CHAPTER FIVE
Miles had been staring at the same toxicology report for twenty minutes, trying to find a pattern in the mercury levels that would indicate intentional poisoning rather than accidental exposure.
This was a death out of Lynchburg, Virginia and while it did raise some eyebrows, Miles was certain this was going to be yet another dead end.
The numbers blurred together after a while, each data point looking identical to the last. He rubbed his eyes and reached for his coffee, finding the mug empty.
It was only eleven in the morning and needing coffee this badly already was not a good sign.
He was considering a refill when his phone rang. The caller display read AD HAYES. Ever since the task force had been assembled, Assistant Director Marcus Hayes only called with very important matters, so Miles wasted no time answering the call.
“This is Sterling.”
"Sterling, I believe we may have a hit on the Elementalist case out in Manhattan. I know I’ve given you free rein over this thing, but this is one where I need to step in. I need you two out there right away.”
Miles grabbed a pen. "Yes, sir. What are we looking at?"
"A suspicious death, as usual. This one is an Upper East Side penthouse.
The victim is Diane Rothschild, fifty-two years old.
She was a socialite and philanthropist. She was found by her assistant this morning when she didn't answer her phone.
The preliminary examination is showing something that screams Kane. "
"How unusual?"
"Her airways were coated with platinum."
Miles stopped writing. "Platinum?"
"That's what the medical examiner is saying.
I'm sending you the preliminary crime scene photos now.
This looks like it could be one of Kane's disciples, but we need confirmation.
Given the victim's profile and the bizarre nature of the death, this is getting attention from the mayor's office—hence the direct call to the FBI.
I need you on site as soon as possible."
Miles's phone buzzed with incoming images. He put Hayes on speaker and opened the files. The first photo showed a woman lying on her back on a bed. She was still wearing an evening gown, her arms at her sides, her eyes closed. At first glance she could have been sleeping.
The second photo was a close-up of her face.
Her lips had a strange metallic sheen to them, a silvery-white coating that extended slightly beyond the natural edges.
The third photo showed the medical examiner using a light to look into her mouth.
Miles could see the same metallic coating on her tongue and the inside of her cheeks.
"Jesus," Miles said quietly.
"The ME says the coating extends down her throat and into her trachea," Hayes continued. "They're running tests now to confirm it's platinum, but the visual appearance is consistent. She essentially suffocated as the metal blocked her ability to breathe."
Miles pulled up the fourth photo. This one showed some jewelry—Miles assumed belonging to the victim--laid out on the nightstand beside the bed: a diamond necklace with platinum settings, matching earrings, a bracelet. It was all arranged in a neat line.
"Was she robbed?" Miles asked.
"Nothing appears to be missing, according to the assistant.
The jewelry you're seeing in that photo is worth close to half a million dollars.
It was left at the scene. The apartment shows no signs of forced entry.
The doorman says no unauthorized visitors came through the lobby last night.
Security already checked the camera footage and confirmed it. "
Vic appeared in the doorway of the Nest. Miles waved her in and gestured to his phone. She moved closer to look at the screen.
"I'm putting you and Stone on the next flight to New York," Hayes said. Vic looked to Miles, baffled. "The NYPD is securing the scene but they're waiting for federal involvement before they move the body. I need you to confirm whether this is actually an elemental killing or something else."
"Understood. We'll head to the airport now."
Hayes ended the call. Miles looked up at Vic, who was studying the photos on his phone with a grim expression.
"Platinum coating her airways," Vic said. "That's new."
"Every disciple picks their own method." Miles swiped through the photos again, looking for details he might have missed. "But this feels different. The other crime scenes had manifestos. Written statements explaining the philosophy behind the killing. I'm not seeing anything like that here."
"Maybe it's somewhere else in the apartment."
“Or,” Miles said thoughtfully as another thought occurred to him, “maybe laying the jewelry out like that is taking the place of a manifesto.”
"Maybe. But why?"
Miles pulled up the photo of the jewelry again.
"Maybe because of what the jewelry represented.
Kane's disciples don't kill randomly. They choose victims who fit their element's symbolism.
" Miles thought about what platinum might symbolize.
It was rare, valuable, resistant to corrosion.
It was used in jewelry, in catalytic converters, in medical equipment.
"Platinum is incorruptible. It doesn't rust or tarnish.
Maybe the killer sees people wearing platinum jewelry as corrupting something pure. "
"That's a pretty thin connection."
"All of Kane's philosophy is thin. It only makes sense if you're already buying into the framework.
" Miles stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.
"But we won't know for sure until we see the scene ourselves. The task force has given us ten false leads in the past few weeks. I think maybe a feet-on-the-street approach could be refreshing.”
They walked quickly through the corridor toward the main office area.
Miles was already running through the checklist of things he needed before leaving.
His go-bag was in his car. He had clean clothes, his field kit, his credentials.
He would need to grab his laptop from his cubicle and make sure he had the preliminary case files Hayes had sent.
As they entered the bullpen, Miles saw Kim standing near his desk. She was holding a tablet and looked like she had been waiting for him.
"Hayes just called me about New York," she said. "He wants me to stay here with the task force."
Miles felt a flicker of disappointment that surprised him with its intensity.
He had gotten used to having Kim on cases over the past few months.
She was good at what she did, quick with databases and background research, able to find connections that others missed.
But more than that, he had simply gotten used to having her around.
"Makes sense," Miles said, trying to keep his tone neutral. "The task force needs support here while we're in the field. And you’ve proven time and time again that you can help us from a distance."
"I know. I just thought I'd be going with you." Kim glanced at Vic and then back to Miles.
They stood there for a moment longer than necessary.
Miles was aware of Vic watching them with poorly concealed interest. He knew he should say something else…
maybe he should acknowledge the evening they had spent together at McGinty's, or maybe he should tell Kim that he would call her from New York.
But with Vic standing right there and the pressure of the case bearing down, he could not find the right words.
Kim seemed to understand. She gave him a small smile that carried more meaning than it should have. "I'll coordinate with the task force and send you anything relevant we find."
"Thanks."
She turned and walked back toward the Nest. Miles watched her go, feeling the weight of things unsaid hanging in the air between them.
"So," Vic said as they started walking again. "You and Kim."
"What? There's no me and Kim."
"Right. That's why you two just had an entire conversation with your eyes."
Miles ignored her and headed to his cubicle. He grabbed his laptop and shoved it into his messenger bag along with the preliminary files Hayes had sent. His phone, chargers, notebook. Everything he would need for what could be a quick trip or could turn into days of investigation.
Vic leaned against the edge of his desk. "For what it's worth, I think she's good for you. Better than sitting alone in your apartment drinking bourbon every night."
"I don't drink bourbon every night."
"You used to."
Miles zipped his bag closed. "Can we focus on the case?"
"We are focused on the case. I'm just saying it's okay to have a life outside of work. Elena wouldn't want you to be alone forever."
The mention of Elena's name felt like a punch to the chest, but not in the way it used to.
Vic was right, of course. Elena would have hated seeing him isolated and grieving for months on end.
She would have told him to move on, to find someone who made him happy.
But knowing that intellectually and feeling ready to act on it were two different things.
And hearing it from Vic just seemed…weird.
"Let's just get to New York," Miles said, a bit more bitterly than he’d intended.
They hurried to the elevators in silence, and Miles could already feel the pull of a case from several states away—hopefully drawing them to a legitimate disciple before they could kill again.