There’s been a spree in NYC.
Carlie Cooper stood just beyond the yellow tape, latex gloves pulled tight over her hands as she studied the crime scene with a practiced, analytical stare. Another body. Another scene that looked wrong in ways she couldn’t quite put into words yet. The evidence was there, scattered across the pavement, footprints, damaged property, a pattern of injuries, but something about it told her this wasn’t an isolated incident. She glanced toward the other officers, then back to her notes. “Same M.O.,” she muttered, quietly enough that only she could hear. New York had always been a city with too many crimes and too few answers, but lately? There were too many of these.
Carlie crouched beside a piece of evidence, carefully photographing it before reaching for her kit. Whoever was behind this had made mistakes. Everyone did. The trick was figuring out what those mistakes were before they struck again.