Additional photos showed close-ups of her neck and the damage done to it. While it was hard to be sure, on first inspection the wounds looked too jagged and rough to be caused by most knives. If Jessie had to guess, it looked more like the result of a screwdriver or…

“Keys,” Dolan said.

“What?” Officer Martin said from the corner of the room.

“These injuries to her neck—they look like someone punctured it with long keys. Did the crime scene people have any guesses?”

“I wasn’t around when they were evaluating the scene, Agent,” he admitted.

“I think you’re right,” Jessie said. “The puncture marks look like they came at different angles and landed at different depths, almost as if the assailant was clutching multiple keys and jammed them all into her at the same time.”

“I didn’t know you were trained in crime scene analysis,” Dolan said, his eyes raised skeptically.

“I’m not. But I am trained in seeing what’s right in front of me,” she retorted. “Also, I have some experience with knife attacks. More importantly, I am trained in psychological behavior. And based on the preliminary images here, I’d say we’re likely dealing with a crime of passion rather than a preplanned assault.”

“Why do you say that?” Dolan asked, not arguing.

“It’s hard to imagine that someone planning ahead would choose keys as his method of attack. It’s too messy and not a sure thing in terms of effectiveness. This feels more impromptu.”

“A crime of passion?” Dolan repeated teasingly.

“It’s a cliché, but yeah.”

“That doesn’t do much to support the theory that this was Crutchfield or Thurman,” he noted. “From what I understand, they’re both pretty meticulous.”

“I’d agree that it makes it less likely.”

“When did the call come in?” Dolan asked, turning his attention back to Officer Martin.

“A little after two in the morning. Cantu and her date had returned from a night out. She went into the bathroom and found her there. The guy, name of Carter Harrington, called nine-one-one.”

Dolan walked around the bathroom for a few more seconds, looking bored.

“I think we’ve learned all we can here for the time being,” he said, turning to Jessie. “What do you say we pay a visit to Gabrielle Cantu and see if she can provide a little color for us?”

Jessie nodded. She could sense him trying to move things along. If this case wasn’t related to one of their outstanding serial killers, he clearly wanted to establish that quickly so he could dump the case and her along with it.

Though it struck her as cold, Jessie couldn’t really blame him. He was after serial killers, not victims of clumsy key stabbings. And though she was loath to admit it, so was she.

CHAPTER FIVE

Whatever Gabrielle’s date, Carter Harrington, did for a living, it paid well. The file she read on the way over only identified him as a “market investor,” which could mean pretty much anything. His gated mansion on Briar Summit Drive, just off Mulholland Drive, was three stories tall with views of both the San Fernando Valley and the west side of Los Angeles. After they were buzzed in, the car with Jessie, Dolan, Murph, and Toomey eased down the long driveway to the parking circle in front of the home. The other marshals stayed outside the estate in their vehicle.