“Same cause of death?”Ann Marie asked.
“Medical examiner hasn’t confirmed officially, but preliminary observation suggests yes—puncture mark consistent with injection, no signs of struggle, victim positioned as if resting.”Brookman’s voice dropped slightly.“And there’s an origami piece, just like the others.A swan this time.”
“Three now,” Riley muttered.Three victims, each killed the same way, each left with a paper creation that seemed to mock the fragility of the lives that had been taken.
“The woman who found her is still here,” Brookman continued, turning to point toward a park bench situated a respectful distance from the crime scene but still roped off, away from reporters.“Margaret Brogden, retired elementary school teacher.Lives a couple blocks away.She’s been cooperative, but understandably shaken.”
Riley followed his gaze to where an elderly woman sat with a small terrier-mix at her feet.Despite the shock of what she’d witnessed, Mrs.Brogden maintained a certain composure—back straight, hands folded in her lap, eyes alert.She looked like the kind of witness who would observe details others might miss.
“Ann Marie, would you...”Riley began, but her partner was already nodding, understanding the request without needing it completed.
“I’ll speak with her,” Ann Marie confirmed, her natural empathy and her skills making her the ideal person for the task.They headed toward the bench together.
Margaret Brogden looked up at their approach, her eyes reflecting a lifetime of assessing strangers—a teacher’s skill that never quite faded.
“Mrs.Brogden,” Riley began, her voice gentler than the professional clipped tone she’d used with Brookman.“I’m Special Agent Riley Paige with the FBI, and this is my colleague, Special Agent Ann Marie Esmer.We understand you’ve had a very difficult morning.”
The woman nodded, one hand absently stroking the dog’s head.“I’ve answered a number of questions already,” she said, her voice steadier than Riley had expected.“But I’m happy to go through it again if it helps.”
Riley glanced at the uniformed officer standing nearby—a young woman with kind eyes who had clearly been tasked with keeping the witness comfortable.A paper cup of coffee sat beside Mrs.Brogden, steam still rising from its surface.
“I’ll leave you in Agent Esmer’s capable hands,” Riley said.“She’ll walk you through everything.”
As Riley turned toward the cluster of medical examiners, she heard Ann Marie’s voice behind her—warm, gentle, the perfect tone to coax details from a traumatized witness without adding to her distress.“Mrs.Brogden, would you mind telling me about your morning routine?You walk your dog here regularly?”
Riley returned to the oak tree where Patricia Walsh’s life had ended.The medical examiners parted slightly at her approach, allowing her a clear view.
Patricia Walsh sat with her back against the massive trunk of the oak, her position so natural that, in different circumstances, one might have mistaken her for someone taking a peaceful moment of solitude.Her dark hair framed a face that death had rendered serene, eyes closed as if in meditation.
She wore running shoes and casual jogging attire.Most striking, however, were her hands—positioned in her lap, cradling a pristine origami swan.The paper gleamed white in the morning light, its folds precise and deliberate, its neck curved in an elegant arc that seemed to mock the stillness of the woman who held it.
“Dr.Wexler,” Riley addressed the lead medical examiner, a woman in her fifties with steel-gray hair pulled back in a severe ponytail.“What can you tell me?”
Dr.Wexler straightened, removing her latex gloves.“Preliminary examination suggests the same cause of death as your previous victims, Agent Paige.There’s a puncture mark on the upper arm consistent with injection.Based on body temperature and rigor mortis, I’d place time of death between 10 p.m.and midnight last night.”
Riley nodded, absorbing the information while her eyes remained fixed on Patricia Walsh’s face.Something about the positioning, the careful arrangement of the victim, held her attention.This wasn’t just a killing; it was a display, a message written in the language of death.
“Has she been moved?”Riley asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Like the others, the body was probably repositioned post-mortem,” Dr.Wexler confirmed.“This is how the killer left her.”
Riley knelt beside the victim, close enough to see the delicate tracery of veins beneath the waxy pallor of her skin.A faint scent lingered—not decomposition, not yet, but the subtle absence of life, like a room just vacated.
“She’s wearing a fitness tracker,” Riley observed, indicating the black bracelet.“Be sure we get whatever that has recorded.”
“I’ll have it checked out,” the M.E.agreed.
“The swan,” Riley murmured, looking closely at the origami sculpture.“It’s different from the others.”
“How so?”Dr.Wexler asked, crouching beside her.
“The first victim had a fan with a written warning not to unfold it.The second had a crane that disintegrated when touched.”Riley’s voice dropped lower, her focus narrowing to the pristine paper creation.“Each figure has become more complex, more sophisticated, and somewhat … inconsistent.”
As Riley studied the swan, something shifted within her—that indefinable awareness that her colleagues whispered about, that critics dismissed as luck or coincidence.She felt a whisper of connection to the mind that had crafted this scene, a fleeting glimpse into the purpose behind the precisely positioned body and carefully folded paper.This killer wasn’t just taking lives; they were creating moments frozen in time, tableaus meant to be discovered and interpreted.
“Succinylcholine confirmed in the preliminary toxicology,” Dr.Wexler said, consulting a digital tablet one of her assistants handed her.“Same as Bennett and Hall.Paralyzed her respiratory system but left her conscious until death.”
Riley closed her eyes briefly, imagining the terror of Patricia Walsh’s final moments—fully aware but unable to move, unable to call for help, unable even to draw breath as her consciousness slowly faded.The cruelty of such a death …
