Hunter and Garcia moved closer.

‘As I’m sure you’ll remember, the victim of two days ago was restrained to the chair by her ankles and torso, immobilizing her arms, but still allowing enough freedom of movement for the “bending forward, slamming” action.’

Both detectives nodded.

‘OK, so first major diverging point – this victim wasn’t restrained to the chair at all, at least not by ropes, or cords, or anything similar.’ She called their attention to Cassandra’s wrists, ankles and the patch of skin directly under her breasts. There were no binding or friction bruises. No marks, either. ‘You’ll need to wait for the toxicology results to find out if she was drugged or not, but I’d be seriously surprised if she wasn’t.’

‘A paralyzing agent?’ Garcia suggested.

‘That’s what I would expect, yes, and that would be a second diverging point in the killer’s MO. As I’m sure you’ll remember, toxicology came back negative on all accounts for the first victim.’

The doctor interlaced her fingers together to readjust her latex gloves.

‘Third major diverging point,’ she continued, now indicating Cassandra’s lips. ‘There are no lacerations, scratches, or impressions of any kind to suggest that she was gagged prior to her demise, unlike the first victim.’

Hunter walked around and joined the doctor by the victim’s left side. For several silent seconds, he regarded the victim’s entire body. With the exception of a small cut to the right corner of her bottom lip, there were no other visible wounds, superficial or otherwise, anywhere on her torso, arms, legs or face. He bent forward to examine her mouth and the cut to her lip, but he found it hard to get past the look immortalized in her eyes – total and utter fear.

‘Fourth,’ Dr. Slater carried on with her assessment, ‘and undoubtedly the most obvious conflicting point in both MOs, is the complete break away from the kill method.’ She regarded the detectives before her. ‘From the surprised look on your faces as you walked in here, I’m guessing that, just like me, you were expecting to find another facially mutilated victim.’

She took their silence as a ‘yes’.

‘It would’ve been understandable if the killer hadn’t used broken glass this time, but I for one was expecting to find another grotesquely disfigured victim.’ Dr. Slater paused and once again called their attention to the naked woman on the chair. ‘As you can see, despite it being completely covered in blood, the only other injury to her face is this tiny cut to the right side of her bottom lip.’ She indicated as she spoke. ‘It’s a brand new cut, so my guess is that it was probably inflicted upon her with a firm hand slap, either to shut her up or to prove his resolve.’

Even through all the blood, Cassandra’s facial features were clearly identifiable – the petite nose, the high cheekbones, the full lips, the rounded chin. She no doubt had been a very attractive woman.

Hunter had already noticed that the victim’s fair hair was completely caked in blood, with the biggest concentration at the very top, which indicated that that was where the blood pour had originated from.

‘She obviously bled from the head,’ he said. ‘But I can’t see any major cuts or blunt-force trauma wounds.’

‘That’s also what puzzled me,’ Dr. Slater agreed, ‘because it doesn’t look like she was bashed over the head with any sort of blunt or sharp instrument. As you’ve said, there are no visible cuts to her scalp. No depressions to her cranium either.’

Hunter regarded the top of Cassandra’s head again, and, though he couldn’t see past the thick cluster of blood and hair, an image began forming in his mind.

‘Small breaches.’ Hunter didn’t phrase it as a question.

Dr. Slater’s eyes followed Hunter’s gaze as she nodded, looking a little impressed from his deduction. ‘He killed her by puncturing small holes into her skull.’

Forty-Five

Less than two hours earlier

Suddenly, the demon’s gloved hands appeared above Cassandra’s head.

They weren’t empty.

His right hand held a regular, household-type metal hammer. His left, a six-inch-long masonry chisel with a nail-sharp tip.

Cassandra couldn’t see what was happening behind her. She couldn’t move her neck. She couldn’t turn around. All she could do was stare straight at her cellphone’s screen and into her husband’s eyes. This time, it was she who saw something that she had never, ever seen in them before – total and utter despair.

‘Don’t do this. Please don’t do this,’ reflexively, Mr. J pleaded, but his voice carried no conviction.

He had lost count of how many times he’d been in the demon’s place before, his mark helpless before him. They all pleaded. They all begged. They all offered him money, excuses, promises. It had never worked. Mr. J was never there to negotiate or to forgive. He was the last stop. The ultimate consequence to whatever mistake the mark had made. And Mr. J had recognized the same determination he carried with him in the demon’s words. In his actions. From his hotel room, miles away from his home, Mr. J knew that there was absolutely nothing he could do or say that would stop the demon from doing what he was about to do. He blinked at his wife again, and just before her vision was completely blurred by a new explosion of tears, she saw the anguish in his face. The sorrow. The helplessness.

Behind Cassandra, the demon placed the tip of the metal chisel on her head. He positioned it about three inches up from her forehead, and a little right from center.

Feeling the sharp tip touch her scalp, Cassandra’s desperate eyes shot up as far as they would go, as if she was trying to look at her own eyebrows.

The demon lifted the hammer.

Cassandra’s eyes came back down and she returned to doing the only thing she could do – look at her husband through her cellphone screen. His lips moved, but no sound came out of them. His diaphragm lacked the strength. All he could do was mouth the words: I’m so sorry.

BANG.

The demon brought the hammer down on to the chisel. As its tip ruptured through Cassandra’s skull, fracturing her cranium, her eyes rolled up into her head and her whole body jerked violently. Despite the paralyzing drug she’d been given, her body was still responding to motor nerve impulses.

In silence, and shaking with rage, Mr. J jolted in place. He found himself lost in a void so deep inside of him, he could feel his soul being consumed.

Then came the surprise.

Forty-Six

Mr. J had expected to see the chisel driven into Cassandra’s brain in its entirety, but instead, not much more than a centimeter had managed to penetrate. The demon had controlled the strength of the hammer strike with the perfect precision of a master sculptor – one single blow, nothing more, because nothing more was needed.

As the demon finally moved his hands away, thick, sticky blood dripped from Cassandra’s head on to her face, creating an uneven red path past her temple, her cheek, and all the way down to her chin.

Mr. J held his breath, grinding his teeth with the wrath of a thousand gods.

Cassandra’s eyelids fluttered erratically for seconds before they stabilized again. Her eyes came back from her head tortured and overflowing with pain.

‘Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.’

The distorted laugh caught Mr. J by surprise and he lurched in place once again.