We need to talk, Dean said.
Whatever you have to say, Michael drawled, you can say in front of me.
I gave Michael a look.
Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of me, unless Cassie wishes to speak to you privately, in which case I completely respect her right to do so, Michael corrected himself.
No, Dean said. Stay. Its fine.
He didnt sound fineand if I was picking up on that, I didnt want to know how easy it was for Michael to see what Dean was feeling.
I brought you this, Dean said, holding out a file. At first, I thought it was the case file for our UNSUB, but then I saw the label on the file. LORELAI HOBBES.
My mothers file?
Locke snuck me a copy, Dean said. She thought there might be something here, and she was right. The attack on your mother was poorly planned. It was emotional. It was messy. And what we saw today
Wasnt any of those things, I finished. Dean had just put into words the feeling Id been on the verge of explaining to Michael. A killer could grow and change, their MO could develop, but the emotions, the rage, the titillationthat didnt just go away. Whoever had attacked my mom would have been too overwhelmed by adrenaline to commit the minutiae of the scene to memory.
The person responsible for the blood in my mothers dressing room five years ago wouldnt have been able to reenact her murder so coldly today.
This wasnt about reliving a kill .
Even if Im evolving, Dean said, even if Ive gotten good at what I doseeing you, Cassie, seeing your mother in you, Id be frenzied. Dean slipped a picture of my mothers crime scene out of the folder. Then he laid a second picture down next to it, of the scene today. Looking at the two photos side by side, I accepted what my gut was telling me, what Dean was telling me.
If you were the one who killed my mother , I told the UNSUB, if every woman youve killed since is a way to relive that moment, wouldnt her death mean something to you? How could you possibly stage a scene like that and not lose control?
The UNSUB responsible for the corpse Id seen today was meticulous. Methodical. The type who needed to be in control and always had a plan.
The person whod killed my mother was none of those things.
How is that even possible? I wondered.
Look at the light switches.
I turned around. Sloane was directly behind me, staring at the pictures. Lia entered the room a moment later.
I took care of Agent Starmans, she said. He has somehow developed the impression that he is urgently needed in the kitchen. Dean gave her an exasperated look. What? she said. I thought Cassie might want some privacy.
I didnt really think five people counted as privacy, but I was too stuck on Sloanes words to nitpick Lias. Why am I looking at the light switches?
Theres a single smear of blood on the light switch and plate in both photos, Sloane said. But in this oneshe gestured to the photo of the scene todaythe blood is on the top of the switch. And in this one, its on the bottom.
And the translation, for those of us who dont spend hours working on physical simulations in the basement? Lia asked.
In one of the photos, the light switch got smeared with blood when someone with bloody hands turned it off, Sloane said. But in the other one, it happened when the light was turned on.
My fingers touch something warm and sticky on the wall. Frantically, I search for the light switch. My fingers find it. I dont care that theyre covered in warm, wet liquid .
I. Need. It. On .
I turned the light on, I said. When I came back to my mothers dressing roomthere was blood on my hands when I turned the light on.
But if there had only been one smear of blood on the switch, and that smear of blood was from my hand
My mothers killer wouldnt have known it was there. The only people who would have known about the blood on the light switch were the people whod seen the crime scene after Id returned to the dressing room. After Id turned the light on. After Id accidentally coated the switch in blood.
And yet, our UNSUB, who had meticulously recreated my mothers murder scene, had included that detail.
You werent reliving the kill , I thought, allowing myself to finally give life to the words, because you werent the one who killed my mother .
But who else could this UNSUBwho was unquestionably fixated on my mom, on mepossibly be? My mind raced through the days events.
The gift, sent to me, but addressed to Sloane.
Genevieve Ridgerton.
The message on the bathroom wall.
The theater in Arlington.
Every detail had been planned. This killer had known exactly what I would do at every step along the waybut not just me. Hed known what all of us would do. Hed known that sending a package to Sloane was his best chance of getting it to me. Hed known that Briggs and Locke would cave and bring me to the crime scene. Hed known that Id find the message, and that someone else would decode it. Hed known that we would find the theater in Arlington, that the agents would let me see it.
The code, I said, backtracking out loud. The others looked at me. The UNSUB left a message for me, but I couldnt have decoded it. Not alone. If the UNSUB was so set on forcing me to relive my mothers murder, why leave a message I might not be able to understand?