Page 44 of Nothing Left

Four p.m.? That was just an hour ago. And, without a doubt, it seemed like the same MO.

"We need to see the crime scene urgently," Juliette said. "Please, don't move the body yet if it's still on site. We're on our way."

She hung up, feeling vindicated at last.

It had taken another death to expose the true motives behind this killer, but now, the chase was on, and there were two murders to be avenged.

"He's done it again,” she told the others. “Without a doubt. Same MO. It's a serial, for sure. And this time, maybe we can find a clue."

***

An hour later, Juliette and the team arrived at the small home, set in a large, tangled yard where the murder had occurred.

The place was a hive of activity. It was clear that this crime had shaken the small town to its foundations. Three police cars were parked outside the house. The coroner's van was there, and a crowd of bystanders were being kept back by crime scene tape and two uniformed police. Juliette climbed out and hurried up to the door, with Wyatt and Sierra following.

"FBI," she said and showed her ID to the officers.

"Please, go in," they said.

Feeling intent, knowing that they had to get something here, she headed in.

The house was dark, but light was streaming through the bedroom windows, where the blackout blinds had been pulled up. Two policemen were on the scene, and a forensic officer was at work searching the room. She saw that the room's window was wide open and that two more officers were outside, searching the balcony and the backyard. This must be where the killer had gained access. Just like he had done at Heather and Samantha's apartment, he'd gotten in by climbing and sneaking.

Juliette stopped at the bedroom door, not wanting to walk in and contaminate the scene, calling out a greeting to the police at work.

Immediately, she saw the similarity.

The woman had been stabbed in the chest. That was obvious from the bloody nightshirt, which the coroner was examining.

He glanced up at them.

"The FBI team?" he asked. Juliette guessed the crackling radio on his belt had forewarned him.

"Yes. We suspect this is a serial," she said. "We think it's linked to the Barcelona stabbing. The one that the American was arrested for."

"I can tell you, now, that there are three deep wounds in her chest. All of them look to have been made forcefully and with a sharp blade.”

“How long ago was that?” Juliette asked.

“Probably, death occurred about four to five hours ago. In the late morning, I would estimate."

Juliette nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy for this woman, whose long, flowing hair and outstretched arm contained a lean, elegant beauty. This was a cowardly, ugly, and terrible deed. But at least now they knew that the killer was a psychopath, and the crime was a serial and that if they didn't stop him, he was going to kill again and again.

"Is there any evidence? Any trace, any fingerprints so far?"

"Nothing in here," he said, his face grim, and she felt her heart sink again. Surely there must be something? He couldn't have gotten so lucky twice?

And then, from outside, she heard a shout.

"Here! In the flower bed. We've found a knife!"

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

"Are there any fingerprints on it?"

Juliette asked the question impatiently as the forensic officer, wearing gloves and a head cover, carefully dusted the knife for prints. Its handle was long, its blade was bloody, and some of the dirt and soil from the flower bed had stuck to the blood as it dried.

It looked like a sinister and lethal weapon, and it was longer, narrower, and sharper than the chef's knife that had been left at the scene when Samantha had been murdered.

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