Page 3 of Girl, Haunted

Now, at last, the time had come for him to be tried to the full extent of the law, and today was the last day of his trial. Day nine of nine. And Ella was here to help add a few nails to Creed’s coffin.Beside her, a middle-aged blonde woman sat with her elbows on her knees, transfixed on every speaker as though the outcome could be anything other than a life sentence.

The prosecutor, a razor-sharp blonde named Claire Dawson, rose to her feet. ‘The prosecution calls Special Agent Dark to the stand.’

Showtime. Ella pushed her handbag under the chair, smoothed herself down and made her way to the witness box. A hundred pairs of eyes and a few camera lenses burned holes in her, but Ella kept her focus straight. When she took her seat, she couldn’t help but lock eyes with Austin Creed. There he was – the man, the human drug that had kick-started Ella’s addictionto catching America’s biggest cowards. Eighteen months in the slammer hadn’t been kind to him, because gone was the stocky farm-physique and the trimmed hair. His measurements had shrunk by noticeable inches, and now he sported haggard skin and scraggly brown locks down to his chin. In a pitiful attempt at respectability, Creed had combed his beard into neat submission, but his hair remained a wild mess.

There, in that box, a sudden thought occurred to her. Ella was the midwife of the criminal justice system. She dragged these people out of the wombs into their new lives, and the courts and prison wardens saw them through to the end. This was a rare taste of the opposite end of the justice spectrum.

‘Please state your name and occupation for the record,’ Dawson said, jarring Ella back to the present.

‘Ella April Dark, Special Agent for Behavioral Analysis Unit Four.’

‘And what’s your job role?’

‘We investigate what we term ultra-violent homicides, homicides with serial components and premeditated murders. We draft up psychological profiles of offenders and use them as a blueprint to narrow down suspects.’

Dawson nodded. ‘How long have you been with the Bureau, Agent Dark?’

‘Almost five years. I was an Intelligence Analyst for three years, and I’ve been a Special Agent for eighteen months.’

‘And in your time with the BAU, how many cases have you worked on?’

‘Twenty-one cases, ma’am. Twenty-three cases closed in total.’

Dawson cocked a brow. ‘Twenty-one investigations but twenty-three closed?’

Ella clenched her teeth. She wasn’t sure how to word it. ‘Call it overlap. Cold cases aren’t always as cold as you think.’

‘Very well. And would you say you’ve developed an expertise when it comes to serial offenders like the defendant?’

‘Objection!’ The defense attorney, a weaselly little man named Simmons, leaped to his feet. ‘The witness's purported expertise has not been established.’

Judge Hawthorn leveled a glare at him that could have flash-frozen lava. ‘We’re getting to that, Mr. Simmons. Overruled.’

Simmons sat back down, looking like he'd just sucked a lemon. His phone pinged on the table, and he rushed to grab it. Ella tried not to laugh.

I believe I do have an expertise in this area. Serial offenders follow patterns. Today's perpetrators are no different from last century's. They all like to think they're one of a kind, but they all fall into one of four categories. I've also cataloged the details from every historic case in my head, and I can usually draw on those details to predict modern offenders' next moves or motivations.'

‘I see,’ Dawson said. ‘Is this an eidetic memory?’

‘Not quite. Eidetic memories are mostly a myth. What I have is just a really long short-term memory. Combined with observation and inductive reasoning, I can usually get into offender’s heads, as I did with Mr. Creed.’

Simmons suddenly piped up again. ‘Your honor, we’re putting stock ina good memory? Inductive reasoning? This isn’t a Sherlock Holmes story. This is a man’s future we’re talking about.’ He gestured to Creed, whose lips were pulled so tight they looked sewn together.

Judge Hawthorn raised his voice a notch. ‘Mr. Simmons, I won’t tell you again. You need to…’

‘It’s fine,’ Ella said. She raised a hand to the judge, unsure if she’d just overstepped some courtroom boundary. ‘You’re right, Mr. Simmons. It’s unconventional, but it’s no different to researching historical cases to shed light on modern ones. Ijust do the research instantly. And inductive reasoning is the backbone of our profession.’

Simmons threw his pen down. His phone pinged again. ‘I’m not buying it. It’s just guesswork.’

The man was clearly looking for any excuse to get Ella removed from the witness box, because once she mentioned that Austin Creed was of sound mind, it would land him either a life sentence or a death sentence. No defense attorney wanted that on their record.

'I'll show you,' Ella said. She adjusted her glasses and took in Simmons from head to mid-section. Little pricks on his thumbs. A thin silver ring on one finger above a strip of white flesh. Perfect. 'You're a gardener, and you've got nettles in your yard that you can't keep out. But you haven't done any gardening recently because you're in the middle of a divorce, and you've tried to hide that fact. Your ex-wife is also fleecing you for more money than you're comfortable with. You may also have a drinking problem.'

Simmons' face turned an impressive shade of puce. Ella looked to Dawson, then Judge Hawthorn. Neither seemed to have any objection.

‘Relevance?’ Simmons asked. ‘How can you know that?’

The judge leaned forward and took his glasses off. ‘Mr. Simmons, is Miss Dark correct?’

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