#11 Meet Me in the Emerald Forest

Chapter 9 Lukas

“The M.E. found brown hair fibers on the victims.” She explained after she finished laughing at me.

“If he left behind so much DNA shouldn’t he be easier to catch?” I asked.

“That tells us something, too. We know he’s confident that he’s not in the system. The M.E ran the DNA, obviously, and got no results. But, it can be used to match or rule out any suspects. We always start with and rule out family so I’ll suggest that the PD get DNA samples from all close family members and friends.”

“This is unreal.” I said, shaking my head and looking at her in awe. My mate was a genius and I was so going to be outsmarted by her daily.

“Not at all." She shook her head, "It's just behavioral science."

"What else?" I was eager to hear more.

"There’s something called a trigger and a stressor. The trigger is the object or event behind a person’s emotions or, in this case, rage. For example, for this guy, the trigger might be a wife who he feels belittled by and often fantasies about hurting. The stressor is the event that causes him to act on his fantasy. In this case, it might be that he caught his wife cheating on him so he strangled her with the closest thing he could find, something satin. Now, his murderous tendencies are revealed and he continues to get the urge to kill.” She explained like she was reading from a textbook.

A shiver went down my spine as I thought about how messed up this world really was, or at least, some of the people in it.

“So, you’d want to find out the trigger and the stressor?”

“Correct. It’s also likely that the locations of the bodies are linked somehow. Maybe it’s a place that the unsub and his wife went to for dates, or places he caught her at with her lover. It’s hard to say exactly, but that’s where the investigation should start.” She shrugged casually.

“So, from all that information you make up a profile?” I asked.

“Yes, we know the preliminary profile. He’s a white male between the ages of 25 and 35. He’s well built. He’s charismatic, charming, friendly, and confident. He’s not in the system so he doesn’t work a government job. He’s likely blue collar. He drives a larger vehicle that can easily conceal a body such as a passenger or cargo van, or a truck,

“He has or had a relationship with a white, blonde haired blue eyed woman between the same ages. He’s likely experienced a traumatic event related to this woman and has recently appeared stressed, impatient, and irritable. He’s probably been absent from work and events for the last two weeks. He owns a secondary location other than his home where he keeps the woman and this location is within three hours of where the victims have been found. He’s already stalking his next victim and will abduct her on Friday.”

Her eyes glazed over as she delivered the profile, her body stiffened and her breathing increased. Once she was finished she blinked rapidly and then looked over at me, her face completely back to normal. It was like she switched between Clementine the person and Clementine the FBI agent. I realized then that she was really two different people, just like me. I was half wolf but she was half profiler.

“And you’ll send that to the police department who sent over the file?”

“Yes. If the case calls for one of us or our team to go out there, we’ll deliver the profile in person.”

“How do you decide where to go?”

“It’s mostly up to two things. Will our presence help and who is in the most immediate danger? We prioritize cases based on how immediate the threat to life is. For example, with this case, we know that in less than a week, someone is going to die. Now, that might sound immediate, but I guarantee you that there’s a case in that file that shows a threat to life as soon as tomorrow or even today,

“There’s also the chance of our involvement hurting the investigation, taking the attention away from the local law enforcement and away from the case and moving it towards the bureau's presence. Sometimes, just sending over our profile is enough to give the local police the extra help they need to close the case themselves.”

“I can’t imagine the burden that places on you.” I frowned, my fingers twitching to hold my mate.

“There are around 50 agents, so it’s not just me.” She shrugged but I could tell by the wrinkles on her forehead and the scrunch to her nose that it was harder than she let on.

“Do you all work individually?”

“There are a couple of teams including my team of seven, but most of the agents work individually, yes. It’s more cost effective to the bureau to send out solo agents and it allows them to cover more cases. But, there's a couple of us who work so well together that it’s thoughtless to separate us. We get sent on the bigger more complex cases. Our team members also conduct most of the prison interviews.” She replied.

My heart sank to my feet.

“You go into prisons?” I asked in a tight voice.

Bastian was howling in my head threateningly at the thought of our mate inside a prison talking to criminals. Clem just shrugged as she paced across the office.

“Sure, loads of times.”

I decided that I needed to change the subject before I flew off the handle.

“What about your parents’ case?” I asked and she turned around to face me. Her hand fluttered to her injured shoulder as she absentmindedly fiddled with it.

“That is a frustration.” She grumbled.

“I’m not sure if any of this is really going to help.” I said, motioning towards the file I brought.

I was feeling more and more guilty as I spent more time with Clem. It wasn’t fair that I had all the answers she’s been looking for about her parents’ death and was unable to deliver them. I could give her peace but, in turn, I would be taking away some of her security. I just hoped that she didn’t hate me when I finally told her everything.

“I haven’t had any new information in years so it certainly can’t hurt.” She said with a small smile.

“What’s the profile on this serial killer?” I asked curiously. I wondered what the profile on rogue wolf killers was.

“That’s why it’s so frustrating. I’ve given the case to my team members and other profilers in the unit and all of the profiles contradict each other.” She said, frowning profusely.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I think he’s a family annihilator.” She stated.

“I almost hate to ask what that means.” I chuckled nervously.

“Pretty much exactly what it sounds like. A serial killer whose mission is to kill off entire families. But, what doesn't make sense with that profile, is the fact that entire families weren’t killed.”

“But, those of you who survived, only did so because you weren’t home.” I pointed out.

“And thank the Goddess for that.” Bastian said in my head.

“And that’s an abnormality for family annihilators. They usually stalk families, learn their routines, and make sure that every member is home. Or at least, every member they want to kill. Sometimes they leave a specific member alive, such as the daughter or the father, for some reason that fits their fantasy. But, in this case, the members who survived are all over the map. And, some of the victims were the only members of the household so there were no survivors. He’s just all over the place.” She sighed in absolute frustration.

“Does it hurt?” I said suddenly, nodding towards her shoulder which she was still gripping. She looked confused for a second before glancing towards her arm.

“Oh, not really.” She shrugged, dropping her arm.

“I would imagine getting shot hurts.” I felt my jaw clench as I thought about her injury.

“I was unconscious for most of it and when I woke up all I cared about was getting out of the hospital.” She laughed at herself.

“It’s been a few days now, though, right?” I pretended like I didn’t already know the answer.

“It has.”

“So, does it hurt more now?” I smirked at her knowingly, already beginning to read her facial expressions easily.

“Well, it doesn’t hurt any less.” She answered strategically and I snorted with laughter. She couldn’t help but let a smile breakthrough her cold exterior.

“Clever.” I chuckled, “Don’t you have physical therapy or something to go to now?” I asked casually. Or at least, it was meant to sound casual.

“Yep, twice a week.” She rolled her eyes, “Are you going to help me go through this or not?”

She brought the subject back to the case as she picked up the pack’s file. I laughed at her resistance to talking about her injury or her therapy. Clearly she wasn’t thrilled about her entire situation.

She flipped open the file and started pulling out some of the papers. I walked up to her and looked at the file from over her shoulder. I began to explain some of the information so she didn’t have to read over the entire file.

For the next two hours, Clementine and I went over the new information I brought as well as putting up the old case files onto her evidence board. Well, she put up the evidence while I watched in awe. She thought aloud and I listened intently, offering commentary and asking questions when I thought it would help. I was surprised when she never once got irritated with my presence even when I was sure my next question would be the nail that sealed my coffin shut.

It was well after noon and, even though I didn’t want to, I knew it was time for me to leave her alone. She needed her space and I had to at least make a guest appearance at my own pack. But, I was desperate to make arrangements to see her again.

“Your brother is gone all day, isn’t he?” I asked as I stood in her doorway. She eyed me cautiously,

“I hesitate to answer that question.” She answered honestly and I chuckled.

“I just thought you might want a ride to physical therapy, that’s all.” I tried not to sound like I was begging.

“I can drive, you know?” She huffed, looking offended. I glanced towards the driveway and then back towards her, c*****g an eyebrow,

“Do you have a car?” I asked. She started glaring at my smugness,

“Yes.” She snapped.

“Here?”

“No.” She grumbled.

“Then, it’s settled. When’s your PT?” I asked with a little extra excitement to my voice that I absolutely failed at hiding.

“I can just take an Uber.” She scoffed and I couldn’t help but laugh at her.

“There’s no car services around here, Clem, I’m sure you know that.”

She mumbled unintelligently in response.

“I’ll just show up everyday and stay all day unless you tell me when your PT is.” I threatened and, honestly, I hoped she wouldn’t tell me so I could live up to my promise.

“Tuesday and Thursday at 10 in the morning.” She mumbled.