shrugged. “It can, if I let it. But when I talk to killers, I try to leave my emotions out of it. These people are predators, and it gets them off if they know they’re bothering you. I refuse to give them that satisfaction. I view my job as a puzzle—I try to put the pieces in the right order to solve the case and catch the bad guy. I’ve gotten pretty good at building a wall between myself and what I do. I guess you could say I’m an expert at compartmentalizing things.” She offered a half smile, shrugging slightly.
Quinn couldn’t imagine living that way, with everything put into neat and tidy boxes that weren’t allowed to touch. Maybe he was wired differently, but it seemed that every aspect of his life impacted another. It was part of why he’d loved working at Yosemite—he and Ashley had both loved hiking and camping in the park, and he’d enjoyed sharing the best parts of his job with her. The thought of working a job that needed to be set aside daily for the good of his mental health made him a little sad, and he felt a spurt of pity for Rebecca.
She doesn’t need me to feel bad for her, he thought. Rebecca was clearly a thoughtful and intelligent woman who had found a career that interested her, if nothing else. She was qualified to do any number of jobs, so if she was really bothered by her career, she could find another. Just because Quinn couldn’t imagine living that way didn’t mean she was miserable.
Still, curiosity nagged him. Before he could think better of it, he spoke again. “Does that make it hard to have friends?”
She blinked, clearly taken aback by the question. “What, you mean my tendency to compartmentalize?” At his nod, she shook her head. “Not really. I don’t talk about my work with my friends, and they know better than to ask except in the broadest of terms. Most people don’t want to know the details of a serial killer’s crimes, and I won’t talk about those things if I think someone is just looking for a cheap thrill.”
He nodded, grabbing his water for another sip. Rebecca cocked her head to the side, studying him. “What’s with the twenty questions?” She sounded curious and a little bit wary, as if she hadn’t decided what to make of his interest in her life.
Quinn shrugged. “You’re the first FBI profiler I’ve met. What you do is so foreign to me—I can’t imagine working with killers and investigating murder cases all the time. I’m just trying to understand how you do it, how you handle the more difficult parts.” He shook his head. “I could never do that.”
“You might be surprised what you can handle when you have to,” she said cryptically. She recapped her bottle and glanced at her watch. “Should we get back to it?”
“Yeah.” Quinn stashed his empty bottle and reshouldered his pack. “We’re not too far. Maybe another half hour?”
She waited for him to take the lead again and fell into step behind him. The rest of the hike passed in silence; it was hot, and the going was strenuous. Finally, they arrived.
It wasn’t difficult to find—yellow crime-scene tape was still strung across small bushes, acting as a flimsy barrier to keep out trespassers. The ground was littered with footprints, both human and animal; he saw the distinctive mark of a mountain lion, along with what looked like prints from both a mule deer and a raccoon.
Quinn forced himself to look at the spot where he’d found the woman. He half expected to see the outline of her body in the dirt, but it was blessedly clear of marks, as the wind, animals and the police would have brushed them away. He swallowed hard and looked away to find Rebecca watching him intently.
“You okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’m just...” He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his breastbone to ease the sudden ache in his chest. “I’m going to sit over here, if you don’t mind. Take your time.” He walked a few feet away to a large rock on the edge of the trail and sat, leaving Rebecca free to study the area to her heart’s content.
Even though the site was free from any reminders of his discovery, Quinn’s mind had no problem picturing the woman on the ground, her hair strewn across her face. Not again had been his first thought when he’d stumbled across the second body. Initially, he’d thought he was seeing things. He’d been thinking of the first victim as he’d walked, unable to get her out of his head. So when he’d come across the second woman he’d assumed he was simply having a very vivid hallucination brought on by emotional distress and the heat. But then the smell of death had hit him, and he’d realized the sight in front of him was very real.
Why me? he thought for what must have been the millionth time. Why had he been the one to find both victims? Was it simply an awful coincidence, or was there something more sinister at work?
After what seemed like an eternity, Rebecca walked over. “I’m ready.”
“Did you get what you needed?” He rose to his feet, glad she was done. Maybe someday he’d be able to hike this trail without being assaulted by the memories of his gruesome discovery, but not today.
“More or less.” She was quiet for a moment, the crunch of their footsteps the only sound. “I appreciate you bringing me here,” she said. “I can see it was hard for you.”
Quinn jerked up one shoulder in a shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “I’m just glad you got the information you were searching for.”
“I did,” she murmured. “In more ways than one.” He shot her a quizzical look and she shook her head. “He’s physically fit, that much is obvious. Probably a frequent visitor to the park—I’m willing to bet he had this spot picked out for a while. It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing. He probably fantasized about bringing a woman here to kill her.”
A wave of revulsion hit Quinn and he bit his lip to keep from vomiting. “We can check visitor logs at all the ranger stations,” he said, his voice coming out a little hoarse. “But there’s no guarantee he registered with us.”
“Have the police already started combing through camping permits?”
He nodded. “Yes. But not everyone follows the rules.”
“True.” She sounded thoughtful. “And a man who was so careful to scrub the site probably wouldn’t make the mistake of applying for a camping permit.”
“You’re sure it’s a man?”
She tilted her head to the side. “Statistically speaking, yes. Most serial killers are men. And the women were strangled to death, which takes brute strength.”
Quinn digested her words, nodding as he realized she was likely right.
“You think he’s staying in the park?” The thought sent a chill down Quinn’s spine. If the killer was camping in the backcountry, they might never find him. It would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.
“Anything is possible,” Rebecca said. “I want to focus on the victims first, though. If they had a permit, we can try to retrace their steps in the days leading up to their deaths. If we’re really lucky, we’ll find a shared location or some other point where they may have crossed paths with the killer.”
“You think he met them here?”
“More than likely. It’s possible the first victim came with him, but the second one was definitely someone he picked up recently. And given the identical display of the bodies, I don’t think he knew the women on more than a superficial level.”
Quinn’s curiosity got the better of him. “How can you tell that?”
“When a killer really knows his victim, he usually treats the body differently. Some murderers are overcome with guilt and treat the body almost tenderly, while some have a surge of anger and do further damage to the remains. Either way, there is usually a sign that the crime was personal. But in the case of our two victims, the bodies were staged identically. That makes me think he didn’t know either one of them on an intimate level.”
“He must be pretty charismatic,” Quinn mused.
Rebecca’s