Page 55 of Love Me Fierce

Hutch follows, the beam of his light crisscrossing mine and his even breaths a reminder that I’m not alone the way Michelle was.

As I work toward the glow of daylight at the top of the mine, I focus on how the pendant reshapes the investigation.

Four—now five?—young women murdered and left in or near a mine. Three with a similar key-shaped pendant. Hutch is right—I don’t believe in coincidences. Especially when several other important details line up. The use of a mine to dispose of the body. The killer’s M.O. The victims all fitting a certain profile.

Our killer has enjoyed a year of freedom, and he did what we most feared—murdered another innocent young woman.

There’s also the possibility that we’re dealing with a copycat. I’ll need to float that idea by Ballard.

When I step through the oval opening in the mine shaft and into the sunlight, I have to force a couple of deep breaths before I can get my fingers working to unhitch my gear.

Thank fuck this chore is over, but it’s only strengthened my determination to catch our killer. Because what kind of sicko would leave someone down in that dungeon to die?

On the driveback to Finn River, once I have service again, I call Luke Ballard. He picks up on the first ring.

“Got something for me?” His usual thoughtful tone has an edge of impatience. Not surprising given what he’s been waiting all day for.

“We pulled a key-shaped pendant out of the bottom of that mine.”

He gives a deep sigh. “Okay.”

“Zach’s overnighting it to your lab as soon as we get back.”

“Good. I’ve got something for you too,” he says in a heavy tone. “Post-mortem of the Big Pine victim came through. Her name is Kimberly Saxon. Twenty-two years old. Recently graduated with anursing degree from Idaho State. She had been missing for two months before a group of kids found her.”

“Shit.” It’s like the killer is taunting us. He has to know killing a woman with such similarities to the others and leaving the key pendant would get our attention. Maybe that was his whole point.

“Cause of death is the same as the others. No evidence of sexual assault.”

It’s only a small relief, but it helps soften the ache in my chest a little. “What about clothing?”

“Just underclothes.”

“Like Marin.” I pass through the outskirts of Cascade, then accelerate onto the highway.

The forensic anthropologist who examined Michelle, June, and Nichole-Renée’s remains did not find evidence that suggested they were fully clothed. We’ll never know for sure, but I believe the experts.

“Tox screen results will take another week or so.”

Marin’s came back negative, meaning she wasn’t drugged and wasn’t intoxicated, though it did reveal the anti-depressant she’d been taking since Christmas, prescribed by her pediatrician, Dr. Boone, unbeknownst to her parents. I hated breaking it to them that their daughter had been suffering alone.

“Did the M.E. get anything else?” I’m sure Ballard has picked up the note of hope in my tone.

“One thing so far. Shredded fibers found on Kimberly indicates the killer cuts off the clothing. Most likely after their death.”

“Fuck,” I say on a sigh. “Why would he do that?”

“Probably because it’s the only way he can obtain the kind of intimacy he’s after. Remember, this guy’s got a critically low self-esteem. Maybe he takes pictures of them. Maybe he masturbates, though if he does, he’s careful not to leave any DNA.”

I think about a killer going to all this trouble to satisfy some sick urge. It paints a chilling picture.

One we need to crush, once and for all.

“We should have more once the analysis is complete,” Ballard says, drawing me back to the long stretch of highway ahead of me.

“How long will that take?”

“A month at least.”

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