The Detective and Jules Thompson had developed standards many years ago on how to protect the integrity of evidence, but Bette still liked having complete control from the beginning. Regardless of how hard they tried, emergency personnel had heavy feet, and Bette didnt want them stomping through something as nuanced as her crime scene.

A crime scene is like a work of art, she always told trainees at the Academy. You understand the elements of the work and you are that much closer to understanding the elements of the artist. And, if there was one thing she learned while majoring in Art History at Yale, it was that artists are actually quite predictable.

They are often compulsively wedded to consistency of style, look and feel. So, Bette reasoned, if you can unlock the key to what makes the artist or serial criminal predictable, then you can build a roadmap to their front door.

If only it were as easy as I make it sound in my lectures, Porter thought as she slipped her Seattle Police Department Detectives badge into her front blazer lapel so that it was clearly visible.

She removed her gun from her right hip holster, took it off safety and returned it to the leather holster making sure that the safety strap slipped over the hammer. She reported her arrival to dispatch and opened the door to be suddenly enveloped by the saddest, most heart-felt cry she had ever heard.

She raised her hand to block the sun from her deep brown eyes as she looked up to where the sound had come from. Her heart fluttered as she fully felt the pain and anguish of the womans cry as it floated down to her from above. Bettes breath was stilled as her heart connected and wept for another that was experiencing so much loss.

Gathering herself, she entered the building rechecking her notes to confirm that the crime scene was on the fifth floor. Although she couldnt hear the cries as clearly, she was still haunted and a shiver made her shake slightly. She had her hands at her hips, slightly drumming her right fingers on her gun.

Waiting. Bette is the first to admit that waiting is not one of her strengths, but she usually could muster enough patience to wait for an elevator. She thought of the cry again. With one last look at the elevator doors, she quickly moved to the stairwell. Not knowing exactly why, Bette took the stairs two at a time and quickly found herself opening the heavy exit door on the fifth floor.

Her heart ached again upon hearing the cries from down the hall. She turned to see several firemen and two police officers standing in the hallway, hands folded in their front of them almost as if they were paying respects.

Bette approached the group cautiously. Hey guys, whats up? What are you all doing out here?

One of the patrol officers who responded to the first call stepped closer to Bette so that he couldnt be overheard in the room. Detective Porter. We havent been able to secure the scene yet due to a, he paused, to the, um, emotional state of a potential witness he finally concluded.

What do you mean? Bette asked, having forgotten the mournful cry that brought her here and now focused on this obvious lapse of police protocol. You havent secured the scene? Its really quite a simple process, Bette said as if she were giving one of her academy lectures. You move the witness to an interview room at the precinct and contain the crime scene and evidence before it is lost or contaminated.

The patrol officer looked at his shoes, knowing he was not making a good impression on a Detective who could make or break his future career with one call to his supervisor.

It just wasnt quite that simple in this case, he finally said weakly.

Bette shook her head and moved past him. I will deal with you, all of you, she eyed the five men standing in the hallway, later.

Bette was still irritated as she roughly brushed past the five men who looked like they wanted to be anywhere but where they were standing.

Bette entered the room and then simply stopped. There was no dramatic wail to freeze her in her tracks, no emotional outburst, and no violent scene that needed to be contained.

She simply stopped when her eyes found a young woman, soaked in blood, who was stroking the face of a lifeless form as if her life depended on itnot in the clich sort of waybut as if her actual life depended on it.

The young woman heard someone else enter the room and looked up to find the first thing that had offered her comforta pair of soft, warm eyes that seemed to understand what the others could not.

Bette couldnt count how many rooms she had been in that held a lifeless victim and a loved one. What she could tell you, is that she had never felt in any of those rooms the way she did at this very moment.

Bette wasnt sure if her heart was breaking or slamming in to her chest. She didnt really care. All she knew was that for some reason she wanted to take away all the pain, all the hurt, all the disappointment, all the loneliness she saw in the face that turned to her.

As their eyes met, Bette gasped audibly as she felt her soul being gently touched. After another brief moment of understanding passed between the two women, Bette more fully absorbed the scene around her.

It was horrific. It reflected all the anger, all the hate, all the disgust of the serial killer Bette Porter had been tracking for months. She knew his paints and his pallet and she knew that the lifeless woman being held tenderly by her friend was his fourth victim.

Bette nodded to Jules Thompson who was still kneeling next to Tina and had witnessed the subtle yet electric exchange between the two women. If Bette can connect with her, Thompson thought, we might be able to move her out of this horrible place.

Hey Bette, Jules said quietly. This is Tina Kennard and her roommate, Marcey Fleming.

Bette nodded in understanding and then said Jules, why dont you give Tina and I just a minute to talk a little she said this in a quiet and soothing tone so as not to alarm Tina in any way.

Jules Thompson stood up and moved quietly out of the room. Bette closed the distance between her and Tina slowly and kneeled down next to her.

Hi Tina, she began, My name is Bette Porter and I am a detective with the Seattle Police Department. Bette wasnt sure Tina was listening until she saw a little glimmer of surprise when she mentioned her chosen profession.

Bette chose not to fill the silence, letting Tina choose the pace. Finally, after what seemed an eternity Tina quietly said You dont look like a detective.

Bette let a small smile find her lips and said I have been told that before, but I am very good at what I do. Can you believe that Tina?

Tina was still stroking Marceys face, and still had her clutched tightly to her but she did lift her eyes to meet Bettes. She sighed Yes I do. I didnt think I could trust anyone right now, but I do trust you. The end of her sentence was barely above a whisper.

Will you trust me that I know what needs to be done right now? Tina pulled back a bit, knowing in her heart that it was going to involve leaving this room. Still, she met Bettes gaze. It gave her strength but not words. She simply nodded.

Bette paused, carefully choosing her words. We need to take care of Marcey. We need to take care of you. Will you let us do that?

Tina bit her lower lip and shook her head as tears she thought she was to tired to shed fell again.

Bette tenderly touched her elbow and used her thumb and forefinger to raise Tinas eyes back to her own. We need to take care of you, get you away from here. Will you let me do that? Will you let me take you somewhere safe?

Tinas tears fell faster now. They ran down her cheeks and down Bettes hand until they dropped silently to the floor. She shook her head again, but didnt pull her face from Bettes hand.

Bette tried again. Please, Tina let me protect you. Let me take you someplace safe.

Tina shook her head one last time, and the meeting Bettes gaze she quietly said. I have nowhere to go. Bette leaned closer because she could barely hear Tinas words. Tina swallowed to clear her dry throat and then said a bit more loudly, although not much above a whisper I have nowhere else to go, and no one else to turn to.

Tina looked away and gathered Marcey more tightly in her arms and began to sob. All her loneliness, all her pain, all her fears could be felt as she clung to the life that had already left her behind.