out of the room, blocking the entrance.
You dont need to see this, Cassie, he said.
I could smell itnot rotten, not yet, but coppery: rust with just a hint of decay. I pushed past Briggs. He let me.
The room was rectangular. There was blood smeared across the light switch, blood pooled near the door. The entire left-hand side of the room was lined with mirrors, like a dance studio.
Like my mothers dressing room.
My limbs felt heavy all of a sudden. My lips were numb. I couldnt breathe, and just like that, I was right back
The door is slightly ajar. I push it open. Theres something wet and squishy beneath my feet, and the smell
I grope for the light switch. My fingers touch something warm and sticky on the wall. Frantically, I search for the light switch
Dont turn it on. Dont turn it on. Dont turn it on.
I turn it on .
Im standing in blood. Theres blood on the walls, blood on my hands. A lamp lies shattered on the wood floor. A desk is upturned, and theres a jagged line in the floorboards .
From the knife .
Pressure on my shoulders forced me to stop reliving the memory. Hands. Deans hands, I realized. He brought his face very close to mine.
Stay in control, he said, his voice steady and warm. Every time you go back there, every time you see itits just blood, just a crime scene, just a body. He dropped his hands to his sides. Thats all it is, Cassie. Thats all you can let it be.
I wondered which memories he relived over and overwondered about the bodies and the blood. But right now, in this moment, I was just glad that he was here, that I wasnt alone.
I took his advice. I forced myself to look at the mirror, smeared with blood. I could make out handprints, finger tracks, like the victim had used the mirror to pull herself along the ground after she was too weak to walk.
Time of death was late last night, Briggs said. Well have Forensics in here to see if they can lift any fingerprints besides the victims off the mirror.
Thats not her blood.
I glanced over at Sloane and realized that she was kneeling next to the body. For the first time, I looked at the victim. Her hair was red. Shed obviously been stabbed repeatedly.
The medical examiner will tell you the same thing, Sloane continued. This woman is five feet tall, approximately a hundred and ten pounds. Given her size, were looking at death from exsanguination with the loss of three quarts of blood, maybe less. Shes wearing jeans and a cashmere top. Cashmereand other forms of woolcan absorb up to thirty percent of its weight in moisture without even appearing damp. Since the deepest wounds are concentrated over her stomach and chest areas, and her top and jeans were both tight, shed have had to bleed through the fabric before dripping all over the floor.
I looked at the womans clothes. Sure enough, they were soaked with blood.
By the time her clothes were saturated enough to leave a puddle of that size on the floor over thereSloane gestured toward the doorour victim wouldnt have been conscious to fight off her attacker, let alone lead him on a merry chase through the room. Shes too small, she doesnt have enough blood, the fabrics shes wearing dont expel liquid quickly enoughthe numbers dont add up.
Shes right. Agent Briggs stood up from examining the floor. Theres a knife mark on the floor over here. If it was made with a bloody knife, there would be blood embedded in the scratch, but theres not, meaning that either the UNSUB missed at his first attempt at stabbing the womanwhich certainly doesnt seem likely, given her size and the fact that he would have had the element of surpriseor the UNSUB deliberately made these marks with a clean knife.
I put myself in the victims shoes. She was eight or nine inches shorter than my mothers five-nine, but that didnt mean she couldnt have fought. But even if the UNSUB had come after her in the exact same way, what were the chances that the scene would have looked this much like my mothers dressing room? The mirrors on the wall, the blood smeared on the light switch, the dark liquid pooled by the door.
Something about this didnt feel right.
Shes left-handed.
I turned to look at Dean, and he continued, Victims wearing her watch on her right hand, and her manicure is more chipped on her left hand than her right, he said. Was your mother left-handed, Cassie?
I shook my head and realized where he was going with this. They wouldnt have fought off an attacker in the same way, I said.
Dean gave a brief nod of agreement. If anything, wed expect spatter on this wall. He gestured to the plain wall opposite the mirrors. It was clean.
The UNSUB didnt kill her here. Locke was the first one who said it out loud. Theres virtually no blood pooled around the body. She was killed somewhere else.
You killed her. You brought her here. You painted the room in blood .
For a good time, call Lorelai, I murmured.
Cassie? Agent Locke raised an eyebrow at me. I answered the question that went along with the eyebrow raise.