Page 59 of Fatal Pattern

“That’s what bothers me.” Tori traced the arrow connecting the boxes. “Paranoid schizophrenia with homicidal ideation doesn’t usually present as methodical stalking behavior. Most cases show disorganized thinking, impulsive violence, auditory hallucinations driving the aggression. My stalker waited weeks. Learned my patterns. Chose specific moments to approach. That’s not psychotic break behavior. That’s calculated predation.”

“Either the diagnosis was wrong—”

“Or someone wanted us to think it was right.” The pieces clicked into place. “What if the psychiatric evaluation was fabricated? What if they needed a reason to disappear a four-year-old witness who saw something he shouldn’t have?”

“You don’t think Nikos is your stalker anymore?” Blade asked.

“Actually it still fits.” She tapped the Crew name on her paper. “Two children witness the horrific murder of their parents. One child develops dissociative amnesia. Complete memory block of the trauma. The other child becomes obsessed with blood and knives.”

“And his sister.”

She nodded. “The early-onset schizophrenia diagnosis is incorrect at best. A lie at worst. Something to hurry the case along. Made it easier to disappear him without questions.”

“It’s hard to believe a four-year-old could overpower two adults and stab them to death. Even with that alphabet soup of psychiatric labels they slapped on him.” Blade leaned across the counter and grabbed Kiara’s pastry bag, pulling out something that looked half donut, half croissant. He offered her the bag.

She normally avoided pastries and sweets. Not worth the sugar crash that always left her sluggish. But the buttery smell was irresistible. She picked one with whipped cream and a strawberry on top. Fruit was healthy, right?

“Dissociative amnesia protects the psyche from unbearable trauma. That’s how my brain coped.” She licked sugar from her thumb. “But Nikos’s brain processed it differently. Instead of blocking the memory, he fixated on it. The violence became his baseline normal.”

Blade nodded, chewing. “Makes sense. So, what’s our next move?”

“Investigation’s your department. I analyze behavior.”

“Right, except we’re not supposed to know any of these details. Sealed file and all that.” He wiped his fingers on a napkin. “But I’ve got two ideas. First, we talk to our favorite tech nerd, Jett. Maybe he’s got some new software up his sleeve that can help us track down what name Nikos’s using now.”

“And the second?”

“The Damien problem. Every call, letter, visit between us gets monitored. We can’t just walk in there and tell him we’ve seen the file and ask him about the second murder book.”

He was right. The urge to call Damien this morning had been strong. She’d even pulled up the prison’s number on her phone before second-guessing herself. Every word would have been recorded, analyzed, flagged for review. “So what’s your big idea for that one?”

“We use the same methods criminals use.” Blade grinned. “It’s called the Privilege Channel. We use the attorney-client privilege to pass information to Damien and back.”

“That’s genius! I could kiss you, but I’d need a stepstool.” She punched him in the arm instead.

He laughed, rubbing his bicep. “We’ll set it up.”

Tori pointed back to the Florek box. “Now let’s get a plan for this one too. What do we know so far?”

“Knife attack, personal and prolonged. No forced entry. Valuable items left behind.” Blade reached for her pen. “May I?”

She handed it over, and he started filling in details around the Florek box. His handwriting was clean, angular. Cop writing.

“Defensive wounds suggest he fought back,” Blade continued, scribbling. “Blood spatter shows the killer paused mid-attack. And the scene presented like a crime of passion slash rage.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“No. Too controlled. Too calculated.” Blade dragged a line from Florek to Stalker. “He followed the same drill. Watched the mark. Mapped the hit.”

“Attacked with a knife.” Her mouth stopped working. Breath snagged, half formed. The question shoved through anyway. “Could the stalker have killed Florek?”

Blade stilled, eyes cutting toward her, then he scrawled another note—trace link: Florek/Crew.

“Wait—no. I didn’t know Donald Florek.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Blade said. “Could’ve been nothing more than the wrong glimpse. Grocery store. Parking lot. Stalker sees, twists it, decides it means something.”

“I don’t talk to strange men in grocery stores or parking lots.”