Page 5 of So Lethal

Faith’s eyes narrowed. “No. That’s not good enough. I’m so sick of people saying that. People shouldn’t get away with murder. A serial killer shouldn’t get away with brutally killing innocent people just because it’s easier to let the case go cold. So she doesn’t kill anyone else. That means her victims don’t get justice?”

“All right,” David said, lifting his hands in a placatory gesture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I was just trying to look at the bright side.”

“The bright side is that bad guys go away,” Faith said tersely. “They go to prison, a mental hospital, or a pine box. Getting away with murder and spending the rest of your life free and clear isn’t a fucking bright side.”

David didn’t say anything. Faith took deep breaths until her anger subsided, then nudged David. “Sorry. I just… I really hate failing.”

Thank God David didn’t try to make some bullshit argument about how she didn’t fail. Instead, he said, “I know. I’m sorry, baby.”

Sorry might not do shit, but it felt good to hear this time. Maybe because she really was annoyed by his bright side comment. She sighed again. “Well, it’s not over yet. We’ll keep looking. People like this screw up eventually. We’ll find her.”

“Yes, you will,” David said. “You always do.”

Out loud, Faith said, “Damn straight.” In her head, she said, Yes, I always do. But usually, I have to find a few more victims first.

That was the real frustration, the "core of the issue," as Dr. Keraya would say. Faith was by some metrics the most successful FBI agent in history at finding spree killers and serial killers. The problem was that after Jethro Trammell, there were a lot more spree killers than serial killers, meaning killers who killed a large number of victims over a short amount of time. Traditionally, serial killers took their victims over a longer period of time.

Other than the timeframe, though, these killers all fit the definition of a serial killer. They were highly organized, they had specific profiles, and they had ritualistic MOs. Not all serial killers exhibited that behavior, but no spree killer did. Spree killers acted opportunistically and spur of the moment. They also acted—usually—with only limited concern for how the deaths were brought about. The name of the game was body count.

The strange mixture of characteristics that the killers Faith hunted exhibited had led the FBI to consider labeling a new type of killer, the highly prolific serial killer. That label would probably change a dozen times before they settled on a final one, but Faith thought highly prolific was a good way to think about it. These killers would take their victims within days of each other. That meant that each time Faith had a case, she had hours to find the killer before they killed another victim.

And they always killed another victim. Sometimes two or more. Faith was fast, but she wasn’t that fast. It bothered her, especially when her leads ran dry, and she was stuck almost waiting for a serial killer to murder someone else so she could have more evidence to dig through.

And that’s why she felt guilty. She could never save everyone. Yes, she caught the killers eventually, but not until they murdered other people first. She was supposed to protect them, and she couldn’t.

A furry head wrestled its way onto her lap. She looked down and saw Turk gazing up at her. He must have sensed her discomfort and come over to make her feel better. She smiled and ruffled his fur.

Content that Faith was well enough to not need his immediate attention, Turk sat across hers and David’s feet and watched the tv. David had put on a movie about a group of middle schoolers who stumbled across buried treasure only to learn that the mob was after that treasure too. It was meant as a comedy, but all Faith could think was how terrified those children must have been knowing that professional killers were chasing them.

Her phone buzzed. Her partner, Michael. She got to her feet and moved to the kitchen, Turk following curiously. “Hey, Michael. What’s up?”

“Got a new case. Tabitha’s still pissed at you, so she called me and told me to tell you.”

Assistant Special Agent in Charge Tabitha Gardner was the temporary head of the Philadelphia Field Office. She really didn’t like Faith, and the feeling was mutual. “Got it. What’s the case?”

“Couple of murders in the Bay Area.”

“The Bay Area, California?”

“Is there another bay area?”

“Quite a few, actually.”

She could almost hear Michael roll his eyes. “Well, yes, the San Francisco Bay Area. Specifically San Jose and San Francisco.”

“San Jose, huh? Your old stomping grounds.”

Michael was born and raised in San Jose, California, but had moved east upon graduating from college. He rarely mentioned his hometown, but when he did, it was always with a level of pride that Faith found odd considering he hadn’t lived there in almost twenty years.

“Yep. Did you know it’s actually bigger than San Francisco?”

Faith smiled slightly. “Really? That’s really big.”

“Yeah, it’s the third…” He stopped as Faith’s sarcasm reached him. “You know what, I don’t need this kind of abuse.”

Faith laughed and said, “All right. I assume this is the part where you tell me I have to leave now.”

“Yep. I’m coming to pick you up. Did I interrupt anything spicy?”

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