Page 22 of Whispers in the Night

Dr. Reynolds moved to the second table, pulling back the sheet to reveal Amy Thorne. Younger than Melissa by a year, but with that same dark hair, petite build, similar facial features. And the same symbols carved into her skin.

“Amy Thorne, twenty-three. Same cause of death—exsanguination from multiple incised wounds. TOD between midnight and two a.m. last night.” Dr. Reynolds gestured to Amy’s body. “But there are differences here. Significant differences.”

Harper leaned in. “What kind of differences?”

“More defensive wounds. Look at her wrists—deeper bruising, skin torn where she pulled against the restraints. And here—” Dr. Reynolds lifted Amy’s right hand. “She scratched him. Got a piece of him under her thumbnail. We’ve sent it for DNA analysis.”

“She fought harder,” Silas said.

“Much harder. And look at the symbols.” Dr. Reynolds pointed to the cuts on Amy’s torso. “They’re less precise than Melissa’s. The lines aren’t as clean. Some of them intersect at slightly wrong angles. He was rushing, or she was moving, or both.”

Harper studied the differences. Dr. Reynolds was right—the symbols on Amy were messier, less controlled. “He’s losing control. The accelerated timeline is putting pressure on him. He doesn’t have time to be as careful as he wants to be.”

“That’s consistent with your profile?” Dr. Reynolds asked.

“Yes. Serial killers who operate on compressed timelines often make mistakes. They get sloppy, they take risks they wouldn’t normally take. It’s good for us. Mistakes mean evidence.” Harper paused. “But it’s also dangerous. Killers who feel pressure sometimes lash out, become more violent, more unpredictable.”

“The note suggests he’s definitely unpredictable,” Silas said quietly.

The note.Tell Harper I’m waiting.

Harper had been trying not to think about it, trying to focus on the evidence and the victims rather than the fact that a serial killer knew her name and was apparently fixated on her. But Silas was right—it changed everything.

“Any other evidence?” Harper asked Dr. Reynolds.

“Some fibers on both bodies, likely from the restraints. We’re analyzing them now. And there were traces of a sedative in both victims’ bloodstreams—midazolam, commonly used as a pre-anesthetic. He drugged them before he restrained them, which is why the initial abduction went smoothly.”

“So he approached them somehow, got close enough to inject them, then took them to his kill site.” Harper’s mind was racing, building the sequence of events. “That requires confidence. He’s not afraid to interact with his victims in public spaces. He blends in. Doesn’t stand out.”

“Any particulates? Soil, pollen, anything that might indicate where he’s holding them?” Silas asked.

“Nothing conclusive yet. Both bodies were found relatively clean. He’s washing them post-mortem, probably to remove trace evidence.” Dr. Reynolds frowned. “He’s forensically aware. Knows what we look for and takes steps to eliminate it.”

That was bad. Forensically aware killers were harder to catch, harder to tie to physical evidence. They knew about DNA,about trace evidence, about all the ways modern science could link them to their crimes.

“What about the symbols themselves?” Harper moved closer to Melissa’s body, studying the cuts. “Can you tell anything about the blade?”

“Fixed blade, approximately four inches long, very sharp. Possibly a hunting knife or tactical blade. The cuts are confident, no hesitation marks. He’s done this before, either on these victims or on others we haven’t found yet.”

Harper’s breath caught. “Others we haven’t found?”

“It’s just a theory,” Dr. Reynolds said carefully. “But in my experience, this level of precision doesn’t develop overnight. He’s either been practicing on something—or someone—or there are victims we don’t know about yet.”

The thought made Harper’s stomach turn. Three victims in Nevada five years ago. Two victims in Blackridge now. But what if there were more? What if the five-year gap wasn’t dormancy but just the killer being more careful, hiding bodies better, choosing victims who wouldn’t be missed?

“We need to check missing persons,” Harper told Silas. “Blackridge and surrounding areas. Going back five years. Young women, early twenties, dark hair, petite build. See if there’s anyone who matches the profile and never turned up.”

Silas nodded, making notes. “I’ll have Morris run it.”

They spent another twenty minutes with Dr. Reynolds, going over every detail, every measurement, every finding. By the time they left the morgue, Harper’s head was swimming with information and her chest felt tight with the weight of it all.

Two women had died slowly, painfully, carved up like canvases while a killer created his twisted art. And more would die if they didn’t stop him.

Outside, the afternoon sun felt too bright after the morgue’s fluorescent lights. Harper blinked against it, trying to shake off the chill that had seeped into her bones.

“You okay?” Silas asked.

“Yeah. Just...it never gets easier, you know? Seeing what people do to each other.”