~~Carson's POV~~
'What if things are going too smoothly?'
I could not stop asking myself that question. I'd met up with Knox at IUC, retrieved the flash drive, and was currently staring blankly at my laptop screen while fiddling with the tiny device in deep contemplation.
Things were going too smoothly. For all I knew, we were dealing with a top-notch psychopath who committed clean crimes and here I was sitting comfortably on my couch after literally walking in and out of its gnaws.
Heaving a deep sigh, I held up the flash drive before the screen for the umpteenth time. It had been in my possession since yesterday but dawdling and waiting for the "perfect" timing to see what is contained in it landed me here.
Finally slotting it in, a phone call distracted me.
I automatically assumed it was my teammates calling me on my day off and ignored it. But the call came through again. And again. Incessantly, and hampering my focus.
Ready to make it clear that I wasn't making any compromises today, I casually picked up the call and held it up to my ear while the other hand was preoccupied with clacking the keyboard.
Slowly rocking my eyes across the screen, I asked, "What's up, Griff?"
"There …" he panted through, inciting a flinch as I pulled the phone away to confirm the caller.
Did something happen? Because his jitters were reaching me aptly.
"Did something happen?" I asked curiously, picking up the chaotic noise flowing in from the background. "Where are you? I can't hear a thing."
"We're at IUC!" he yelled above the noise level.
I sprung to my feet with heightened attention, both hands now instinctively glued to my ears to hear him properly.
"Doing what?"
"There's been another death."
• • •
A third death.
By the time I arrived, the floor was already flooded with cops and police vans alike, the blaring sirens dancing in the air drenching it with unease. I was able to storm through the shambles, charging straight to the source of the mayhem – the area most crowded by cops.
I ended up on the topmost floor of the girls' dormitory, meeting a yellow investigation line which I immediately raised – after hastily flashing the cops on guard my ID – and burst through the crowd to the particular door with the most officers going in and out of it.
"What's the situation?" I asked the junior cop manning the door.
He saluted before replying, "A female student was found dead this afternoon."
It still looked like a crime scene in there, the bloody footprints and fingerprints getting illuminated by the flashing lights dangling in the air from the different cameras present.
Scanning the total mess in there, I caught sight of the white cotton cloth shrouding a human-like figure over a stretcher.
Crouching to its level, I peeled the blanket away and immediately winced in disgust at the grotty sight. Her forehead was bashed beyond recognition. Inspecting further, my eyes rolled downward to the neck region.
"No stabs wounds?" I mused aloud on finding only purple-colored bruise patches instead. Narrowing my eyes, I paused to think. The serial killer we'd all been after used knives so why was there nothing of that sort?
Hastily, I pulled out the gloves from my back pocket and slid my hands into them before uncovering the corpse down to its knee level.
Subjecting to scrutiny, there were only two stab wounds around the abdomen, further cloaking my senses with confusion. For someone whose M.O. was using knives to inflict multiple wounds, two of them were just …
Another killer?
I shook my head slightly. It was too early to conclude yet so I went on to mildly press my hand against the wounds for a reaction – to check whether blood would slurp through – but got nothing.
"What's the estimated time of death?" I asked the forensic investigator closest to me, collecting blood samples with a swab from the floor.
He pulled his nose mask down slightly before responding, "Further tests are required. But judging from the wounds, it's suspected to have happened early this morning."
'Was she stabbed or strangled to death?' I thought, perusing the scene a little more when the broken mirror trapped my attention. The cracks were centered, blood painting and trailing them down.
I impulsively took a second look at her forehead, piecing this puzzle together.
Aside from that, the broken objects painted a fight scene to me but that was hardly possible as the serial killer in question could easily overpower its victims.
Then …
"Over here!" A familiar voice echoed through hauling my attention to Sawyer who emerged from nowhere.
Following his exit trail, I and a few other officers on site rushed into the student's bathroom …
"I thought it was just soap at first until I noticed blood floating atop," he explained with hasty breaths when we were all in.
I narrowed my brows in horror when I caught sight of the drenched lifeless body sitting up in the bathtub, the water level settling around its waist mixed with blood. He looked like a man approaching his late twenties, the scanty beard around his jaw pointing to the fact that he was pretty young. The more I thought about it, the less I could grasp.
Not only was this victim STRANGLED to death, it was now a man and not a female friend as usual.
"Is he dead?" I asked Griffin who had his fingers tipped on his neck for a couple of seconds, apparently checking for a pulse.
His reply lagged. Eventually, he said, "He has a pulse. But it's pretty low."
"Where's he bleeding from?" Upon seeing his bruised face, I still asked because those couldn't suffice to put him out.
He glided his hand across the back of his head and raised it to us thereafter, now tainted red. "The back of his head."
I grimaced in pain laced with insight. He was barely hanging on. Whoever did this intended to finish him off for good.
"Any stab wounds?"
He studied the body once more to confirm. "None," he finally said.
No stab wounds still. Did he forget to come with a knife?
At least the 'fight scene' from earlier is clear now. Plausible to assume they must have fought before he ended up this way. The picture was getting bigger but still pretty vague.
The puzzle could be pieced later if he survived this. So I trotted out of the scene to call an ambulance. If he was still alive, then I was almost certain it wasn't intentional because those psychopaths were perfectionists; they'd never leave any stone unturned. He could give us a clue. 'Who knows?'
Randomly flipping my eyes, they steeled on clashing with hazel orbs across the balcony on the other side.
"Judging from the wounds, it's suspected to have happened this morning." His words reechoed, now smearing my eyes against Daniil's.
Could he have done this and still come to school like nothing happened?
The anger that immediately churned from deep within me only gunned for one thing – punch him out of existence – now that my hand was balled into an abrasive fist.
With a smug look litting his eyes, he tilted his jaw downwardly, tenderly rocking against a golden-colored hair and intentionally bringing my notice to the figure in his embrace.
I couldn't care less now that he was massaging her hair compassionately, a wry look gracing his features as if he was trying to spite me, even though the feminine form looked pretty much familiar to me.
A newfound rage only pulsated through my veins when he slightly parted his lips and mouthed, "Ashley," the slow smirk right after tugging at my composure!
It wasn't until I felt a hand around mine that I realized I was already charging toward the nincompoop. My screeching halt earned me a moment to call myself to order.
I heaved a sigh and turned to Knox.
"Called 911 yet?" he asked guilelessly, igniting a measure of guilt on realizing I was almost getting carried away by a woman.
I casually veered back to where I'd seen them but they were no longer in sight.
"You good?" he asked sheerly out of concern, probably noticing my uneasiness.
"On it." I gestured, raising my phone swiftly to him before uniting it with my ears and heading back in to escape the awkward air.