It was the same logic Callahan had outlined during their interrogation—the perfect hunting ground, where victims couldn't report attacks and law enforcement had limited motivation to dig too deep.Isla felt the familiar frustration building in her chest.Two killers, possibly operating on the same waters, exploiting the same vulnerabilities in the system.
Her phone buzzed against the table, and she glanced at the display.Coast Guard."Rivers," she answered.
Lieutenant Commander Frank's voice came through, professionally crisp but with an undercurrent of strain."Agent Rivers, we've got more bodies.Dive team recovered two additional victims from theNorthern Dawnsearch area, and we've got a hit on sonar that suggests at least one more in deeper water.These ones have been in the lake longer—preliminary assessment suggests they may be from an earlier incident."
Isla's grip tightened on the phone."Earlier incident?How much earlier?"
"Hard to say until we get them to the ME, but based on decomposition and water temperature, we're looking at days, maybe a week.Could be from one of those other vessels Callahan mentioned—the ones that disappeared before theNorthern Dawn."
James was watching her face, reading the shift in her expression.Isla ended the call and turned to him, her jaw set with the determination that came when a case began revealing its true scope.
"More bodies," she said."Some of them older than the Northern Dawn massacre.They're bringing them in now."
"Christ."James ran a hand through his hair, adding to its already disheveled state."How many?"
"Two confirmed, possibly more.Frank thinks they might be from one of Callahan's other missing vessels."Isla gathered her jacket from the back of her chair, the familiar weight of her service weapon settling against her hip as she moved."I want to see them.See the wounds for myself."
"The coroner's office?"
"The coroner's office," Isla confirmed."I need to understand how this person kills.The precision Dr.Henley described on the Northern Dawn victims—that's not random violence.That's training.If we can see more examples, maybe we can start building a real profile."
James was already on his feet, reaching for his own jacket.Outside the window, the gray sky had darkened with approaching clouds, and the first drops of spring rain were beginning to streak the glass.Somewhere beneath those calm waters, the lake was giving up her dead—victims of a predator who had been hunting these waters longer than anyone had realized.
"Let's go," Isla said."The dead are waiting."
CHAPTER TWELVE
The St.Louis County Medical Examiner's office occupied a low, utilitarian building on the outskirts of Duluth, its beige concrete walls and narrow windows designed for function rather than aesthetics.Isla had visited enough morgues over her career to know that they all shared a certain quality—the particular stillness of places where the living came to examine the dead, where the clinical smell of disinfectant never quite masked the underlying reality of what happened within.
Dr.Patricia Henley met them in the anteroom, her steel-gray hair pulled back in its customary tight bun, her latex gloves already in place.The woman had spent thirty years examining violent death on the shores of Lake Superior, and it showed in the measured calm of her movements, the way her eyes assessed them both before speaking.
"Agents," she said by way of greeting."I've got four on tables right now.Two from this morning's recovery, two from the Northern Dawn that I'm still processing.The ones from this morning..."She paused, her professional demeanor cracking slightly."They've been in the water longer.The lake's done its work on them."
Isla steeled herself as they followed Henley through the swinging doors into the examination room.The smell hit her first—that unmistakable combination of cold water, decomposition, and the chemical agents used to slow the body's breakdown.Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting their harsh illumination on the stainless steel tables that held what remained of men who had lived, breathed, and died on Lake Superior's unforgiving waters.
The body on the nearest table was almost unrecognizable as human.Pale and bloated from days of immersion, the skin had taken on a grayish-white pallor that made Isla think of waterlogged wood.The features were distorted, swollen, the eyes clouded and sunken.But despite the damage the lake had inflicted, the wounds were still visible—dark gashes that had resisted the water's attempts to erase them.
"Male, approximately forty to fifty years old," Henley said, moving to stand beside the table with the clinical detachment of someone who had long ago learned to separate the horror from the work."Based on what's left of his clothing and a partial tattoo, we think this might be one of the crew from theMargaret Rose—the vessel Callahan mentioned that disappeared three months ago."
Isla forced herself to look closely, to see past the damage and focus on what the wounds could tell her.Three visible stab wounds to the torso, each one placed with what appeared to be deliberate precision despite the body's degraded state.She leaned closer, her breath shallow in the cold air of the examination room.
"The wound placement," she said quietly."It's the same pattern as theNorthern Dawnvictims."
Henley nodded, pulling back the sheet to expose more of the torso."Exactly what I was thinking.Look here—" She pointed with a gloved finger to the deepest wound, a gash that angled upward beneath the ribcage."This one went straight for the heart.Angled entry, precise penetration.The killer knew exactly where to strike."
"How close together are the strikes?"James asked, his voice slightly strained.He was holding up well, but Isla could see the tension in his jaw, the way he kept his hands clasped behind his back to hide any tremor.
"That's what's interesting."Henley moved to a light board on the wall, where she'd pinned X-rays and wound diagrams from multiple victims."All three wounds are within a six-inch radius.Tight grouping, rapid succession.This wasn't someone who stabbed and then repositioned—this was someone who knew how to deliver multiple lethal strikes in seconds."
Isla studied the diagrams, her mind working through the implications.The proximity of the wounds spoke to control—the killer had been close, intimate, able to strike repeatedly without the victim escaping or deflecting the blows.The placement spoke to knowledge—an understanding of human anatomy, of where to strike for maximum damage.And the speed suggested by the tight grouping spoke to training, to muscle memory developed through practice.
"This further proves that we are looking for someone who was trained," she said, voicing the conclusion that had been forming since she'd first seen the Northern Dawn crime scene."Military, maybe.Or law enforcement.Someone who learned how to kill efficiently and has done it enough times that it's become instinct."
"I'd agree with that assessment," Henley said."The strikes are targeted for vital organs—heart, liver, kidneys.There's no hesitation in the wound tracks, no indication that the killer paused or had to adjust.They knew exactly what they were doing."
"And no torture," James added, moving closer to examine the body."No defensive wounds on the hands or arms beyond what you'd expect from a brief struggle.This wasn't about inflicting pain—it was about ending lives as quickly and efficiently as possible."
Isla thought about what that meant.Serial killers typically fell into patterns based on their psychology—those who killed for pleasure often prolonged the experience, savoring their victims' suffering.Those who killed for practical reasons—eliminating witnesses, settling scores—were usually efficient but sloppy, driven by necessity rather than skill.What they were seeing here was something different.Cold, precise, almost clinical in its execution.
