Page 29 of Royal
Ruby narrowed her eyes at me, and I realized I was mid-snarl. My attitude had improved over the years, but there were instances when it still surfaced.
“My team and I will be helping you on the case,” Agent Stone said, either oblivious to my dislike of him being there or ignoring it.
Swallow your pride.
“Great.” The bitterness trickled away as I understood how much we reallydidneed their help. “Should I show you what we’ve put together so far?”
“That’d be excellent.” Agent Stone nodded. “We can share what we have on him, too.”
Hmm. Not like I initially thought he’d be.
“Let’s get started.”
He called the other five agents over, and they introduced themselves. One woman named Naomi, and the rest were men. They seemed nice enough. For feds, anyway.
We moved into the other room and sat around the table. A board had been set up for us to organize notes. The pictures of the two Addersfield victims were pinned up, and I couldn’t help but feel guilty when seeing Jeffrey’s photo.
If I had caught the guy after Beth Monroe’s murder, Jeffrey would’ve still been alive.
I handed Agent Stone the file I’d started on the case, including crime scene photos, victimology, location of where the bodies had been found, and other details like cause of death and whether the victim had been tortured or sexually assaulted.
“Do you think there’s a possibility it could be a copy-cat killer?” I asked. “It’s been almost a year since the last murder. Quite a gap.”
“It’s definitely our guy,” he answered after flipping through some of the photos. “We never released to the public that the killer places daffodils on the body. A copy-cat wouldn’t know that.”
“Why daffodils?”
“Are you familiar with the story of Narcissus?” Agent Stone asked, closing the file and placing it on the long table.
“Somewhat,” I answered. “He was full of himself, right?”
“Yes. There are several versions of the myth, but in one of them, a man named Ameinias falls in love with Narcissus, but his affection isn’t returned. Narcissus rejects Ameinias and gives the heartbroken young man a sword. Overcome by his grief, Ameinias kills himself, but before he dies, he prays for the gods to teach Narcissus a lesson. To punish him for the pain he caused. Later, Narcissus travels to a stream for a drink of water, and when he sees his reflection in the pool, he is unable to look away. He’s surprised by the beauty he sees, and when he realizes he can never obtain the object of his desire, he plunges a dagger into his stomach, ending his life.”
Death by a stab to the abdomen. Well, that sounded familiar. The killer obviously had a grudge against beautiful people.
“Why the flower?” I asked.
“After Narcissus died,” Agent Stone continued, “the gods took mercy on him. They thought it a shame that someone so beautiful would wither away into dust. So, they transformed him into a white flower. The botanic name for the daffodil is theNarcissusflower.”
“You guys really are good,” I muttered under my breath, looking over the crime scene photos again. “I would’ve never connected the dots there.”
“It took us a while to develop the profile,” he said. Instead of patting himself on the back, he seemed humble about it.
“The killer’s murdering people because they’re beautiful?”
“We believe he’s targeting public figures who he sees as being vain,” Naomi answered. “He kills them in the same way as Narcissus, and he leaves the flowers as a symbol of their beauty. It’s his signature.”
It was a lot to process.
I’d thought I was a damn good detective, but those agents made me look like a child. I felt like they were about to tell me to go play in my sandbox or something.
“How does he pick the victims?” I asked. “Anyone in the public eye? His past victims have all been different genders, races, backgrounds. It almost seems random.”
“That’s what we’re still trying to figure out,” Agent Stone answered. He rested his hand near his mouth, his finger touching his lips. “As of right now, we believe he’s choosing them at random. It’s not clear why he chooses one over the other. Yet.”
The agents and I analyzed the facts and what little evidence we had about the serial killings, going over everything with a fine-tooth comb. They shared more information about their beliefs on the killer, based on their own analysis. After that, I was shown crime scene photos from the past victims. All of their bodies had been dumped the same way. Nails and hair perfect, arms over their chests, flowers on or around them, and a fatal stab wound.
“Why do you think he cleans them up first?” I asked, studying the photos. “Hair’s perfect. He doesn’t damage their faces. Their nails are cleaned.”
