, clutching the coffee in one hand and the bread in the other, her bag on an arm, as she headed toward the front door.
She paused only long enough to check that the security system was still armed, a habit that had become more pronounced since Leo had begun his twisted obsession with her.
The small green light confirmed that their electronic defenses remained intact.
As she stepped outside into the pre-dawn chill, Riley took a moment to survey the quiet street.
Nothing seemed out of place—no unfamiliar vehicles, no shadowy figures lurking between houses.
Yet the feeling of being watched, of being hunted, had become so familiar that its absence would have been more notable than its presence.
She unlocked her car and slid behind the wheel, placing the coffee in the cupholder and the banana bread on the passenger seat for later.
As she backed out of the driveway, her mind was already racing ahead to Liberty Meadows Park, to the body waiting there, to the origami swan and what it might reveal about the killer they sought.
Driving through streets that were already beginning to fill with traffic, Riley forced herself to compartmentalize—to push thoughts of Leo Dillard into a locked corner of her mind where they couldn’t contaminate her focus on the immediate case.
There was no space now for personal fears, no matter how justified.
Three women were dead, their bodies posed and marked with folded paper.
Somewhere in the city, a killer walked free, perhaps already selecting victim number four.