ingling with something more sinister blood. The alley was dimly lit by a flickering streetlamp, casting e
eman greeted, shifting uncomf
ide the body, the victim sprawled against the graffiti-tagged wall. A deep gash ran across his throat, the blood pooling thickly benea
, was a crimson insignia. It was intricate, deliberate,
," I muttered, my
sharply. "So yo
that was
one cold, no leads, no suspects. The insignia had been the only clue, and it had l
tanding up. "We need to know if he had any ties
into the cracks of the pavement. The night air was thick with an uneasy stillness, as
ent it wanted
lanted myself at my desk, brushing away scattered case files to make room for the steaming cup of
in finance, no criminal record," he said, placi
an eyebro
was stolen, but he told the responding officers that the intruder l
ugh me. "Why wasn't t
a prank. He refused protective custody, said
und, the placement of the mark it all pointed to a killer who wasn't just skille
m," I murmured. "
nt victim, but the same mark. That case had ended in frustration, the lea
nd dialed a number I h
other end answered after three rin
expect to see the Crim
. Then,
Victim was marked
. "Meet me in an hour. S
li
s about to open old wounds, but I wasn't the type to
t. I slid into a booth, nodding at the waitress who barely glanced up from her crossword puzzle. The jukeb
, and the only person who had been as obsessed with the Crimson Mark as I
g a seat across from me
the mark. He listened, his fingers tapping against the table in thought.
ot like regular killers. They don't strik
o what did Gera
ed this, we found connections between the victims-loose ones, hard to pin down, but there.
booth, throwing a few bills on the t
'll dig them up. You get to
rned
y know you're looking, t
e years ago, he was a financial consultant for a corporation called Redwell Industries a n
I didn't beli
thing had ever stuck. The deeper I dug, the more tangled the web became. It wasn't just Gerald. Ot
sn't just a symbol.
ing to see the