He’d stared at the photos of the young girl’s torso for hours, comparing it to the first two Bane victims. It was clear that the first two kills had been random, no pattern or organization to the wounds. The girl was different. For all the damage, there was some vague something that stood out. He’d even sat down and played connect the dots, drawing the lines carved into the bodies onto a piece of paper. The resulting image from the girl’s injuries was almost demonic in nature once he was done nailing down all the points, but the sketch was hardly something he could run a legitimate search on. It was still just a bunch of lines. His back hurting from hovering over the coffee table, Isaac snatched up the computer and put it in his lap and settled into the couch. The image was getting him nowhere. Frustrated, he connected to the department’s database and searched for anything similar in the serial killer files. Nothing popped up, not that he expected it to. Successful killers were loners whose calling cards were often nothing more than a personal device or feeling that had no context outside of the killer’s mind.
