The Bone Chamber Read Online Free PDF

sketch. At the moment it resembled a scientific study one might find in a scholarly journal. She’d drawn the frontal view of the skull on her sketch pad, then overlaid it with vellum, upon which, with the aid of a small metric ruler, she drew precise markings to indicate the specific measurements given in Tasha’s report to note the thickness of the flesh upon the skull. The vellum, like tracing paper, would simply overlay the drawing of the skull, then once the sketch was finished, be removed for photocopying and distribution to the investigators—whoever they might be.
    Sydney stifled her umpteenth yawn, stared at the skull, the orbs that seemed to watch her in return, wondering about the victim, hoping she hadn’t suffered greatly before death—before she’d been disfigured. One could only hope it had all been done postmortem. She thought of the condoms, wondered if they were brought there by the victim, or left by the suspect. “Was this a sexual assault?” she asked.
    And just as Zachary Griffin had avoided answering every other question she’d posed that might directly lead to the case, he didn’t respond to this one, either.
    Fine. He might not need sleep, but she did, and if he wasn’t willing to talk to her, help her keep awake, then tough. “I’m sorry,” she said, pushing her chair back. “I can’t work any longer tonight.”
    “You’re certain?”
    “So you do remember how to communicate?”
    He didn’t reply.
    “Yes, I’m certain. I’ll need several hours of rest if you want a decent drawing, and then I’m going running. I presume you want everything to remain here?”
    “Yes.”
    Sydney left her briefcase, drawing tools, and sketch pad behind, walked over, picked up her overnight bag, then stood there, waiting for him to unlock the door, let her out. When he hesitated, she held up her arms. “Either search me, or open the damned door. I’m tired.”
    He glanced back at her things on the table, perhaps to assure himself she took nothing with her, then unlocked the door, letting her out before locking it behind him. And if that wasn’t secure enough, he escorted her to the elevator, then to the front lobby, where the guard who had taken her gun for safekeeping gave her the key to her room for the night. When it seemed her self-appointed escort intended to accompany her to her dorm, she held up her hand. “I can take it from here, thank you. Know the place well.”
    A nod and he stepped back, allowing her to enter the elevator on her own. In her entire twelve years in law enforcement, the last four in the FBI, she wasn’t sure she’d ever experienced security this tight. Definitely not for a drawing, she thought, feeling the agent’s gaze on her even as the elevator door slid shut and she began her ascent.
    Her room was on the third floor, a short walk through one of the many glass-enclosed hallways that connected each of the buildings. The glass enclosures reminded her of the tubes in a hamster cage and were often referred to as the same by the recruits housed there. Outside, a light dusting of snow covered the moonlit landscaping below, and all looked peaceful—as long as she didn’t think about the crime scene photo. It bothered her. She’d seen plenty of crimes over the years, plenty of violent scenes and photos. But this one was different. Forensic artists weren’t usually ushered into Quantico under cover of darkness, secreted away to a room where no one had entry, then guarded the entire time…
    So who was the woman? Clearly someone of significance. Or a case of significance.
    The photo had showed a woman who was made out to be a prostitute—or something similar, if the condoms were to be believed. Over the years, Sydney had seen dozens of sexual crimes, and this had all the earmarks of such a case. Until one thought of the overkill on security while she did her drawing.
    Which certainly made her think twice when she unlocked her door, stepped into the room.
    She tossed