The Paradigm of Evil - ebook

CHAPTER I

New Jersey, USA, November 20-21

When they walked through the dark corridor, they didn't expect what they'd see right after entering the alcove from which a terrible stench emanated. Detective Barnes pulled a cloth handkerchief from the inside pocket of his graying suit and covered his mouth and nose. The rising stench was unbearable. Even his eyes started watering uncontrollably, and tears obscured his entire field of vision. Suddenly one of the officers shouted for them to stop.

"Joe, I think we've got something!" he yelled, shining his flashlight on a dirty mattress lying in the corner. Nothing was there, but they glanced right and saw the bodies. Two naked bodies with their chests turned toward the ground. From a distance they couldn't tell if they were male or female. They looked like rotted logs. The only difference was that the limbs, which looked like branches, were bound. The hands were tied to a wooden post that supported the ceiling. The legs were spread. The right leg of the first body was tied to the left leg of the second. The left limb of the female and the right of the male—now they could tell it was a woman and a man—were tied to metal rods driven into the ground nearby. Tied so tightly the rope cut through skin. The bodies were bluish-yellow. Suddenly the light came on. The electrical crew had repaired the cut wires, probably destroyed by whoever did this. The corpses looked even worse in the light than by flashlight.

"Gary, let's deal with them," Joe Barnes said.

Flashes of lamps, yellow police tape began to surround the basement.

"Let's check who they are!" Barnes shouted, approaching the forensic team. "Turn them onto their backs. Holy shit, Gary, am I seeing this right?" he asked, staring at their chests. He squatted down to get a good look. Wounds in the shape of a strange symbol. He shone his flashlight again to get a clearer image. The mark looked like an inverted letter "R," surrounded by a circle, and at its base was an arrow with two opposing arrowheads at the ends. "Adam, do you think we're dealing with a serial killer or a cult? Check the registry to see if we've ever had such cases. What does this letter mean?"

The search of the house took several hours. Blood traces could be seen with the naked eye. They were located in the places where the victims' bodies had lain. Only when the crew started spraying luminol did the entire basement light up like during a nuclear explosion. Everyone froze. Blood traces were everywhere, including the ceiling.

"I don't know what happened here and I don't even know if I want to know." For the first time in his life, such a thought crossed Joe's mind. "Okay, once you've done your job, we're taking them to the coroner. Call Anna and tell her I'll be right there with the van."

"Joe! The house belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Grant!" Adam shouted.

"Check them out and send me a report by email as soon as possible. We can't wait for this," Joe replied.

Joe Barnes was a force of nature. A detective with twenty years of experience in the criminal division. Looking at him, it was hard to pin him down. On one hand, he looked very tired of life. His blue eyes held sadness despite the fact he played the tough guy. He looked practically the same every day. In his closet you could find eight suits that differed only in shade, eight light shirts, two pairs of shoes—one black, the other brown. He was prepared for every day of the week so that searching for an outfit wouldn't take him too much time. On the other hand, he was a handsome guy in middle age. His athletic and trained body and tall stature always gave him an edge in a fight. When he was younger, he was a brunette. With age, his hair began to change color—first at the temples, then silver crept through more of his hair, which added to his charm. Women loved him, at least that's what they said at the beginning, until he slept with them and left their apartments without scheduling another date. Barnes had a problem maintaining any longer-term relationships. This was a result of the nature of his work. His ex-wife Kelly couldn't stand it either. At first they were happily married, but she needed more—home warmth and a husband who would create a family with her. A man who would come home from work and spend the evening with her. Unfortunately, Joe couldn't guarantee that. He always put work first. You could say work was not only his hobby but also his mistress. He loved what he did, even though most of the cases he'd seen during his career had left their mark on him. What brought him relief was bringing those who broke the law and harmed others before the court. His job was different from all others and involved enormous danger every day, not only for him but also for his loved ones. Fear of losing his closest ones created distance from his entire family. He wanted to keep them far away, as far as possible, so that no one could hurt them.

*

"Hey, Anna, what's up?" Joe smiled at her, then looked at the corpses lying on the autopsy tables.

"Very funny, Barnes. I love it when you call me at four in the morning." She returned the smile.

Joe had feelings for Anna that could get messy if not for the fact she was a woman he worked with. He didn't want to destroy this relationship, although he often dreamed of a romance. Anna wasn't a Hollywood beauty, but she had something about her that attracted men. She was thirty-five and had never had a family. She'd run out of time—her work had taken it all. Her long red hair fell in waves. At work she always tried to tie it up so it wouldn't bother her. She wasn't petite. Quite the opposite—she had curves.

"Joe! Go get coffee. I'll get ready in the meantime and we'll meet at the table in a minute."

Barnes did as Anna asked. He went out to the corridor where the coffee machine stood. They didn't really like it. It tasted more like a four-day-old drink that had just been reheated and had nothing to do with real coffee. However, they didn't disdain it because it was the only option in the morgue. Joe returned with cups for himself, Anna, and Gary.

"Let's get started," she said.

Anna really liked working to Beethoven's music, so she always turned on his compositions before starting an autopsy. It calmed her and allowed her to focus. She put on protective glasses, took her favorite chewing gum, and examined the first body, inch by inch.

"Woman, white, judging by dentition between fifty and sixty years old. She was definitely held in a warm room, but you already felt that when you entered the house. Deep wounds in the wrists and Achilles tendons on both lower limbs, as if the victim tried to free herself from the bonds restraining her. Burns on the cheekbones."

She stopped for a moment.

"What is it, Anna?" Gary asked.

"Fuck, this woman was raped multiple times. Someone had one hell of a party because her vagina and anus were massacred. Judging by the wounds, some metal tools were used."

"Have you had cases like this before? Rape with a metal tool?" Gary continued.

"Unfortunately yes, this isn't an isolated case. Once, when I worked in Syria, they brought me the body of a young woman. Even dead, she was beautiful. Slavic beauty. Same injuries. During the investigation it turned out she was a victim of a mafia involved in human trafficking. She was sold to some shady brothel. We learned later it was punishment for disobedient behavior... you want to hear more?"

"I think that's enough," Gary replied. "I don't know what's wrong with humanity, but this will probably never end."

"Let's check out this guy next to her. You said they were lying next to each other, bound in a similar way, right?"

"Yes, here are photos from the crime scene. For now, just from my phone," Joe replied.

"I've got a bad feeling this guy died in agony," Gary grimaced.

"Well..." the coroner said then. "I guess our suspicions were confirmed. His anus looks practically the same."

Anna stopped when they heard the sound of Joe's phone.

"Answer it, Barnes. Maybe it's something important," she said.

Joe immediately grabbed his iPhone and read the message.

"It's from Adam. He sent me information about the house owners."

Barnes read the email.

"Matthew and Gina Grant—the house belongs to them. From the report Adam sent me, Matthew is a white, sixty-year-old psychiatrist who worked at one of the hospitals in Jersey City. Perfect husband. Gina would have turned fifty-five in ten days. She never worked professionally. She took care of the house, throwing charity parties and preparing dinners for her husband. They never had children."

"Nothing like a life of roses," Anna snorted.

"Both were very religious. They always showed up for Sunday Mass. They were a respected couple in this town," Barnes continued.

"God didn't help them much," Anna said sarcastically.

"Hmm... seems like they were in the wrong place at the wrong time," Gary stated.

"Something doesn't add up here. The bodies were bound, and on their chests there's a large wound. This must mean something more than wrong time and place. Maybe these bastards were watching them earlier. Maybe Dr. Grant rubbed someone the wrong way and this was supposed to be revenge," Joe said.

"Joe! Exactly! Maybe it's revenge!" Anna exclaimed. "Maybe it's not a serial killer case but payback for the doctor?"

"Could be," he answered quietly. "Gary, ask Adam to check if there was any mistake Matthew made during his career?" the detective requested. "In the morning we'll go to the hospital and talk with his team."

"Anna, let me know if you find anything else that could help us in the investigation. Waiting for news." Joe smiled at her as he was leaving. When he made that face, a dimple immediately appeared on his left cheek, that made him irresistible.

"Yes, yes, Joe! Run away, and I'll take on the dirty work!" she shouted across the morgue as he and Gary were leaving. "You go, and I, as usual, will stay alone in this dark room full of corpses!" she muttered. Then she grabbed a scalpel from a silver tray next to the table, holding surgical instruments.

Anna turned on her favorite Beethoven again. Moonlight Sonata helped her focus.

*

Joe and Gary headed toward the psychiatric hospital where Grant worked. They passed a corridor of very tall trees. They looked like California redwoods. The sun hadn't pushed its rays through the cloudy morning sky. The road was dark, giving Joe goosebumps. The black crows flying around the car looked like vultures waiting to seize carrion lying on the ground. Every sound seemed amplified, unsettling the detectives. Cawing from the flock of birds intensified this feeling.

They arrived at a huge rusty gate on which brass letters of the hospital name were carved: LOST SOUL ASYLUM . The gates were closed and opened remotely, so before they could get through, they had to contact security through the intercom. Joe, leaning out through the car window, said into the microphone:

"Detectives Barnes and Kaminski. We need to talk to the hospital director about the death of Matthew Grant."

After whispering the sentence, awkward silence fell. No one on the other side spoke, and the detectives exchanged looks. After a long moment they heard crackling in the intercom and a baritone voice that told them to wait. Security probably immediately contacted the decision-maker, which took some time to get approval. They were let in only after about ten minutes. The heavy gates opened inward, creaking like an unoiled bed frame. The detectives drove into the depths of the alley in Joe's black Thunderbird from two thousand five, with metallic paint. The road was winding and gray. They drove a while, or at least so it seemed to them.

"This hospital is probably a second Alcatraz, just without water around it," Gary joked.

"I don't think anyone's escaped from here yet," Joe replied ironically.

When they pulled up to the building, they were reminded of the haunted Eloise Hospital. The partners looked at each other meaningfully. They walked through tall and mighty wooden doors and reached the reception.

"Morning. Detectives Barnes and Kaminski. We need to talk to the hospital director," Joe said to the elderly lady standing at the white reception desk right at the entrance to the psychiatric hospital. The woman wore a white coat and a white nurse's cap with black horizontal stripes. Fatigue and professional burnout were visible and audible, leaving their mark on her face and she said, "Wait."

The detectives sat on a bench in the reception waiting room. The bench was metal, and the sound it made suggested it had served its time. They hadn't managed to settle in when they saw a man walking toward them.

"Morning, gentlemen," he said. "I apologize that you had to wait. I hope you were received well?"

"Morning. And you are?" Joe asked.

"I apologize, what manners!" the man smiled under his breath. "My name is Peter Carter, Professor Peter Carter. I'm the director of Lost Soul Asylum hospital."

The mature man over middle age had long gray hair, pretty greasy, tied in a ponytail. His eyes of indeterminate color looked as if he had no soul. The professor was pretty stocky. He pretty much didn't care about his figure—about forty-four pounds overweight. In addition, you could smell he'd just returned from a cigarette break. He was dressed in an unfashionable, graying suit with thin, vertical stripes. Underneath was a yellowed shirt and brown tie. He also had a white coat and hospital footwear.

"Excellent, Professor. Thank you for the opportunity to speak with you," Barnes said. "Joe Barnes and Gary Kaminski from state police. We're working on the death case of one of your employees—Matthew Grant."

"Yes, I heard about that terrible business. Gentlemen, please follow me. Let's go to my office where we can talk in peace. The police called me this morning," Carter said, leading the way down a narrow corridor. "It's unbelievable to me. Matt was at work on Friday, and now he's gone." The professor stopped at a door and gestured inside. "Please, come in," he said, indicating the entrance with his hand.

"Professor, we're not going to beat around the bush," Kaminski stated firmly. "Mr. Grant was murdered along with his wife in their own home. Brutally."

"Professor, did Matthew Grant have any enemies? Among the staff or patients?" Joe asked.

"Gentlemen, if there exists on this earth even one person who is spotless, has no enemies—quite the opposite, has many friends both in private and professional life, and is valued by the community—it's precisely Dr. Grant," Peter said in one breath.

"Was," Gary corrected him.

"Excuse me?" the professor asked.

"Was, Professor," Gary repeated. "The doctor is no longer in this world."

"Ah, yes. You're right, Detective. I still can't believe Matt is no longer with us. Gentlemen, please sit," he suggested.

Despite photos in which the smiling professor was captured with people from diplomatic circles in various green corners of the world, the room was very gloomy. In the room stood a metal yellowed desk, placed right opposite the entrance door. In front of the desk, two wooden chairs that, as could be seen, had been through a lot. On the right side, metal filing cabinets with drawers locked with a key. Probably work files were stored in them. The color of paint on the walls left much to be desired. It was as yellowed as the metal desk, composing well with the hospital director's shirt.

"May I offer you gentlemen coffee or tea?" the professor asked.

"Actually we wanted to get to the matter, but if you've already offered, we'll take two blacks without sugar," Gary spoke up.

Peter put the receiver of the old telephone to his ear, pressed the red button, and asked one of the nurses for help. The detectives continued the conversation.

"We'd like to receive from you as soon as possible a list of hospital employees and a list of the doctor's patients. We'll definitely want to talk with each of them," Gary noted.

The professor smiled under his breath and replied:

"With the staff, by all means. I'll inform them of these plans. However, it will be difficult to get precise answers from mentally ill patients. If you know what I mean, gentlemen..."

Joe and Gary looked at each other and were about to speak when a nurse entered the room with coffee.

"Thank you very much, Martha," Peter said.

The woman placed cups on the white desk, turned around, and left without saying a word.

"Professor, we realize we're in a psychiatric hospital, nevertheless we want to talk with everyone who had contact with the doctor," Joe said firmly, sipping coffee.

"Of course. If only you gentlemen wish it ," the professor agreed, then asked: "Can you tell me how Matthew and Gina died?"

"Unfortunately, for the investigation we can't give anyone any detailed information," Kaminski replied.

"Understood," the professor cleared his throat. "In that case, I'll help as much as I can."

"Excellent, Professor. Can we count on you sending us the lists of staff and patients today?" Joe asked.

"Yes, definitely. By evening you'll have everything," Peter replied.

"So we're set," Joe nodded, placing his business card on the desk. "You don't need to see us out. We'll find our way."

"Thank you for the time you devoted to us, and we'll be in touch," Gary interjected, extending his hand in farewell.

"Goodbye, gentlemen."

When Barnes and Kaminski were returning down the same corridor they'd come through, a boy bumped into them. He was of poor build, pretty skinny, hunched, maybe five foot three tall, with dark greasy hair and a wandering gaze. He suddenly grabbed Joe by the hand so hard Barnes couldn't pull it away. He wanted to say "let me go," but the boy electrified him with his gaze so you could feel he desperately needed help. The boy held his hand, hugged him, and with effort whispered:

"Help me, help me... please, help..." he repeated this several more times.

Then two hulks in white coats pulled him away from the detectives, and a nurse—the same one who brought coffee to the director's office—injected the boy with some substance, immediately silencing him.

"Please don't worry about him. He's insane," she said.

"Excuse me, ma'am, what's this patient's name and what did you inject him with?!" Gary shouted with emotion in his voice.

"I'm sorry, but as you can see, I'm busy right now, and please direct all questions to the director of this hospital!" she shouted back without even turning around.

Gary looked like steam was about to fly out of every opening in his body and his brain exploded. His face took on an unnaturally red color. He was about to run toward the nurse to stop her when he felt a strong grip on his left shoulder.

"There'll be time for that yet, Gary," Joe said, then turned and walked toward the exit.

*

"So, boys, did you find anything interesting?" Adam asked.

"Man, I don't know if you've been inside yet, but this story stinks to me," Michael replied, grabbing his graying beard reaching his Adam's apple with his left hand. Mike was the chief technician of the forensic department. "You know I've worked in forensics a while. Actually, you could say I cut my teeth on it, and I've seen some shit in this world."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, tell me, Adam, because it's not normal to me that a married couple dies under torture in their basement, which is lined with soundproof material. Why would the Grants need a soundproofed room? Someone was fully aware it was soundproofed. They probably watched them for several days, weeks, or months. They knew they had no family, that they could get them in their own home, and that actually no one would hear them calling."

"Wow, Michael. Nice summary," Adam admitted, nodding his red mop of hair. "But give us time to look at everything. We'll talk with people who knew them. Then we'll be able to draw more conclusions. Present us with evidence, and we'll take care of the rest."

"I know, I know. I'm just saying something definitely stinks here, and badly." Having said this, Michael turned and returned to his duties.

Adam looked at the room more closely, and what Michael said was confirmed. Fifty square yards of basement were lined with soundproof material. The same kind is used in isolation rooms in psychiatric hospitals. There were no windows in the basement. Daylight didn't reach there, which gave it a very dark character. You could feel the bad energy that seemed to be everywhere. Nothing else besides the blood covering the basement, besides the linoleum that covered the concrete floor, was there. A completely empty room. This was strange. Basements are usually cluttered with old junk, especially with older people.

Detective Adam Brown was a very meticulous, goal-oriented, and hard-working man. Almost every one of his cases was solved. He was very great, thanks to which he gained people's trust. This caused him to be able to learn more than another policeman, especially from the opposite sex.

He had a wife and two teenagers. At home he never raised topics related to work. He treated it as an asylum from all the world's evil and didn't want to bring that evil into himself.

When he was about to leave the basement, he saw something by the baseboard. A small piece of paper lay there. When he backed up and bent toward the floor, he noticed this scrap was a bit bigger than he'd assumed. It looked as if someone tried to hide it by pressing it behind the baseboard.

"Michael! Hand me an evidence bag and tweezers," he shouted.

"Did you find something?" Michael called out.

"I'm just trying to find out," he replied under his breath.

When Mike handed him the tweezers and bag, Adam slowly began pulling out the paper. He had to do this very delicately so as not to damage even one, the smallest piece. "If it doesn't work, we'll break off the baseboard," he thought. Fortunately, it wasn't necessary. The paper was removed in its entirety. True, it was already a bit yellowed and the letters weren't clear from a distance, but when Michael took the paper under the lamp, everything could be read.

"What's written there?" Adam asked with curiosity.

"'Guardian Angel, my guardian, you always stand by me. Morning, evening, day, night, always come to my aid, protect me from all evil and lead me to eternal life,'" Mike read.

"What is this? Some prayer?"

Detective Brown was an atheist and didn't believe in all these, as he called them, "superstitions" related to religion.

"Yes, Detective, it's a Catholic prayer."

"Will you take it for rush testing?" Adam asked.

"Sure, right away," Mike replied.

Adam looked sideways at the baseboards and saw a bulge in one of them. He began slowly tearing it off. The baseboard was quite old and rotted, so it quickly came away from the wall. When he broke it off, a silver chain with a small cross fell onto the floor.

"I knew it, I knew something was wrong with this house!" Mike shouted enthusiastically. "Adam, you're a genius!"

"From what I learned, the Grants were Catholics," Adam said.

"So what?" Mike asked. "You don't think they hid devotional objects under floor baseboards?"

"Well, I'll admit it's strange, but you know well we come across strange things in this job..." Adam said and asked his colleague to examine the chain.

"Gentlemen! Check the entire house as if a tornado passed through it, reaching into the smallest, deepest, and darkest corners."

"Yes, boss."

"I'm going to talk with the parish priest they belonged to. Maybe he'll say something that will put us on track," Brown muttered under his breath.

He got into his red Camaro and drove off.

He didn't have to go far to the church. The drive took him about seven minutes. He drove into the parking lot behind the gate. The building didn't differ much from other Catholic churches. It was quite tall, built of red brick, with an even taller tower on which hung a huge brass bell. A bell that made itself known every day, twelve very loud times.

Adam entered the church through the mighty front wooden doors, hoping to find the person he was looking for.

"Hello. How can I help you?" The echo of an intrigued female voice bounced around the church interior.

Adam turned around. Behind him stood a short elderly woman. She looked very friendly.

"Hello. My name is Adam Brown. I'm from the state police and I'm looking for the priest of this parish."

"Father Gilbert is available to parishioners from nine to three every day." The elderly woman looked at her watch and smiled at him. "So you've arrived at the perfect time."

"Wonderful. Where can I find him?"

"Please leave the church and go around to the back. The priest is in the rectory in his room on the ground floor. Right by the entrance on the right side."

"Thank you very much, ma'am." Adam headed for the exit.

"God bless, child," the old woman replied.

Brown went to the rectory where he found the priest sitting at his desk, just as the elderly woman had said.

"Hello," he greeted.

"Blessings," the priest smiled. "You're probably not my parishioner?"

"No, Father. I'm from the state police. My name is Adam Brown."

"That's what I thought, because I've never seen you here, and I know everyone in my parish. You're probably here about the Grants' death?"

"Yes, exactly. How do you know about it?"

"You know, word travels fast in a community like this. And I'm often the first person people turn to when something terrible happens."

"Yes, why doesn't that surprise me..."

"Terrible tragedy. The Grants were wonderful. They came to church every Sunday. They helped with all charity events. What happened is a blow to the heart for all of us."

"Yes, we're all shocked by what happened, which is why we also wouldn't want to miss any details that will help us catch the murderer. You knew them well, so I want to learn more about them."

"Mr. Brown, I'll gladly answer all your questions. What specifically would you like to know?" the reverend asked.

"First tell me about Mrs. Grant. What kind of person was she, what did she do, and did she have any enemies?"

"Gina..." The priest paused for a moment with his answer. "She was helpful, supportive, always ready to support our charitable activities, especially those for children. She organized collections of clothes, food, sweets, and Christmas gifts for local orphanages. Do you know, Mr. Brown... These children have no one. No one will cry for them, no one will hug them. They're left to themselves. However, Gina, this woman, was like a grandmother to them, giving them hope for a better future. She always told them they could be whoever they wanted, that they just had to be persistent in pursuing their goal."

"And how did other church members perceive her?"

"I think the same as I do," the reverend replied. "But you really should talk with them."

"And maybe you know if she had any enemies?"

"I don't think so. Gina and her husband were model members of our community."

"That's exactly what worries me," Adam muttered under his breath. "And what about Mr. Grant?"

"Matthew was an enormous support for us. Once a month we organized Mass for children from the orphanage. The Masses ended with a picnic. The doctor always took his van and provided transportation both ways. Besides, you know he was a respected doctor at the Lost Soul Asylum psychiatric institution?"

"Yes, we know. We've already managed to find that out."

"Is there anything that recently worried you about Mr. Grant's behavior?"

"No, really nothing. Although..." he hesitated. "Maybe except for that day when one of the girls from the orphanage disappeared."

"What do you mean?"

"I remember how shaken he was, even excessively. Generally, he was a psychiatrist, so he tried to be an extremely composed person. But not that day. That day he told me he had to take sedatives because he didn't know how to deal with it. It surprised me a bit because she wasn't a close person to him. But on the other hand, maybe he bonded emotionally with all the children and it was hard for him to come to terms with what happened."

"When was that?"

"Let me think... It seems about two years have passed," Father Gilbert replied.

"From which orphanage?"

"From the Heart of Jesus Orphanage on Cannon Street."

"Was the girl found?"

"Unfortunately not. Neither she nor her body was found. There's no trace of her disappearance. No one saw her either. As if this child simply evaporated. It was one of the worst days of my life. However, I still deeply believe God will lead her to us."

"How old was she and what was the girl's name?"

"Mary Beth Jones, Detective. Beautiful Mary Beth... She was seven years old on the day she disappeared." When Father Gilbert spoke about the girl, his eyes glazed over.

"Thank you, Father. I think I've heard enough," Adam said, leaving his business card in the reverend's hand. "If you remember anything else, please call. I'm leaving my card."

"I'll pray you find the Grants' murderer." Gilbert firmly shook the detective's hand. "Please keep the faith, Detective. It truly works miracles," he smiled gently, then opened the door to the exit for Adam.

"Prayer won't help here, Father," Brown replied, leaving.

As soon as he descended the stairs to the parking lot, he reached into the left pocket of his black leather jacket for his phone and immediately called Joe.

"Hey, Joe. I checked out the Grants at the church and I'll tell you they considered them saints who had no enemies and could be role models for others. However, what worries me, besides the fact the entire basement was soundproofed and empty, is the fact Mike and I found a chain with a medallion and a card with a prayer in their basement, pressed between the wall and the floor baseboard."

"Soundproofed basement? Seriously? And what was on that card?" Joe asked.

"A prayer."

"What kind?"

"It started something like 'Guardian Angel, my guardian...'"

"Okay, that's a Catholic prayer. Was anything else written on it?"

"Nothing. Michael already took the card for the examination."

"All right, then we're waiting for the results. Can you get to Anna's in half an hour?"

"I think I can be there earlier. I'll wait for you by the machine for our wonderful and aromatic coffee," Adam laughed.

"Okay, Gary and I will be there. We've already finished visiting the hospital. Just don't ask about details, please. We'll tell you everything over coffee."

*

"Well, well, well, look who's here," Anna smiled, seeing Adam.

Anna was one of the few people who looked amazingly beautiful even after a twenty-four-hour shift. She must have just gotten up from a short nap. Her eyelids were slightly swollen, and on her head reigned artistic disorder in the form of a pajama bun. She was dressed in a gray tracksuit, black hooded sports jacket, and worn white Nike shoes. She looked more like an athlete after an exhausting workout than a pathologist after several hours of work.

Evening was approaching. Darkness covered the city. Only streetlamp lights penetrated through the darkened morgue windows.

Adam was about to greet her, waving his hand toward Anna, when he heard Gary's low voice:

"Adam! Joe! Can we start? Hey, Anna!" Gary slapped Adam on the shoulder right after entering the room.

"So much happiness in one evening," Anna laughed. "Three of my favorite detectives."

When Joe appeared in the doorway, her heart began to beat harder and faster. It bothered her a bit that she felt increasingly emotionally connected to this man, and actually didn't know if Joe felt the same. Besides, she'd always promised herself she'd never be on any other footing than collegial with any man she worked with.

"Hey, Joe!" Anna smiled, blushing slightly on her cheeks. "How was your day?"

"Anna, Anna, Anna, you're amazing," Joe said. "You were on duty with two tortured corpses and you're asking me how my day was. It would have been excellent if not for the fact I felt like I was in a horror movie visiting a haunted hospital," he replied sarcastically. "I think I have to gradually implement Xanax again to separate work from private life," he said, raising the left corner of his mouth in a smile, thanks to which his sexy dimple appeared again. "Better tell me what's up with you, how do you feel? Although I'll tell you one thing—I don't know how you feel, but you look stunning," he added before Craig could answer anything.

Anna felt something that could be called reciprocation of her feelings, but the spell broke after a minute when Joe switched to work mode and demanded that she bring him her notes with conclusions from the autopsy.

"I'm going for coffee. Do you guys want some too?" Gary asked.

"No, thanks," Anna said sharply, turned on her heel, and went for her laptop.

"What happened to her?" Gary turned to Joe, who shrugged in response.

When Anna returned, she found all the gentlemen sitting at the desk with pseudo-coffee in brown paper cups with the inscription TOP WORLD COFFEE and with donuts that Gary had delivered.

"Doctor, why are you so shy?" Joe asked with his charming smile.

"Very funny, Barnes. Actually, I can leave and you can interpret the test results yourselves. What do you say?" she smiled mockingly under her breath, knowing the level of her advantage.

"Anna, don't be upset. It was supposed to be a joke. We're sorry. We know you're after a twenty-four-hour shift. Maybe we could help you with something?" Adam asked.

"Actually, yes, you could help me by leaving your stupid jokes aside and letting me work."

"All right, gentlemen, enough jokes. Let's get to work," Gary interjected.

Anna placed her silver laptop on the desk, opened it, and biting into a donut with pink icing, began discussing her research.

"Joe, as I said at the very beginning, the Grants didn't experience the most pleasant things a person can experience in life. The level of tissue destruction tells me they didn't lie in that basement for long. Besides, you saw what the corpses looked like at the very beginning. Maybe two days," Anna said.

"That would all add up because Matthew Grant was still at work on Friday. So this must have happened Friday evening."

"Both bodies had deep wounds on their chests. After cleaning the wounds, some strange symbols emerged. I haven't examined them yet. Both were held with their hands and feet bound. Marks on their faces indicate they had tape over their mouths the entire time."

"Actually, it's unclear why, since the killer was aware the room was soundproofed," Gary added.

"Maybe he himself didn't want to hear them, Sherlock?" Anna concluded. "They were definitely dehydrated. I'm taking this from the state of their muscles. During all that time they weren't given anything to drink or eat."

At a certain moment, Anna's ringing phone interrupted their conversation. To her surprise, the contact displayed was an old college friend she hadn't had contact with for two years—Pierre Laurent. Pierre came from France to study in the States. Both were the best students at the medical department at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore. Their involvement in police projects was exceptional. They worked harder and more than other students, thanks to which they won scholarships. Despite proposals he received from American authorities, Pierre decided to return to his home country, where he continued his career as a pathologist in Paris.

"Pierre! I can't believe it's you! God, how are you doing?" she asked joyfully.

"Hey, Sunshine!" Pierre replied. "How wonderful to hear you. How many years has it been?"

"I don't know, Pierre, but definitely too many," she laughed. "When will you visit me?"

"Maybe I'd take a vacation this summer and fly out to see you. Do you have anything planned yet?" he asked.

"Pierre, that's wonderful. Nothing yet, and I'd gladly leave time for us," she said with excitement in her voice. "Only, can we talk in about three hours? Right now I have patients on the table and colleagues from the police in the office."

"Yes, definitely. However, Sunshine, I'm also calling about another matter. You know we've seen a lot in life and had many cases, but what I'm dealing with now is way beyond my imagination."

"What are you dealing with?" she asked. "I'll tell you I'm also in a shock phase, so go ahead."

"Okay. Anna, have you or any of your colleagues ever encountered victims whose bodies had a large wound, probably carved with a knife or some other sharp tool?" he asked uncertainly, stammering a bit.

"What part of the body are you talking about?" she asked with interest.

"Chest." Pierre's voice was now very decisive.

At that moment Anna's eyes became huge. She stood in place, turned ninety degrees so she could look at the victims' bodies. She looked at both wounds, listening to what her colleague was saying to her. For a few dozen seconds her world died. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost.

"Anna, are you okay?" Joe asked, having been watching her closely for several minutes.

"Shhh..." Anna said to him, showing him with her hand not to talk to her now.

"Anna, Anna! Earth to Mars! Hello, hello! Do you hear me?" Pierre pressed.

"Yes, I'm sorry. Pierre, what are you saying to me?" she asked, frightened.

"Well, what I was saying. We now have two victims with huge wounds on their chests carved with a sharp tool," he replied, confused.

Anna moved away from her colleagues so she could talk more freely.

"Pierre, what do these wounds look like?"

"Hmm, it looks like a mirror image of the letter 'R,' which is placed on a vector with two opposing arrowheads, one at each end. The whole thing is surrounded by a circle."

"Pierre, send me photos, please, immediately," she requested.

"Anna... I've known you too long. Considering your worried tone of voice and that question, I think you have a similar case?"

"Pierre, give me that photo immediately!" she shouted, and everyone present in the room turned their gaze in her direction, not believing what they heard.

"Well, okay, now. I see your temperament hasn't changed," he laughed quietly.

"Pierre, don't push it."

"Okay, check your phone. You should already have them."

Suddenly the sound of an incoming message bounced off Anna's ear. She immediately read the message.

"Jesus fucking Christ, holy shit, I don't believe this, goddamn it!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.

It wasn't difficult to read the thoughts of the three detectives standing next to the victims. They all held coffees they almost dropped. Their eyes were huge and mouths open—they'd never before heard such a string of words from their colleague.

"So... wasn't I wrong? Do you have the same case? I'm starting to believe we met sometime for some reason, and I'd say everything in our life happens for a specific, determined reason at a given moment." Pierre began his philosophical analysis.

"Pierre..."

"Yes? Okay, I'll stop talking so I don't piss you off."

"Pierre... I believe it, I believe everything you said," she replied.

"So I was right," he said proudly, his ego flying above him.

"Pierre, you were right, and I'm in shock," she began speaking in a whisper, covering her mouth as if she wanted no one to see what she was talking about. "Okay, since we're in this situation that can't logically be explained, give me some time so I can think how to convey this to the police so they don't think you and I are involved in these murders, because after all, by some strange coincidence, two people who know each other, on separate continents, at the same time, have identical cases on their tables... holy shit..." Anna's frustration and fear peaked.

"Anna, calm down. After all, we're involved in these cases only from a professional angle, nothing more..." Pierre calmed her.

"Well, wouldn't that seem strange to you, standing and observing from the side?" she asked.

"Well, probably yes..." he laughed.

"Pierre, this isn't funny at all and you know it well."

"Oh, I'll tell you it's very funny, and you're adorable in all this," he added.

"Who do you have on the table and when did it happen?" she asked.

"Sunshine, how to tell you... Generally it's not one person but two. Two people with the same marks, and Margot is looking for another. And you? Who's lying with you?"

"I have two corpses. A model married couple, practically retirement age. The man is a psychiatrist, the woman took care of the house her whole life. They were found in the basement of their home. They've been dead for about two days. And since you're calling, probably a fresh case with you too?"

"Yeeah, definitely. With me too, similar time of death. Wounds on the chest made while they were still alive?" Pierre pressed with curiosity.

"Yes."

"Hmm, same with me."

"Were they tortured before death?" Anna asked this time.

"Since you're asking, I think the victims were tortured, and I can confirm the same with me," he replied. "These are two doctors who conducted projects in a medical laboratory. So what might connect them..." Pierre stopped for a moment.

"Medicine?" Anna asked.

"Well yes, let's say the area of work. But on the other hand, these are two different fields. You have a psychiatrist. I have laboratory scientists."

"You know what that means, Pierre... we have two corpses each with the same wounds. The victims were tortured before death, and on top of that, the murders were committed at a similar time."

"Yes, this is definitely more than just murder."

"Do you have anyone in other countries we could contact and find out if they have similar cases? I'll think about it and ask the detectives working on the case too."

"Great. I'll think too, although everyone I know is in the States."

"Okay, from now on we'll contact each other by email. We definitely need to talk. And now I have to convey the happy news to three detectives who are looking at me like I'm crazy," she said, looking meaningfully at her colleagues.

"All right, Sunshine. Let me know when you can talk."

"I'll call you as soon as we determine what we're doing next. Who are you conducting the investigation with? Are you working with Margot, or couldn't she stand working with you?" she laughed.

"Very funny, ha ha ha... Margot has your little personality, and you know well I have the best contact with such people."

"Well, I'm joking. You know I adore you and working with you is a pleasure, but I'm still in shock, so give me a moment so I can pull myself together."

"Okay, I'll wait for your call or email. Let me know as soon as possible."

"Sure, Pierre. We have to act. Talk to you soon."

Anna put her phone on the desk, stood before her colleagues, and asked them to sit down.

"Gentlemen... basically we have something bigger than we thought," she said in a slightly uncertain voice.

"Anna, spill it already because we've been standing here for fifteen minutes staring at you like idiots, not knowing what's happening. And I won't fail to mention you sounded and looked a bit different than usual," Joe noted sarcastically.

"Okay, look!" Anna took her phone from the table, opened the photo Pierre had sent her, and directed the screen toward the detectives.

"Uh-huh... we know this. Marks on our corpses," Adam smiled.

"Wonderful, genius. Do you really think I'm showing you a photo of the Grants?" Saying this, she raised her right eyebrow.

"You won't win with Anna, man." Gary patted Adam on the shoulder. "Where did you get this?"

"Guys, this is a photo of a victim that my old friend sent me. He works as a pathologist... and guess where he works?" Moment of silence. "In France, in Paris."

"You're kidding, right?" Joe spoke up.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" she asked, annoyed.

"Actually, you don't know how to joke," Joe admitted with a smile. "Please continue."

"Gentlemen, Pierre works in Paris. These are photos of wounds cut into the skin of two victims' chests, currently being examined. On top of that, because that's not the end, our victims and his victims died at a similar time. This probably isn't a coincidence, right?"