Page 17 of No Quarter

Will turned to the images behind Jackson, and his face drained of color. “This is awful,” he said.

“Are we sure the two victims were definitely killed by the same person?” Charlie asked.

“Victim one was a 32-year-old woman by the name of Agatha Mitchell.” Jackson moved the image of Agatha’s body to the center of the touchscreen and zoomed in.

The woman’s body was lying on soil with weathered leaves around and underneath her. Her face was pale, with blood droplets on her cheeks beneath her eyes, and some sort of black cord was wrapped around her neck.

“Agatha was murdered three days ago,” Jackson continued. “She was taking a shortcut through woodland in the town she loved and was strangled to death with a pair of black shoelaces.”

Charlie sat down at the desk next to Valerie, while Will remained standing, examining the photographs in detail.

“What’s the connection?” Will asked.

“Victim two,” Jackson said moving the second photograph into the center of the touchscreen. “Her name was Gillian Pugh, and she was murdered yesterday.”

Valerie stood up and approached the touchscreen. She examined the photograph. It showed a woman in her twenties. She was inside some sort of hospital room. Her face was purple. A coiled bed sheet lay alongside her.

“Strangulation again then?” Valerie said.

“Yes, Agent Law,” Jackson replied. “But there’s more than just themodus operandito connect the two victims. Gillian Pugh was a patient at a psychiatric retreat about an hour’s drive from here. She was murdered inside the retreat. That retreat is on the outskirts of Buford Town, the place where Agatha was killed.”

“No CCTV inside the facility?” Charlie asked.

“It’s not a maximum-security facility, Agent Carlson,” Jackson explained. “They don’t have security cameras on every hall or room. Of the few that they do have, some of them aren’t working at the moment, and the ones that are operational don’t seem to have led local law enforcement toward any evidence or potential suspect.”

“Are there any other connections between Gillian and Agatha, the first victim?” Will asked Jackson.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Agatha was an ex-patient of that very same psychiatric unit,” Jackson said. “Given the way both victims died, their proximity to each other, and the fact that they were both connected to the same psychiatric treatment retreat, I’m quite confident that we have at the very least a dual killer, and at the very worst, a serial killer waiting to attack again.”

“But if victim two was killed by someone inside the psychiatric hospital,” Valerie offered, “how were they out in the first place to kill victim one? Could the killer have just recently been committed?”

“Or is it someone who works there?” Will asked.

“I’m not sure,” Jackson said. Suddenly, his attention was taken by someone standing at the glass door to the briefing room behind Valerie.

Valerie recognized him. He was a wide shouldered man named Heinlein. One of the higher-ranking bureaucrats at the FBI.

“I’ll be two minutes Mr. Heinlein,” Jackson said.

Heinlein, a man in his early sixties with slicked back, thinning hair and a look of a stocky pit bill, nodded gruffly and then walked away from the door.

Valerie looked at Jackson and saw a flicker of worry on his face.

“Boss, are you okay?” Valerie said.

“Yes…” he answered, unconvincingly.

“They’re not going to pull the plug on us, are they?” Charlie asked.

“No,” he said. Then he let out a sigh and his shoulders dropped as if he was about to release a great pressure from within. “It’s possible that you might have a new boss, however.”

Valerie stood up.

That was the last thing she wanted. Jackson had been a real mentor and leader to all of them. And outside of office hours, on more than one occasion, he’d been a friend. He’d even helped Valerie, off the record, track down her dad.

“Why would they get rid of you?” Valerie said, unable to hide her concern. “You’re the best damned department head in the entire Mesmer building.”

Jackson smiled, and for a moment, the forlorn look disappeared only to return momentarily. “Thank you, Agent Law. But I’m afraid you should know that itdoesrelate to you.”

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