had this uncanny ability to get inside a killer’s mind. It used to scare the hell out of Gena and excite her at the same time. It was one of the reasons Stephanie had been so successful at her job.
Gena had lost count of the many times, first during university and then as Professionals, they’d unofficially worked together. Over drinks they would sift through crime scenes and voice their thoughts in an attempt to get into a killer’s mind. She’d once told Stephanie she should have been a Profiler instead of a Journalist, to which Stephanie had just shrugged and changed the topic.
Pushing her thoughts aside, she picked up a crime scene photo, studying it. The crime scene was staged. She was sure of it, now more so than ever. It had been an elaborate body dump, the victim left at one of L.A’s busiest tourist spots. One thing she would say for this killer, he was ballsy. It was a gutsy move to leave a victim in a place where there was a constant influx of traffic.
It wasn’t any coincidence the body had been dumped in plain view of the Hollywood sign. He had wanted her to be discovered. Did it mean something? Was he making a statement? A star, discovered?
Picking up another crime scene photo, she dropped it back on the table, tilting her chair backwards until it rested on its back legs. She crossed her hands behind her neck, returning her eyes to the bloodied scrapbook.
There was something methodical about this murder. It was calculated. It was almost as if their killer was mocking them. He was sending them a message. What the message was, she didn’t know yet. What she did know was this – whoever he was, he’d spent years obsessing over Carolyn Mathers.
Leaning forward, she gently turned another page of the scrapbook. Her eyes caught the banner inscription, Graduation Day, taking in the banner’s bold colors. She felt an infinite sadness; the knowledge his victim must have spent most her life trying to escape her stalker, weighing heavily on her.
Sliding her attention back to the banner colors of blue and gold, she froze. Her university colors, the thought imploded through her mind, her stomach churning. Glancing quickly at the graduation photo again, she quickly stood. With shaky legs she moved into her living room, walking to her solid oak wall unit, she picked up her graduation photo. Silently she moved back into her kitchen, sinking back onto her chair in a daze.
Her grip on the photo tightening; her pulse quickened an extra beat. She knew even before looking from her graduation photo to the one in the scrapbook they were identical.
“I’ll be god damned,” she muttered, focused on both photos with undisguised horror. Not only had she gone to the same university as Carolyn Mathers, but she’d also graduated the same year. They may have shared the same classes.
Her face blanched white, another thought hitting her. Both Stephanie and Angel had also graduated the same year. Did this mean they’d all gone to university with Carolyn’s killer? Was it someone she’d known during university?
A deep shudder ran through her at the idea she might have shared classes with a killer. Was it a coincidence they’d gone to the same university? She hoped so, but she had the sickening feeling it wasn’t.
Turning the next page, she couldn’t prevent the gasp falling involuntarily from her lips. “Hell,” she cursed, staring at the central photo.
It was one she recognized well. The same photo sat on her bedside vanity. Angel and Stephanie also had a copy. It had been taken seven years ago, the night of their graduation. The photo showed a laughing Angeline, Stephanie and herself with their university roommate Lyn Jeffreys. They’d been hamming it up, as always, for the camera. The four of them were inseparable throughout their university years. The photo had been taken on their last night together before she’d left for New York.
A wave of nausea hit her with the realization Mathers had been Lyn
Gena had lost count of the many times, first during university and then as Professionals, they’d unofficially worked together. Over drinks they would sift through crime scenes and voice their thoughts in an attempt to get into a killer’s mind. She’d once told Stephanie she should have been a Profiler instead of a Journalist, to which Stephanie had just shrugged and changed the topic.
Pushing her thoughts aside, she picked up a crime scene photo, studying it. The crime scene was staged. She was sure of it, now more so than ever. It had been an elaborate body dump, the victim left at one of L.A’s busiest tourist spots. One thing she would say for this killer, he was ballsy. It was a gutsy move to leave a victim in a place where there was a constant influx of traffic.
It wasn’t any coincidence the body had been dumped in plain view of the Hollywood sign. He had wanted her to be discovered. Did it mean something? Was he making a statement? A star, discovered?
Picking up another crime scene photo, she dropped it back on the table, tilting her chair backwards until it rested on its back legs. She crossed her hands behind her neck, returning her eyes to the bloodied scrapbook.
There was something methodical about this murder. It was calculated. It was almost as if their killer was mocking them. He was sending them a message. What the message was, she didn’t know yet. What she did know was this – whoever he was, he’d spent years obsessing over Carolyn Mathers.
Leaning forward, she gently turned another page of the scrapbook. Her eyes caught the banner inscription, Graduation Day, taking in the banner’s bold colors. She felt an infinite sadness; the knowledge his victim must have spent most her life trying to escape her stalker, weighing heavily on her.
Sliding her attention back to the banner colors of blue and gold, she froze. Her university colors, the thought imploded through her mind, her stomach churning. Glancing quickly at the graduation photo again, she quickly stood. With shaky legs she moved into her living room, walking to her solid oak wall unit, she picked up her graduation photo. Silently she moved back into her kitchen, sinking back onto her chair in a daze.
Her grip on the photo tightening; her pulse quickened an extra beat. She knew even before looking from her graduation photo to the one in the scrapbook they were identical.
“I’ll be god damned,” she muttered, focused on both photos with undisguised horror. Not only had she gone to the same university as Carolyn Mathers, but she’d also graduated the same year. They may have shared the same classes.
Her face blanched white, another thought hitting her. Both Stephanie and Angel had also graduated the same year. Did this mean they’d all gone to university with Carolyn’s killer? Was it someone she’d known during university?
A deep shudder ran through her at the idea she might have shared classes with a killer. Was it a coincidence they’d gone to the same university? She hoped so, but she had the sickening feeling it wasn’t.
Turning the next page, she couldn’t prevent the gasp falling involuntarily from her lips. “Hell,” she cursed, staring at the central photo.
It was one she recognized well. The same photo sat on her bedside vanity. Angel and Stephanie also had a copy. It had been taken seven years ago, the night of their graduation. The photo showed a laughing Angeline, Stephanie and herself with their university roommate Lyn Jeffreys. They’d been hamming it up, as always, for the camera. The four of them were inseparable throughout their university years. The photo had been taken on their last night together before she’d left for New York.
A wave of nausea hit her with the realization Mathers had been Lyn
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