Page 95 of Choosing Us

“Right. This came to our attention after a system flagged some test results. The victim is thirty-four-year-old Jennifer Johnson of Watertown, Massachusetts. And I know you’re going to have questions when I walk you through crime scene photos because it doesn’t add up until it does, so just hang tight.”

That’s not a good caveat.

“Miss Johnson was discovered the morning after her attack by a coworker that was sent to check on her after she missed her shift as a CNA at a nearby retirement home. Miss Johnson’s coworkers said that was extremely out of character, and they knew something was wrong. The coworker called for a wellness check when no one answered the door, and Miss Johnson’s body was discovered on her kitchen floor.”

Mason pulls up photos of the scene in an older, nondescript apartment that looks like it’s part of a house that was converted into apartments. The kitchen’s avocado green appliances and gold tiled linoleum date the space, but it looks well taken care of, except for the obvious signs of a struggle near Miss Johnson’s body.

“Is this related to one of our ongoing cases, or is it a new one?” Walker asks.

“It’s related to The Carnation Killer.”

“That is not a park, Mason,” Kelly astutely observes. “And there is no carnation in sight.”

“It is not a park, but like I said, hang tight. Miss Johnson’s autopsy revealed the cause of death was manual strangulation, with what appears to be traces of black fibers left behind that would match ones found in a leather glove.”

“The killer wore gloves?” Kelly asks as Mason nods.

“Not to say he didn’t at the other scenes, but this is the first time fibers were discovered on the victim to suggest their presence.”

“If it’s the same guy, you mean?” Tara asks.

Mason shakes his head. “No, it’s the same guy.”

“Guys, let him finish. Keep going, Mason.” Walker nods to the screen before anyone can ask additional questions.

“Like I said, fibers were discovered, and while the jarring clues of the scene suggest more differences than similarities, Miss Johnson did us a massive favor when she fought back, likely scratching the suspect’s arms or face in the process. She had defensive abrasions and her self-defense actions left DNA under her fingernails.”

“Does it match the profile of one of our cases?”

“There is enough overlap of the trace DNA to be considered a probable match for The Carnation Killer cases. Sorry, Harlow.” I wave my hand at his apology. I can’t fight the name, and it is a good name, even if I hate it on principle. “When local PD entered the results into the system, it flagged Quantico because of the partial match.”

“What does the DNA profile tell us? Is there anything new from this additional sample?” I ask Mason, not able to wait until he is done to ask my own questions.

“It doesn’t really tell us anything new, just confirms things we already knew from previous trace DNA left behind at scenes. Our unsub is a Caucasian male, late thirties to early forties,” Mason replies as he pulls up more documentation. “However, in this case, there seems to be a deviation from his previous ritual.”

“What else is missing or different?” I question pointedly.

“In addition to it being inside the victim’s apartment instead of a remote location, and the absence of the signature carnation, the victim’s toxicology report was clean.”

“Excuse me?” I sit up straighter at that.

Mason shakes his head and shrugs. “I don’t know what to say, the tox reports did not show any signs of ketamine or anything else that was out of the ordinary.”

“He didn’t sedate her?” Tara asks.

“It doesn’t appear so, and the ligature marks around her neck would suggest intense rage in the moment of death,” Mason replies.

“He is not only deviating, he’s spiraling,” I add. “He’s losing control, and the ritual is no longer required when something else still satisfies his need to kill.”

“What was the date of this attack?” Walker asks.

“Miss Johnson was discovered on the morning of May sixteenth, with time of death placed sometime between nine p.m. and midnight on May fifteenth.” Mason pulls up the autopsy report, and I am already scanning it when Tara speaks.

“Damn … we were celebrating at the same time this poor woman was living her last few moments in a nightmare.”

The room stills and narrows to Tara. I can feel the blood rushing in my ears. I am missing something here. “What do you mean?”

She nods to the screen. “The date. It was your birthday party, and we were all having a great time while this poor girl was being murdered.”