“Jameson Park,” Feldman said.
Ash lifted his brows in surprise. Jameson Park was built along the shores of Lake Michigan, and popular enough to be crowded this time of year despite the frigid weather. Plus it would have a regular patrol officer who would do sweeps through the area.
A dangerous place to do a dump.
“That doesn’t fit the pattern,” he said.
“No. But everything else does,” Feldman told him, turning around the pad so Ash could see the photos taken of Angel Conway’s naked body.
For a second his stomach rolled in protest. It’d been a while since he’d seen death up close and personal. And the violence one person could inflict on another. Then he sucked in a slow, deep breath.
Shutting down his emotions, he studied the picture with a professional attention to detail. He’d learned as a detective it was too easy to get overwhelmed by death. He had to break it down to small, individual pieces to keep himself focused on what was important.
Leaning forward he studied the cut that marred the slender throat. It was thin and smooth and just deep enough to cut through the carotid artery. There were no hesitation marks, and no ragged edges to indicate nerves or anger. It was a precision kill that seemed to be oddly lacking in emotion.
Next his gaze moved to the small wound on the woman’s upper breast. It was carved into a neat crescent shape. This was the one detail they’d never revealed to the public.
“Christ,” he breathed as he straightened. “He’s back.”
Jax reached out to grasp his shoulder. “We can’t jump to conclusions, Ash.”
Ash understood his brother’s warning. There was nothing more dangerous for an investigator than leaping to a conclusion, then becoming blind to other possibilities.
But he was no longer a detective, and his gut instinct was screaming that this was the work of the killer who’d destroyed the lives of so many. Including his own.
“There’s more.” Feldman cleared his throat, lowering the pad. “She’s had plastic surgery.”
“Not that unusual,” Jax said, echoing Ash’s own thoughts. “Lots of women, and men for that matter, think they need some nip and tuck.”
Feldman grimaced. “This nip and tuck was for a particular purpose.”
A chill crawled over Ash’s skin. Not the frigid air of the morgue, but something else. Perhaps a premonition. “What purpose?” he forced himself to ask.
“If I had to make a guess, I would say it was to make Angel Conway look like Remi Walsh.”
Conquer the Darkness Page 26