After delegating her less-pressing cases, Wren rises from her seat and heads into the autopsy suite.
“I’m going to catch you today,” she declares out loud.
The hours in the lab fly by in a blink, and Wren is called to accompany Leroux back to the crime scene. Now she’s watching him walk along the curb. They have both absorbed the profoundly negative energy surrounding this place, determined to uncover some piece of revelatory evidence in the alley next to the bar. Wren’s second bachelor’s degree in criminology make her an asset to these kinds of cases, both inside and outside of the autopsy suite.
Wren thinks about how frequently traveled this area is. It is hard to imagine how the killer pulled it off without being seen. It’s an alley used by hundreds of people a night. It is both a quick shortcut to the streets behind the bar and a place to hide drug deals away from the bustle of the main road. But then again, no stumbling barfly with half a gallon of bourbon in their belly is going to truly take notice of their surroundings, especially when fighting their way through an alley en route to a bed. Perhaps the killer saw how simple this dump could be if he played it cool, and he did just that. Wren wants to understand the mind of mayhem. But she can see that Leroux doesn’t necessarily want to understand anymore. He just wants a name.
The ground where the victim had once lain is still stained like old coffee straight from the pot. It looks as if the earth below is trying to push answers to the surface. It isn’t often that Wren herself feels so helpless yet so captivated by a crime scene.
“He chose such hotel-art humans,” Leroux says this without looking up.
Wren raises an eyebrow, wanting to ask him what he means. Before she can, he continues.
“Forgettable, but not invisible. Fine, but not amazing or impressive,” he clarifies.
He is right. These victims were not particularly notable. They weren’t highly respected members of the community, but they also weren’t totally relegated to the margins of society either. No, he wasn’t taking the lives of drifters or sex workers, as serial murderers of the past may have. He knows that play is almost always met with a social justice response. By the same virtue, choosing high-profile humans would fix the spotlight on him from the first drip of swamp water. So, he brilliantly chooses people who are neither princes nor paupers.
Wren pulls her hair into a bun on top of her head, twisting a hair tie tightly and smoothing out the hairs that spring free.
“They are like trees falling in the forest. They fall. Some people will genuinely care, but most will just want to collect the free firewood and move on.” Leroux looks up at her. He takes a moment, pacing a little bit across the curb. He crouches down, staring at the stain on the ground before standing again.
“That would make him pretty intelligent. Malice aforethought on a whole other level,” Wren responds.
Leroux nods. “Exactly. And I think it only gets worse from here.”
Wren silently agrees. It’s clear to them both that the killer’s actions thus far are no accident. The scene in front of them is the product of careful research, planning, and complex abstract thought.
As they turn to leave, empty-handed and enveloped in the heaviness of the crime scene, something catches Leroux’s eye. It’s wedged between a deep crack in the curb, where the sidewalk meets the street. He crouches down and pulls a handkerchief from his back pocket. Using it as a makeshift glove, he carefully picks a bright white business card from its place in the cement. As he lifts it to look at the front, Wren notices his face go pale. The business card is from the front desk of the medical examiner’s office. Under the official seal is Wren’s full name and title. Her professional contact information is across the bottom.
Wren takes a step forward, reaching a gloved hand out to hold the card herself. Leroux hands it over, a look of confusion painted across his face. She smooths her fingers over the raised OFFICE OF THE MEDICAL EXAMINER seal in the right corner. This is an old card design—Wren had painstakingly redesigned them herself about six months ago—but it’s definitely hers. This card is clean, so clean that it was likely placed here recently, and intentionally. Whoever left it here did so after the victim’s body was removed, and the crime scene tape was hauled away. It wasn’t there when they initially arrived at the scene. They’d have noticed. Someone did this to send a message.