CHAPTER ELEVEN #2
They approached the front of the house, showing their credentials to the uniformed officer who seemed to be managing access to the crime scene.
The officer consulted his log and waved them through, directing them toward the front porch where they could see a woman sitting on the steps, wrapped in a blanket and staring blankly at the street.
"That's Jessica Breeding," the officer explained. "She's the one who found the body. She's been pretty shaken up, but she's coherent enough to answer questions if you need to talk to her."
Miles could see that Breeding was in some kind of shock, her posture reflecting the psychological trauma of discovering Goldberg's body.
She appeared to be in her early thirties, with long dark hair and the kind of understated elegance that suggested she moved in the same social circles as their victims.
"Any details about her relationship with Goldberg?" Vic asked.
"She was pretty upfront about it," the officer replied.
"Said they weren't in a serious relationship, more of a casual arrangement.
She'd come by a couple times a week, usually late at night.
He'd given her a key to the house about two months ago and they’d…
well, they were only sleeping together. That was all. "
Another officer approached them as they stood on the front walkway, his expression grim but professional. "Agent Stone? I'm Detective Martinez with SFPD. We've been coordinating with the field office on this case."
Vic quickly shook the detective’s hand as she said, "What can you tell us about the scene?"
"Seems to be the same methodology as the previous murders. The victim is positioned in the living room, coated in gold leaf, arranged like some kind of art installation. No obvious signs of forced entry, no evidence of a struggle aside from what appears to be a blow to the side of Goldberg’s head.
Whoever did this had time to work undisturbed. "
Miles felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning fog as he processed this information.
The killer's confidence was growing with each murder, their methods becoming more refined and elaborate.
The fact that they'd managed to kill Goldberg in his own home without any signs of forced entry suggested either incredible skill or inside knowledge.
"Is the scene ready for our examination?" Miles asked.
"We've photographed everything and collected initial evidence samples,” Martinez answered. “The body is still in place, positioned exactly as the killer left it."
They followed Detective Martinez through the front door and into Goldberg's house, their footsteps echoing against the marble floors.
The interior was impressive, with tall ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows that must have provided spectacular views during daylight hours.
Expensive artwork hung on the walls, and the furniture reflected the kind of understated luxury that only serious money could buy.
But Miles barely registered these details as they approached the living room; his attention was completely captured by what lay at its center.
David Goldberg sat on his expensive leather couch, positioned to face the large windows that overlooked his backyard.
Every visible inch of his body gleamed with gold leaf, applied with the same meticulous precision they'd seen in the previous murders.
His face maintained a peaceful expression, as if he were simply enjoying the view of his night-shrouded garden rather than serving as the centerpiece of an elaborate murder display.
The positioning was different from the previous crime scenes, but the methodology was unmistakably the same.
The killer had transformed Goldberg into a golden statue, a piece of living art that commented on his wealth while simultaneously ending his life.
The irony was stark and deliberate—a man who had spent his career manipulating money for profit had been literally covered in gold.
Miles had seen crime scene photographs of the previous murders, had studied the evidence, and analyzed the chemical signatures.
But witnessing the killer's work firsthand was profoundly different.
There was something deeply unsettling about seeing a human being transformed into an object of beauty and horror, something that challenged his understanding of the boundary between art and violence.
It was jarring in a way he had not expected.
Miles found himself staring into Goldberg's gold-covered face, looking for some trace of the person who had once inhabited that transformed body.
"Jesus," he said quietly, the word escaping before he could stop it.
"Yeah," Vic replied, her voice carrying the weight of someone who had seen similar horrors before. "It never gets easier."
The crime scene technicians moved around them with professional efficiency, documenting every aspect of the killer's work while maintaining the careful protocols that would preserve evidence for later analysis.
But Miles found it difficult to focus on the procedural aspects of the investigation while confronted with the stark reality of what their killer was capable of.
This wasn't just murder—it was transformation, the deliberate conversion of a human being into something else entirely.
The killer wasn't simply ending lives; they were making statements, creating messages that used death as a medium for artistic expression.
He seemed to be taking great pleasure and pride in his work.
"Agent Stone?" Detective Martinez approached them as they studied the scene. "Jessica Breeding is stable enough to talk if you want to interview her now. She might have information about Goldberg's recent activities or anyone who might have had access to the house."
Miles welcomed the opportunity to step away from the golden figure on the couch, to focus on the investigative process rather than the psychological impact of the killer's work.
They needed to understand how the killer had gained access to Goldberg's house, how they'd managed to overpower him, and whether Breeding had observed anything unusual in the days leading up to the murder.
But as they prepared to leave the living room, Miles found it far too hard to take his eyes away Goldberg's golden body. And as he forced his gaze away, he was overcome by the growing certainty that they were dealing with someone whose motivations went far beyond simple revenge or financial gain.
They were dealing with something much darker…and Miles wasn’t sure if he was ready to face such a thing.