Devil's Whisper Chapter 65: The Mark of the Killer

Kate noticed that the front door of the house was wide open, its polished mahogany surface marred by the white powder the forensic team was using to dust for fingerprints. The investigator worked methodically, his gloved hands moving with practiced precision across the doorframe.

"You mentioned that you came back from the office to get ready and pick up Sasha and Ella, which means, Mrs. Paula, you must have been at home," Kate said, directing her gaze towards Ella, who was walking beside them.

She noticed how Ella's expensive heels clicked against the marble floor, her posture rigid despite her attempt to appear casual.

"No, I also go to Shawn's office. I'm the managing director of Paula Chemicals," Ella replied, tucking a stray strand of her perfectly styled blonde hair behind her ear. There was a slight tremor in her manicured hands that didn't escape Kate's attention. "This morning, I left the house with Shawn. At that time, Sasha was still asleep in her room. After attending a few meetings, I got home about an hour before Shawn, since I take longer to get ready."

"Why was Sasha at home?" Kate asked, her curiosity piqued. She realized she didn't know anything about the victim beyond the basic facts in the preliminary report.

"Sasha recently finished college, and she's taking some time off," Ella replied, her answer clipped and somehow distant, as if discussing a stranger rather than a family member.

"Hmm... and when you came back, you didn't see Sasha or try to check on her?" Kate pressed, sensing a disconnect in the family dynamics.

Ella hesitated, her eyes flickering with something before answering. "I'm Sasha's stepmother, and she never really accepted me as her mom, so I tend to keep my distance."

Meanwhile, Kate and Jason had crossed the large living room, their footsteps muffled by the thick Persian carpet, and entered the lobby. There were four doors on both sides of the lobby, their dark wood identical and imposing, and Shawn informed them that all of them were bedrooms. Police officers and forensic experts moved between the rooms like silent ghosts, their camera flashes punctuating the somber atmosphere as they collected evidence.

"Where's Sasha's room?" Jason asked.

"The last room is hers," Shawn replied, pointing toward the last door in the lobby. His hand trembled slightly, betraying the composed façade he'd maintained since their arrival.

Kate scanned the lobby briefly before speaking up. "Turn on all the lights in the lobby," she instructed. The dim, yellowish lighting wasn't doing them any favors, and she needed clarity—both literal and figurative—to piece together what had happened in this house.

Shawn approached the switchboard and flipped a few switches. As he did so, the entire lobby lit up with bright white light, revealing details that had lurked in the shadows: family photos hung at precise intervals, a delicate vase perched on a side table, and the subtle signs of a household maintaining appearances while hiding its fractures.

Kate's trained eyes quickly caught sight of dark crimson drops on the pristine floor outside Sasha's room. The blood had dried to a deep burgundy, creating a stark contrast against the polished marble.

"Have someone collect this blood sample," Kate instructed Jason, her voice steady despite the grim discovery. She knew every detail could be crucial in these first critical hours.

Thanks to Jason's credentials and influence, Kate was granted access to the crime scene. Under normal circumstances, her presence as a civilian would have violated protocol, but her unique insights had proven invaluable in previous cases. The weight of this responsibility wasn't lost on her as she crossed the threshold.

The room hit her like a physical force. Off-white walls that should have been serene were now violently decorated with arterial sprays and cast-off patterns. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, mixing with the lingering traces of what must have been Sasha's perfume. The bed, with its once-pristine sheets now saturated crimson, told a story of struggle and violence that made Kate's stomach clench. This wasn't just a crime scene – it was a message, deliberately staged for maximum impact.

"Do you think this is Sasha's blood?"

Shawn's voice cracked, his complexion matching the walls' original shade. The question seemed to physically pain him, as if speaking it made the horror more real.

Neither Jason nor Kate responded. Their attention was magnetized by the elaborate display on the wall behind the bed – a chart-sized paper that transformed the room from a crime scene into something more ritualistic. At its center, a photo of a young woman – Sasha, presumably – served as the focal point for a constellation of occult imagery.

The goat-headed figure that Kate had come to dread dominated the arrangement, alongside the circle of continuity and the killer's signature mark. Persian script from the Rubaiyat flowed beneath these symbols like dark rivers, and blood droplets had been deliberately scattered across the surface, turning the entire composition into a macabre artwork.

Kate moved closer, her shoes silent on the carpet, until she could make out the words "Tamam Shud" written in bold crimson letters beneath Sasha's photo.

The phrase seemed to mock them with its finality.

This display confirmed their worst fears – they were dealing with the same killer who had claimed Ryder and the Millers.

Jason broke the heavy silence, his voice carrying the weight of accumulated failures. "Once again, he succeeded in abducting his target. Right now, he's probably laughing at us," he said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "He gave us clues to find and save his next target before he went to take her... but we failed," he added, almost whispering.

Kate squared her shoulders, her jaw set with determination.

"Now's not the time to mourn our failures. The girl could still be alive, and we still have a chance to save her." Her voice carried a steel edge that seemed to cut through the room's oppressive atmosphere. She turned to face Shawn and Ella, who hovered in the doorway like uncertain ghosts. "Mr. Shawn," she called out, softening her tone. "Did you receive any kind of warning letter?"

Shawn's brow furrowed, confusion momentarily displacing his grief.

"Warning letter?" he asked.