Page 8 of So Silent

“Any sign of sexual assault,” Faith asked.

“None. No sign of the killer at all.”

“Gloves?”

“Maybe, but not the kind that leaves residue. Honestly, our guy knew what he was doing. At least it looked like he did. Not that that means anything these days. Anyone can do an internet search and learn how to kill someone and leave no evidence these days. It’s a fucked-up world we live in.”

“Yes,” Faith agreed. “It is.”

The three of them left the office and headed upstairs to pick up their car. On the way up, Michael said, “I’m thinking we go visit Maria Gonzalez’s crime scene. What do you think?”

"A year later? There won't be anything left. She was killed in her home, and someone else will be living there now."

“Yes, but if the neighbors saw anything, it might be useful. Call it a hunch.”

Faith shrugged. “I’ll bite. We don’t have anything concrete to go on. I want contact information for Rebecca’s former employers too. Even if she left amicably, that doesn’t mean someone didn’t hold a grudge or become obsessed.”

“Fair enough.” He gave Faith a slight grin. “And so it begins.”

She looked sideways at him. “It’s creepy when you smile like that.”

He lifted his hands. “Excuse me for trying to enjoy my job and stave off the depression that kills most people in our profession.”

“Good point.”

They got the information they needed from Wanda, along with the keys to a new Ford Police Interceptor. When Michael learned this model had a nearly five hundred horsepower V-8, he snatched the keys from Faith. "I’ll drive. The last thing we need is you crashing us into a wall at one hundred and ten.”

“When have I ever gotten us into an accident?” she said, “and since when have I argued over who gets to drive? Just admit you want to drive the cool new car.”

“I want to drive it nice and slow and comfortable. Slow and steady wins the race.”

“Slow and steady means another cold case,” Faith countered. “And this trail’s already getting cold. I want answers fast, or this guy’s going to slip into the ether again.”

“I won’t argue with you there.”

They started toward the neighborhood where thirteen months ago Maria Gonzalez had breathed her last. Faith had been bantering with Michael, but she meant what she said. Their killer really wanted to be unseen, and he was disturbingly good at making that happen. If they didn’t find a lead soon, he’d disappear.

And just because he waited a year between his first two victims didn’t mean he’d give the third victim the same courtesy.

Chapter Four

The neighborhood that had once sheltered Maria Gonzalez was one of those idyllic suburban communities Faith associated with coming-of-age movies. The houses were all two-story colonials with two-car garages and large front yards, and the streets looked perfect for riding a bike with your dog running alongside you. It definitely didn’t look like the sort of place where someone would have been stabbed to death outside of their own home.

They received a few suspicious looks from homeowners watering their lawns or staring through their kitchen windows, but no one came out to confront them when they stopped in front of 527 Marigold and began investigating. There really wasn’t much to do other than look around and let Turk sniff around the yard and the porch. The homeowners here weren’t home to let them in, but Faith didn’t really want to go inside. What she hoped to learn was how the killer could have gotten in and out without being seen.

From the front, that would have been difficult. There was no fence, and the home was easily seen from every house along Marigold Street for two blocks. According to the file, Maria was also killed in the early hours of the morning—three a.m. this time—so Faith’s guess was that everyone had been asleep, or the killer had come in from the back.

She was just about to call Turk and drive to the street behind them when Turk barked and shot off toward the house next door. Faith and Michael shared a look and followed him. They ran three steps when they heard a chorus of barking in reply. Turk returned the favor, and soon at least three different dogs were enthusiastically conversing with her K9.

“I can’t tell,” Michael asked. “Are those angry barks or happy barks?”

“They’re curious barks,” Faith replied. “They want to know who the strange dog is and what he’s doing here. They’re not angry, though.”

They reached the house to find Turk wagging his tail on the porch. The door cracked open before Faith had a chance to knock, and a wary face poked out. “Hello?”

“Hello,” Faith said. “I’m Special Agent Faith Bold of the FBI. This is my partner Special Agent Michael Prince and my K9 unit, Turk.”

Turk barked a polite greeting. Faith noted that he didn’t regard the man who answered the door suspiciously and didn’t continue to track whatever scent had led him here.

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