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remember seeing the victim’s handbag. Maybe it was a robbery. Or she could have collapsed. Miss Zumwalt thought she might have been ill.” I took a quick glance around. “This doesn’t look like the best neighborhood. Someone could have stolen her handbag after she passed out.”
    â€œThe witness saw no blood. That would suggest the bite was an old wound.”
    I stood next to a parked police car, intentionally positioning myself so I couldn’t see the body. “Not necessarily. Puncture wounds don’t always bleed, or if they do, they don’t bleed for long.”
    â€œSure, but a puncture striking the jugular?”
    I shrugged. “Could have missed the major blood vessels.”
    â€œI guess it’s possible.” JT stared over my shoulder, in the general direction of the dead body.
    I cleared my throat. “I think I’ll go find Chief Peyton, ask her what she’d like me to do next.”
    â€œSure.” JT gave me a knowing smile. “It gets easier, Skye. I promise. The first body’s the worst.”
    â€œThanks.” I swear, I was so embarrassed my cheeks were hot enough to melt lead. I’d hoped he hadn’t seen me throw up. So much for that.
    JT, bless him, didn’t say another word about my weak stomach. “The ME’s here. Before I talk to him, I want to double-check and see if a purse has been found. We need to identify our victim.”
    â€œHas her car been located?” I asked.
    â€œProbably not, but we can check the meters and run the plates of any cars parked at the ones that are expired.”
    â€œWhat about a bus?”
    â€œLooks like there’s a stop back there, so that’s a possibility. I’ll be looking at maps of the area later, once we’ve finished up here.”
    I took one sweeping look around, at the old brick and concrete multistory structures crowded together. There had to be hundreds of people in the neighboring buildings. Which one had the victim been headed for when she’d died? And why had the killer chosen this location for the crime?
    The traffic wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t light either. And there were pedestrians walking around, people gathering at the bus stop, businesspeople walking to and from cars. It was a busy intersection, the meeting of not two but three roads. Behind me sat a homeless shelter; in front, some kind of large, sprawling building. To the left and right were a deli, beauty salon, and church. To me, it seemed like a very risky place to jump someone.
    As I approached Chief Peyton, I overheard part of the conversation she was having with Agent Nelson from the Baltimore FBI field office.
    Nelson was saying, “There haven’t been any similar deaths reported, that I’m aware of. That’s why we couldn’t get the BAU in here. The locals don’t think it’s an FBI case.”
    â€œYou don’t agree?” Chief Peyton asked as she gave me a slight nod, signaling for me to stay put and listen.
    Nelson added, “Something just doesn’t sit right with me. I’m hoping you’ll get to the bottom of it.”
    â€œWe’re going to do our best.” Chief Peyton’s phone rang, and she glanced down at it, smiling. “Just a minute.” When Nelson acknowledged her with a nod, she stepped aside, out of both his earshot and mine, and flipped open the phone to answer.
    That left me standing next to an agent I didn’t know, an agent who had seen me throw up. I might as well have been wearing a big scarlet letter N for “Newbie” on my chest.
    I had no idea what to say. I tried to push aside my discomfort by focusing on the case.
    Our job wasn’t necessarily to gather evidence; that was the work of the local detectives and agents. We were there to interpret the evidence they uncovered, to determine if a paranormal element was involved in the crime. If there was one, we were to provide a profile of