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  The fatigue left Patrick in a hurry. “You found something?” He rifled through the paperwork.

  Dr. Krieger sat next to him. “I wasn’t sure at first, but after I did some blood work, I knew something was off.”

  Patrick cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  Dr. Krieger leaned closer. “Look towards the back. I usually take just one or two pics for identification purposes, but this is interesting.” She pointed at two snapshots.

  Patrick stared at them. “Looks like our killer stabbed him before he slit his throat.”

  Dr. Krieger tapped the first photo. “This wound here, Detective, created more than enough damage to do the job.” She then pointed to the other. “This wound to the lungs was done post-mortem.”

  He inflicted more damage after? Patrick slumped in his chair. “Double the work with the same return?”

  “Not exactly.” She turned to the second page of the file. “If you look here, the blood work tells you all.”

  Holy shit. “Is this right?”

  Dr. Krieger tapped at the paper. “Blood doesn’t lie. Mr. Kensington had been dead for twenty-four to thirty hours before you found him.” She let that soak in before she continued. “You also need to know, the wound pattern to Kensington’s throat is different than all of the others.”

  Did this mean? Patrick shot up from his chair. “Are you saying what I think?”

  She flipped back to the photo of Kensington’s severed throat. “The person responsible for this has training in the art of killing. The cuts on the others don’t even come close in comparison. They were done in an angry and chaotic fashion.”

  Not a discipline law school is known for. Patrick pointed to the bulletin board. “Not so solved, is it?”

  * * *

  Patrick Morgan sent a fax to his supervisor highlighting the medical findings Dr. Krieger had documented. He left the office and headed to the one person he knew had information that could lead him in the right direction. Mikki Chax had left the police station before the sketch artist could get a description of the man who killed her friend. Patrick double-checked the address she had given to the desk officer. He honestly couldn’t blame the girl for wanting somewhere she would feel safe, but given the circumstances, Ravine’s Goldmine wasn’t first on his list for an acceptable sanctuary. Patrick was well aware this girl was the key to the investigation.

  Constance Ravine seemed pleasantly surprised when she met him at the foyer to the casino. “We have the habit of crossing each other’s path…though I can see by your expression this isn’t going to be a social visit.”

  This woman had nerve. “No, I need to find Mikki. She left the other day before we could get a sketch.”

  The smile on Constance face turned into one of disgust. She pulled him to the side. “You are fucking unbelievable! That young girl has been through a whirlwind of emotions the last few days…why are you doing this to her?”

  “The man who killed Azure is still out there, Constance. I need anything she can give us—”

  A bewildered look replaced her anger. “What? The news said Collin Glover was the murderer…he wouldn’t come back here.”

  I don’t have time for this. “If you remember, Mikki told us it wasn’t Collin Glover who killed her friend. Anyway, with the information I got earlier, I need her help to find out who it really was.”

  Constance shook her head. “Why would the police say he was responsible when he wasn’t?”

  “My bosses will have a new perspective tomorrow, but right now, I need you to take me to Mikki.”

  She led him to a private elevator. “She’s upstairs in one my guest rooms.” Constance turned to walk away but motioned for Patrick to follow her. “I’m going with you.”

  Don’t argue. “Lead the way.”

  The elevator emptied into the hallway adjacent to the private quarters of Constance Ravine’s special guests. She escorted him around the corner. She stopped at the first door to her right and knocked on the door. “Mikki, you in there?”

  “Yes, Ms. Constance. You need me?”

  Constance pushed open the door. “Honey, someone needs to see you.”

  Mikki Chax was stretched out on the king-size bed. She curled up in a ball when she saw Patrick in the doorway. “I know you mad at me…but I afraid to stay there…so I go.”

  “Mikki, I’m not upset. I just came to ask you for your help.”

  Mikki sat up. “You no mad?”

  Patrick managed a smile. “No, I just want to catch the man who killed Azure.”

  Mikki bowed her head. “I very much like that, too.”

  Patrick slowly walked towards her. “Hey, I have an idea. Instead of you going to the police office, how about if I have my sketch guy come here?”

  “I like that better, Mr. Policeman, but I do draw him already.” Mikki smiled.

  Huh? Patrick thought his ears were playing tricks on him. “Mikki, you have a picture of him?”

  She reached over to the wooden dresser. Opening it, she pulled out several pieces of folded paper. “His face makes me not want close my eyes. Please take them…maybe they help you.”

  “Thanks,” Patrick unfolded them. Amazing!

  The girl had substantial talent, which would propel her from Constance Ravine and the XXX parties that had put her in this mess in the first place. Patrick flipped through the pictures. Each had a few differences, but one thing remained constant. The man had a dark mark on the right side of his face. The size and shape was always the same. Why is this so familiar? He pointed to the mark. “Mikki, can you explain to me what this is?”

  Mikki leaned over him. She motioned with her hands. “Man cut…he bleed.”

  A wound. It was a wound. Patrick stared into the man’s features. Whoever he was, the man had been injured at the scene of his crime. Azure Sutaki had made sure her killer would have something to remember her by. Patrick recalled Dr. Krieger saying the DNA from under Azure’s fingernails was very difficult to process, and a match so far, hadn’t been identified. But if the killer was still bleeding when he grabbed her by Collin Glover’s Jaguar, the CSI team should have another sample of blood available for testing. Patrick stuffed the drawings in his jacket. He thanked Mikki and Constance before rushing back to his vehicle. Patrick dialed a number on his cell phone as he sped out of the parking lot. There was only one other person he knew skilled in the art of forensics and blood collection. And he was on the way to visit him.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Brandon paced the living room, glaring at the grandfather clock in the corner. Ryan should have been here by now. The driver usually had the boy home on time, but today, he was already an hour late. That wasn’t the only thing on his mind though.

  Brandon flipped open the liquor cabinet. He clenched his teeth as he took a sip of vodka from his glass. His number one problem was Donovan Petrie. The asshole had been following him, and given what Brandon did in his off time, there was no telling how much the man had witnessed. Donovan had cajoled him from the start. The answer why had not been unveiled, but he would make sure to ask before he buried the man under the earth.

  Brandon picked up the cordless and dialed.

  “Father’s of Faith Elementary School. This is Jill. How may I help you?”

  “Jill, this is Brandon Thornley…Ryan’s father. I thought the students were releasing early today?”

  “Mr. Thornley, they were let out over an hour ago. I’m in the office and don’t see anyone in the waiting area.”

  Something’s not right. “Jill, are any of the teachers around…and if they are, would you check? Maybe Ryan is outside on the playground?”

  “Sure, Mr. Thornley. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get back to you.” The girl’s voice was replaced with the sound of holiday music.

  Check with Carina. Brandon grabbed his cell phone from the table.

  Two rings later, his wife picked up. “Hey honey, what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Carina, did Ryan s
ay anything about staying after class today?”

  “Hmm, I don’t think so. I thought by now you two would be setting up the house for our Christmas Eve party.”

  Shit. Almost forgot about that. “No, I was waiting for him. Do me favor. I’m on the other line with his school. Would you call the limousine service to see if they picked him up?”

  “I will. Brandon…you think something happened? Maybe an accident?” Her voice was nervous.

  “Don’t start thinking like that. Just give them a call and let me know…okay?”

  “I’ll contact them now,” Carina said in almost too soft of a tone. She disconnected from the call.

  Brandon picked up the cordless. The music was still playing, so he knew Jill hadn’t returned. Within a few minutes, she was back.

  “Mr, Thornley. Ryan was picked up just a few minutes later than usual today.”

  Where is he then? “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, he’s gone from the campus, sir.”

  Brandon slammed the cordless back on its base. Several white chunks of plastic broke away and bounced onto the carpet. Ryan, where the hell are you? As a leader of men, Brandon was able to solve almost any problem that came his way, but for the first time in his life, he felt powerless. This time, someone else was in control. He gripped the cell phone with both hands, hoping his wife would call and verify his son was fine, but when he saw her burst through the door, he became nauseated.

  Carina explained the dispatcher for the limousine service had confirmed Ryan had been picked up at his regular location, but the driver hadn’t been in contact since. Brandon decided it was time to contact the police. Even though he thought it was poetic justice in its truest form to have the police nosing around a serial killer’s house, it was his only chance to find Ryan. Brandon had taught both his son’s to be mindful of their surroundings. He knew Ryan wouldn’t willingly go with a stranger, but Landon wasn’t, and he honestly seemed to be a stand-up type of person. Of course, Brandon realized that was what most who came in contact with him also thought…and how wrong were they?

  The police dispatcher took down the information. She ensured Brandon an investigator would be on scene within a short time. After just a few minutes of waiting for the police, Brandon heard whimpering from the adjoining room. He peeked into the kitchen. Carina Thornley was huddled in a chair. Her eyes were damp with tears, as she held the phone tightly against her chest.

  Carina looked up when she saw Brandon in the doorway. “Where is he, Brandon?” She wiped at her face.

  Brandon knelt down next to her. “We’ll find him…I promise.” He caressed her face with the back of his hand.

  Carina reached out and took his hand in hers. “Why is this happening to us?” She sobbed even louder.

  Because bad people roam the earth. I should know. I’m one of them. Brandon shook his head. “I don’t know.” He gently took the phone from her. He walked towards the rear of the house so Carina wouldn’t hear him. Brandon hit the speed dial button.

  “Hey, boss,” Monty York answered.

  “I need a favor.” Brandon voice was shaky.

  “You sound like shit…what’s up?”

  “Ryan’s missing. The limo driver picked him up from school a few hours ago but hasn’t returned or called us.”

  Monty’s voice lowered. “Damn, I’m sorry…you think he wants a ransom?”

  Brandon sighed. “Maybe…but I’m not getting that vibe. If you know who has experience in this. I need them.” Wow, that’s ironic.

  “Boss, give me ten minutes. I’ll shake someone down in Missing Persons. We’ll figure it out.”

  “Thanks, partner.”

  That driver will be sorry he ever met me. He ended the conversation. He stopped at the kitchen door. His wife was still seated in the chair, but this time, she didn’t even look up when he entered the room. Carina doesn’t deserve this pain. Brandon started to approach her, but the vibration of his cell phone stopped him. Something about Ryan. His fingers trembled as he fumbled with the device. His sudden hope vanished when he realized it was just a text from Donovan.

  Happy Christmas Eve, buddy.

  Don’t have time to chat right now!

  Something wrong?

  Family emergency.

  Ah, I would it call it something else.

  Brandon stared at the display. That makes no sense…unless… Beads of sweat formed on his face as his pulse quickened. He punched out a few words.

  What would you call it then?

  The display lit up.

  More like a very tragic ending…yes, I think that’s a perfect way to describe YOUR situation.

  Oh my God, this is why he’s been following me, Brandon thought. His face turned flush. He tapped at the keys with fury in his eyes.

  You have Ryan?

  Good guess…maybe you should call the cops.

  I already did. Now, I know you have him it won’t be long.

  Ha ha! If you mention my name, Ryan won’t have long.

  His mind swirled. Fuck, what do I do? Brandon stared at his wife. She was still in a state of shock. Gotta be sure first. Can’t take his word for shit. He typed several words and waited for the response. Then it came, and like all bad news does, it hit him with full force and without mercy.

  Black winter coat, white shirt, black tie, and black pants.

  Brandon’s eyes filled with wetness as he remembered Ryan leaving the house in that same attire. He then turned and ran upstairs. Opening his closet, he pulled out his brown pouch of tools. Donovan Petrie had made a serious miscalculation if he thought kidnapping Ryan was going to be financially rewarding. Brandon reached in and freed one of his blades. It felt comforting as he ran his fingers along the serrated edge. He grabbed the sheath and attached it to his belt.

  Brandon reached into his night stand and removed the stainless steel Mazre .40 caliber handgun. This wasn’t his style, but Donovan had proven to be a worthy adversary. This was evident by how effortlessly the man had been in ripping his son away from him. Brandon shoved the gun in his trench coat. He typed another message. A few minutes later, Brandon was in the Mercedes and on the way to save his son. If you want to play…play we shall.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Patrick Morgan pushed the number four on the elevator panel. A mass exodus ensued once the door slid open. This floor housed the laboratories of the county’s forensic staff. They had been working non-stop collecting and processing evidence in the Holiday Murders, so when Collin Glover was named as the prime suspect, it was like music to their ears. Supervisors of the team all agreed: a few days with family and friends would be just what this group needed. At least someone was in the Christmas spirit. Patrick weaved his way through the winding hallway until he finally reached his destination. He pushed the intercom button and waited.

  “Welcome to forensic world. You bag ‘em, and we do all sort of nasty stuff sorting out who killed ‘em.” Scott Gather’s voice cackled.

  Guy has some sick humor. The lock on the door disengaged. Scott was behind a large elongated steel table. He was organizing several stacks of beakers and almost dropped a few when he saw Patrick. “Damn, I drop those, and Big Brother will cancel my birthday.”

  Maybe he’s a little crazy. “Not before you first help me.”

  Scott pointed at him. “Ouch, that hurt the only feeling I had left.” He finished putting the glass tubes away before he approached Patrick. “Hey, after you called, I went back through my logbooks of what was collected at the Azure Sutaki murder.”

  “Anything?” Patrick asked.

  Scott smiled. “You know me, I always find something.”

  He led Patrick through a series of doors and into another laboratory even larger than the one they just left.

  Patrick shook his head in disbelief. “Little mad scientist seems to have a healthy budget.”

  “I spare no expense at the cost of my employer.” Scott winked. “Let me show you what I found.” He stopped in front of what
appeared to be a walk-in refrigeration unit. There was a square swipe card pad just to the right. Scott grabbed the badge around his neck and ran the card through. “Show time, partner.”

  State of the art, indeed. Scott led him to the middle of the room where several metallic devices were stationed. He opened one, which looked like a high-tech dishwasher. Then, he removed several glass slides and placed them on a small foam pad in front of a computer workstation.

  Patrick stared at the equipment. “What is that?”

  Scott pushed a few buttons on the ergonomic keyboard. “This beauty is called a…” he paused, appearing to want to spare his friend from useless terminology. Then, he patted Patrick on the shoulder. “This thing just analyzes blood…and matches it to a host. We have three stations like this.”

  Patrick leaned in. “Dr. Krieger was quite clear she couldn’t match the blood from Azure’s fingernails.”

  Scott rubbed his chin. “Maybe the sample deteriorated. That girl’s body was out in the elements for a long time.” He tapped at the keyboard. “Anyway, after you called, I grabbed several samples. I also compared the candles from the attorney’s crime scene with the ones from the other crime scenes…and they are not the same…you were right.”

  “There’s one for us. What about your blood samples?”

  Scott smiled. “Well it appears there are two blood types at the scene.”

  Patrick eye’s widened. It had to be the killer’s blood. “Two. That’s what I figured.”