The medical examiner, a woman donning latex gloves with an antiseptic smell to her, pulled back the sterile sheets from the bodies.

Ruby loomed over them, her eyes tracing over the distinct entry points like it was a grotesque game of connect the dots.

Some people remembered stars, but these were Ruby’s constellations, the patterns she chose to memorize. Instead of bright balls of light, she got the long punctures of knife wounds. These varied in angle, an indication that their unsub, their perpetrator, didn’t just repeat the same motion in a continuous, blind fury. This was what she’d been waiting for since the moment Bellisario showed her the crime scene photos.

“You were right. They’re nearly identical,” Gabe said. Moving between the victims, comparing each wound one by one. The wounds were the only thing identical about them. The one thing that could be said about both women was that they were beautiful, in the prime of their lives, and didn’t deserve the terrifying, painful last moments they got.

“Yes,” Ruby agreed, turning to the medical examiner, “these wounds that don’t match, are they the first stab wounds?”

The ME nodded.

“That was my guess, judging by the depth and angle. They were still standing when these wounds were inflicted—” the examiner indicated the offending puncture on both victims, “—for the rest, they were likely on the ground.”

One swing to subdue the victim, and the rest precise, planned.

Two sides of Ruby were in conflict. On one hand, she would give anything for her gut to be wrong. It would be so much better for everyone if these were completely unconnected to Vallejo.

On the other hand, Bellisario may have let her drift away a bit longer if that was the case, if the details weren’t so uncanny.

Ruby took out a file as Gabe continued looking over the bodies.

“What kind of knife?” he asked.

Ruby flipped through the paperwork within the folder, stopping at the coroner’s photos of Vallejo’s first victim, Allison Schwartz, an office accountant with dyed black hair and a pale complexion. It was a crime the FBI hadn’t immediately associated with Vallejo. It was the only time he killed this way. Only other details, found later, connected Allison to Vallejo’s other crimes.

“I suspect a bowie knife, or some other hunting knife,” the ME said, “same style for both victims.”

Ruby paced around the tables, her chest tightening as she matched up the distinct lines, the new victims to the old.

“Do you have the toxicology for the first victim, Vanessa De Vries?” Gabe said. “We know Alannah was at a bar. I want to know if Vanessa was out drinking, too.”

“Of course,” the ME stepped out of the room, off to fetch the evidence Gabe thought would prove his point somehow. Now alone together in the cold, clinical room, Ruby gave Gabe a steady look.