Splintered by SJD Peterson Read Free Book Online Page A

toward his disfigured groin. Hundreds of burn marks, the type usually made by a lit cigarette, covered much of his torso, legs, and arms. Between the burn marks, cuts, and bruises, there was barely an inch of skin that had been left without some type of injury. The thought of what this poor bastard had endured had Hutch fighting an overwhelming rage at the senselessness of it that left him shaking. Focus, Hutch, it’s just another body. No name and no family. This is just a job. He ran through the mantra several times, trying to block out everything else but the facts in front of him. He had learned to remove himself emotionally from what he was witnessing. The day he could no longer stay detached was the day the job would crush him, something he feared would happen sooner rather than later if he couldn’t control his temper and outrage.
    Focus .
    The killer had taken his time in staging the scene. Considering he was working while the boutique was still open, that took balls of steel. He was evolving. Already narcissistic in his beliefs, he was now taunting the police. He had no concerns that he would ever be caught by such an inferior species. This new dump was the killer’s way of saying, “I know the Feds are in town, and I appreciate the attention.” Fortunately for Hutch, megalomaniacs often made stupid mistakes, and he planned on being there when this fucker made his.
    Moving away from the body, Hutch removed his gloves and shoe covers. As he dumped them in the tech’s disposal bag, he felt a tickle race down his spine. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he felt as if eyes were boring into him. A quick look around the scene didn’t turn up anyone watching him. He then turned toward the crowd—who were there, no doubt, hoping to catch a glimpse of something they could brag about to their friends later. At first, he didn’t see anyone paying him any attention, but then he caught sight of pale blue eyes.
    Backpack slung over one shoulder, the man was average in height with a muscular build. Other than his above-average size—possibly a jock—he looked like a thousand other kids traipsing across the campus of UIC. Shaggy blond hair, sharp angular features, he had that all-American hometown boy look to him. What caught Hutch’s attention was the way the guy’s eyes went wide when their gazes met. Hutch stared back, unblinking, as intelligence and innocence looked back at him. There was something familiar about him. I’ve seen you before, but where? Judging by the look in the kid’s eyes, Hutch was familiar to him too.
    “Agent Hutchinson, Doc Fisher would like to have a word with you.”
    Hutch turned and nodded his acknowledgment to Knutson. When he turned back to the crowd, the kid was gone. He stood staring at the empty spot for a long moment, trying to recall where he’d seen the young man before, but the connection eluded him. Setting aside the puzzle for now, Hutch turned once again from the crowd and joined Knutson and an elderly man dressed in blue scrubs, who he assumed was Fisher, near the coroner’s van.
    “Dr. Fisher?” Hutch asked and held out his hand in greeting.
    “Agent Hutchinson,” he responded by way of acknowledgment and shook Hutch’s hand. “I understand you’ve had a chance to inspect the body. Will you need more time, or can I have it moved to the morgue?”
    Hutch cringed when Fisher referred to the victim as it . It was proof he was losing his edge. Goddammit, man, get your shit together. Hutch repeated his mantra. It is just another body. No name and no family. This is just a job. “Yes, but can I ask you a couple of questions before you go?”
    “Sure,” Fisher responded and then turned to Knutson. “Let them know they can bag the body for transport, would you?”
    “Yes, sir,” Knutson said with a nod.
    As soon as the officer walked away, Fisher asked, “What can I do for ya?”
    “This victim has many of the same wounds as my last victim, but they