“A taunt,” Elaine observed, wrapping her hands around her own mug.“The killer is clearly playing games, setting up scenarios where investigators must choose between following protocol and following instinct.”She took a thoughtful sip of her tea.“Your killer almost certainly has law enforcement background.”
“That’s my assessment as well,” Riley agreed, pleased to have her own instincts confirmed by someone she deeply respected.“The crime scenes are too deliberate, too knowledgeable about evidence procedures.They understand exactly how to create dilemmas for investigators.”
Elaine studied Riley over the rim of her mug.“While this is fascinating—and disturbing—I’m still not clear on why you’ve come to me, specifically.Surely the Bureau has plenty of profilers and consultants available.”
Riley set down her tea, the moment of truth approaching.“Because the killer sent me a message, Elaine.One that references you directly.”
Ann Marie withdrew her own phone, displaying the image that had been texted to Brookman.“This was sent to Detective Brookman this afternoon, specifically addressed to Riley.”
Elaine’s eyes widened as she took in the Chinese finger trap, recognition immediate.“I see,” she said softly.
“You used this as a teaching tool,” Riley explained, though Elaine clearly needed no reminder.“In your ethics seminar back in 2000.I was there as a new trainee.You passed it around the room, had us all try it, then explained how it was a metaphor for certain law enforcement dilemmas.”
“Yes,” Elaine confirmed, her expression growing distant with memory.“The counterintuitive solution—that sometimes you must move toward a problem rather than pull away from it.”She focused again on Riley.“And our killer referenced this particular lesson?One from more than twenty years ago?I mean, I have used that teaching tool in other situations, too.”
“Of course,” Riley said.“Which means they either attended a seminar themselves, or at least they’re intimately familiar with your teaching methods.”
Elaine set down her mug carefully, her movements deliberate.“I taught that seminar repeatedly over nearly fifteen years, Riley.Hundreds of law enforcement professionals would have encountered that particular metaphor.”She frowned.“Though I admit, the specific reference to you does suggest a more personal connection.”
“That’s what concerns me,” Riley admitted.“The message was addressed to me.The killer knew I’d make this connection to you, and that suggests the one particular presentation.”
Elaine rose from her chair, moving to the kitchen window.She stood there for a moment, looking out at her garden now bathed in the golden light of approaching sunset.When she turned back, her expression was grave.
“These victims,” she said, “was there any connection between them beyond the manner of death?”
Riley nodded.“All three women suffered from impulse control disorders.All three had found relief through origami as a therapeutic practice.”
“And all three were killed with succinylcholine,” Elaine added, almost to herself.“A paralytic that leaves the victim fully conscious but unable to move or speak.”She returned to the table, her movements measured.“Your killer isn’t just playing games with investigators, Riley.They’re making these women experience a particular type of helplessness before death.”
The insight had already struck Riley with its simple, terrible truth.The choice of poison wasn’t just practical—it was deliberately cruel, forcing the victims to experience complete powerlessness in their final moments.
“There’s something else,” Ann Marie added.“We’ve identified a potential next victim—a woman named Olga Swinson.She runs an origami therapy group at a community center, and she also has an impulse control disorder.Detective Brookman is arranging protection for her now.”
“It’s not just about the victims, though,” Riley said, returning to the central question.“The finger trap message was meant for me, specifically.It’s personal, Elaine.And it’s connected to you.”
Elaine’s blue eyes held Riley’s for a long moment.Then she reached for Riley’s phone again, swiping through the crime scene photos with renewed focus.Her expression changed subtly as she studied each image—a slight narrowing of the eyes, a tightening at the corners of her mouth.Finally, she set the phone down and folded her hands on the table.
“I think I know who your killer might be,” she said quietly.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Elaine said a name that Riley hadn’t heard in years.
“Sarah Mitchell,” Riley repeated.“She was there that day.In your seminar.”The words conjured up more memories from two decades ago—a young woman with intense eyes and rapid-fire questions that challenged even Elaine’s careful reasoning.But Sarah Mitchell as a killer?
Elaine nodded, her silver hair catching the waning sunlight from the kitchen window.“Front row, left side.She asked more questions than anyone else in the room.I remember thinking she had one of the sharpest analytical minds I’d encountered in a trainee.”
Ann Marie leaned forward, “I’m sorry, who is Sarah Mitchell?I’m not familiar with the name.”
Riley set her teacup down, the china making a soft clink against the wooden table.“She was an evidence technician for the Bureau.Brilliant, from what I recall.Meticulous.She had a reputation for catching details others missed.”
“But that was over twenty years ago,” Ann Marie said.“What makes you think she’s connected to these murders?”
“Because about ten years after that seminar, Sarah Mitchell found herself caught in a very real finger trap,” Elaine said.“And it destroyed her.”
Riley knew exactly what Elaine was talking about.She remembered learning about the tragic case as it unfolded.
Elaine rose from her chair, moving to a shelf lined with neatly labeled file boxes.She withdrew a folder and returned to the table.
