By Blood Written Read Online Free PDF

salon murderer may be a pro. We’ve got a gentleman in from Washington who’s going to tell us what we’re in for and who we’re looking for.
    I’m going to turn this discussion over to him now, and after that, Detective Gilley will meet with you briefly.
    “Then,” Bransford added, stepping away from the podium and moving to one of the folding chairs in the front row,
    “he’s going to go home and go to bed if I have to throw him in the back of a squad car to get him there.”
    “Oh, poor baby,” Jack Murray cooed. Murray was the new-est member of the Murder Squad, having just transferred in from Vice a little over six months ago.
    “Yeah,” chimed in Maria Chavez. “You poor, delicate little rosebud.”
    Gilley turned, grinning. “How’d you guys like to spend the rest of the day Dumpster diving in the snow?”
    “If you kids don’t play nice,” Bransford intoned, “I’ll have to send you to your rooms without supper.”
    The dark-suited man approached the podium, opened his leather case, and spread it out in front of him.
    “Quiet everybody,” Bransford growled. “Listen up.”
    “Thank you, Lieutenant,” the man said. “Good morning.
    I’m Special Agent Henry Powell of the FBI. I’m assigned to VICAP, the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, and within VICAP, I’m a supervisory agent with CASMIRC.”
    Powell surveyed his audience and noticed several raised eyebrows.
    “I know,” he said, smiling, “and I agree. Washington has terminal acronym disease. CASMIRC is the Child Abduc-tion and Serial Murder Investigative Resources Center, which is the rapid response component of CIRG, the Critical Incident Response Group. What this means in plain English is that when a crime is committed and the local authorities decide or suspect that this crime might be the work of someone who has done this before, then I get called. Last night, I was just finishing my dinner when Sergeant Hinton, your colleague down in Chattanooga, examined the crime scene on Church Street and called me at home. It took him about two sentences to convince me I needed to get down here fast.”
    Maria Chavez raised her hand, and Powell nodded to her.
    “How did Sergeant Hinton get called up here from Chattanooga?”
    Bransford turned in his seat and faced the group. “Hint and I go back a long way. The Metro crime lab was consulted several years ago when a similar murder occurred in Hamilton County. I called him after Gary called me to the crime scene. Then he called Agent Powell.”
    “So we leapfrogged from one to the next,” Powell continued, “and, as you’ll see, for good reason.”
    Powell stepped out from behind the podium and leaned against it, his right elbow cocked at an angle. “Now without giving you my complete semester-long FBI Academy course called Intro to the Psychopathology of Serial Killers 101, let me just start by telling you that the two victims of last night’s murder were, we believe, murdered by the guy whom we’ve dubbed in-house the ‘Alphabet Man.’ Any of you ever heard of him?”
    Powell’s eyes wandered left and right, searching for a response.
    “Good,” he said, his easygoing smile returning. “That means, for once, we’re doing our jobs. We’ve emphasized with this particular perp more than any other case in my experience the absolute necessity of keeping this guy’s signature just between ourselves. For once, the news media hasn’t put this together. If they ever do, we’re screwed.”
    Powell paused, and as he did, a hand rose in the back of the room.
    “Yes?”
    Jack Murray leaned back in his folding chair and cradled his hands behind his head. “The guy leaves a signature?”
    “Yes, practically speaking. I’ve investigated over two hundred cases in which the homicide was considered the likely work of a serial killer. In those two hundred-plus cases, I’ve seen the work of about two dozen perps and have interviewed fourteen of them after capture. In the case of each