She left the living room and followed the path Sloane had taken, down the hallway toward the back of the house.The sounds of activity grew louder as she approached. Voices speaking in low tones, the click of a camera, the rustle of equipment being moved.
Kate found Sloane in what appeared to be a home office. The room was small but well organized, with a desk against one wall and built-in shelves on another. Two forensics technicians were working carefully around the space, photographing and documenting everything. Sloane stood near the doorway, her eyes moving systematically across the room. She wasn't just looking at the crime scene itself. She was studying the entire space, taking in details that most people would miss: the books on the shelves, the placement of furniture, the way light came in through the window.
Kate watched her work, impressed despite her earlier concerns. Sloane was methodical and thorough, treating the entire home as part of the investigation rather than just focusing on where the body was found.
Then Kate's eyes moved to the desk, and her heart sank.
Rachel Thornton sat in the desk chair, her upper body slumped forward across the desk. Blood had pooled on the desk surface beneath her, dark and still spreading when they'd first arrived but now starting to dry around the edges. She was wearing yoga pants and a loose sweatshirt, the kind of comfortable clothes you'd put on for working from home.
A letter opener protruded from her back, buried between her shoulder blades at an angle that suggested it had been driven in with force. The handle was ornate, probably expensive, the kind of decorative object that would sit on a desk as much for looks as function.
Kate had seen countless bodies over her career… victims of violence in every imaginable form. But it was always harder when it was personal, when the victim was someone she'd seen alive and moving through the world. Rachel had jogged past herhouse just days ago, waving as she always did. Now she was dead, murdered in her own home office while her husband was somewhere else in the house.
One of the forensics technicians looked up at Sloane. "We're ready to move her whenever you give the word. Coroner's waiting outside."
"Just a few more minutes," Sloane said.
She moved closer to the body, circling the desk slowly. Her expression was focused but not detached. She was observing, processing, building a picture in her mind of what had happened here.
Kate stayed near the doorway, giving Sloane space to work. She watched as the younger agent crouched down to examine the angle of the letter opener, then stood and looked at the room from different positions, reconstructing the killer's movements.
Finally, Sloane straightened and turned to Kate. "It's not worth treating the husband as a suspect." She stated it as a fact, not a question or suggestion.
Kate raised an eyebrow. She agreed with the assessment, but she wanted to hear Sloane's reasoning. "Why not? Can you walk me through it?"
For just a second, a brief flash of annoyance crossed Sloane’s face. But she then nodded and said, “This wasn't a crime of passion." Sloane gestured at the body. "She was stabbed only once. Just once, with a very particular object. If this was a husband losing his temper, we'd see multiple wounds. Defensive injuries. Signs of a struggle."
Kate nodded, encouraging her to continue.
"Look at how she's positioned," Sloane said. "The killer waited here until she was dead. They made sure her body would be found exactly like this, seated at the desk. If she'd been left alone after the stabbing, she would have likely fallen over or tried to crawl to the door for help. But she didn't. She stayedin that chair until she died, which means someone was here making sure of it."
Kate pulled out her phone and made notes as Sloane spoke. The assessment was solid, the reasoning clear and logical.
"This murder was planned and deliberate," Sloane continued. "It almost reminds me of a mob hit. It's meant to send a message." She paused, looking at Kate directly. "And the fact that this is the second of its kind only backs that up."
Kate felt a chill run through her. Sloane was right. If this was indeed the second murder of its kind, that changed things. They were still waiting on the reports from the first crime scene, a woman named Patricia Holmes, but based on what they did know from what DeMarco had told them, both had been killed with personal, deliberate weapons.
"Two murders in three days," Kate said. "Both victims in their fifties, both killed at home."
"Both killed with objects that were already in their homes," Sloane added. "I’m going to call DeMarco and ask for the complete files for the first victim. Holmes, I believe. We need to find the connection between the victims.”
One of the forensics technicians cleared his throat. "Agent Sloane? We really do need to move the body now."
Sloane nodded. "Go ahead. Make sure everything is documented first."
Kate stepped back into the hallway as the technicians began the careful process of preparing Rachel's body for transport. She didn't need to watch that part. She'd seen it too many times before.
Sloane joined her in the hallway, and they stood there for a moment in silence. Through the window at the end of the hall, Kate could see neighbors starting to gather on the street, drawn by the police presence and the coroner's van.
"You did good work in there," Kate said quietly.
"Thank you." Sloane looked at her phone, already pulling up database access for the victim records. "I'm going to head back to the field office and start going through their backgrounds. Do you want to come with me?"
Kate thought about it. She could go with Sloane, help dig through records and look for connections. She checked her watch and saw that it was 3:20 in the afternoon. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve got some time.”
They walked back through the house together, past the living room where James Thornton was still sitting on the couch with a victim advocate now beside him. He wasn’t even aware when they passed by. They exited the house, passing by the young officer was still standing guard at the front door, and back outside where the afternoon sunlight felt all wrong in its brightness and warmth.
Kate's car was parked two houses down. She walked to it slowly, thinking about the victims and the calculated brutality of their deaths. Thinking about the fact that someone in this neighborhood had killed twice in three days and would almost certainly kill again.
