The Girl Who Woke Up (Darcy Hunt FBI Mystery Suspense Thriller Book 8) by Eva Sparks

Author:Eva Sparks [Sparks, Eva]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-07-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

FBI Field Office

Albany, NY

“Okay,” I say, “Let’s run this back from the top.”

Skylar and I are in the Think Tank, a large, open room that has serious Silicon Valley vibes. Unlike the stuffy, functional feel of the floor’s main area with all of its bland cubicles and obnoxious fluorescent lighting, the Think Tank was designed by experts in the fields of psychology and neuroscience. The layout, furniture, color scheme, and ambience have all been curated to facilitate conversation and coordination, to allow the mind to relax as it works to unravel mental knots in what are often piles of case information. The soft lighting is easy on the eyes, and speakers in the corners play soft meditation music to assist in greater focus. Right now, we’re perched on ergonomic bar stools beside a high table in the back of the room.

This room is one of the things I missed about the AFO during the time it was shut down for repairs. It’s not that I couldn’t do my job without it, but I have found that it makes challenging mental work a little bit easier. Skylar and I have had more than one breakthrough in here.

And speaking of breakthroughs, we could totally use one right now. This case is getting twistier by the day. We’re feeling the pressure of so many people counting on us to get this right. Whoever it is that we’re chasing, they’ve remained several steps ahead of us the entire way. They’re methodical and strategic. On top of that, they’re skilled enough not to leave any trace behind. They haven’t been caught on camera, haven’t left any fingerprints, and have managed to leave us in the dark in regards to discerning any motive at all. By all accounts, they don’t exist at all.

It’s a good thing I don’t believe in ghosts.

Skylar has written her notes across a glass dry-erase board. She stands back now and begins to orient her thoughts around them. “Okay, so we have a mass shooting event that leads to the deaths of four people and thirteen casualties.”

“Five deaths,” I correct her. “I got word right before we walked in here that someone succumbed to their wounds overnight.”

She grimaces and wipes the four away with her finger, replacing it with a five, then reduces the wounded number to twelve. “So five dead. Twelve wounded. Then, three days later, a reporter with the Boston Globe, who had been invited to the party but didn’t show, is murdered. Following her trail leads us to a secluded property where we discover another whistle, which apparently is our unsub’s signature of choice.”

“Good summary,” I tell her. “Let’s start with the signature.”

“Okay. Fire away.”

“We know that serial killers leave specific signatures at crime scenes to gain attention. They want the credit for the kill to go to them while remaining unknown.”

“Right, but?”

“But signatures are often left to send a message. They lead somewhere. I think that’s what’s happening now. He wants us to think.”

“So the whistles are breadcrumbs.

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