Between Limestone Ruins

Chapter One

Hannah appeared far more relaxed than she felt. This was a skill she had learned what felt like eons ago and, considering she was working on her PhD thesis by interviewing serial killers and scanning their brains, it was a critical skill. 

Her posture in her chair was loose, open, unfazed. She was aware of the crimes against humanity the man seated across from her had committed, but showing any fear that he might beat and behead her would only hinder her research. 

Besides, she had nothing to fear anyway, this guy claimed he hadn't killed the eight young men he'd been convicted of assaulting and murdering in a court of law. Twenty years in a maximum-security prison, three failed requests for parole, and two aggravated assaults of two different prison guards told a story slightly different than his own.

Hannah wasn't in any real danger anyway. Between her and the inmate, Simmons, was a sheet of bullet proof glass. She had a panic button with her in case anything went south; the guards affectionately called them time of death buttons, because if you were pushing it, chances are you were in the process of being attacked by an inmate. Hannah was well trained with a hand gun, but obviously she couldn't carry hers within the prison. 

Simmons was currently retelling, for what felt like the millionth time since she added him to her study over a year ago, how close friends he had been with some big indie band from the 90s. Hannah had confirmed ages ago he had been a roadie for the band but knew he had been fired by the second city on the tour because "he was just really weird man", in the words of the lead guitarist.

Psychopaths often had grandiose memories of the mundane; Hannah wondered, not for the first time, if this particular man was consciously embellishing his story to waste her time, or to make her admire him, or if he genuinely believed what he was saying.

That's why psychologists studied killers, especially ones who are able to kill over and over. The more Hannah understood why these people acted the way they acted, the faster killers could be caught in the field, and the higher the chance of finding a treatment or even a cure to prevent more deaths in the future.

It was Wednesday, one of the worst days in Hannah's opinion; close to the weekend, but not nearly close enough. It gave her a reason to forgive herself as her mind began to wander. She had at least 10 more minutes of this story before the inmate let her get a word in anyway, and she had her next move planned out ready for that opportunity. One thing the scientific community was sure of: serial killers love control and opportunities to control a conversation with one come few and far between.

Much of Hannah's education took place within prison walls. She had taken her undergrad at Nippissing University, moved to Kingston to complete a master's degree in forensic psychology. She had taken a year off after that before moving to Ottawa two years ago to pursue her PhD, also in forensic psychology. She had since earned her Behaviour Analyst certification.

Her PhD supervisor had requested Hannah as one of her students based on her transcript. Dr. Bev Lovington. Bev had been the first call the RCMP and sometimes the FBI made when a serial killer was being considered in a case.

Hannah had never intended to do field work and Bev had been okay with that. Hannah was happy writing reports and chatting with the murderers after they'd been convicted. Bev had had police training, Hannah did not. Bev was incredible, and Hannah was lucky to work with her through OttawaU, despite her disinterest in field work. She didn't see herself as tough enough to chase down the bad guys but was perfectly happy sitting down with certified killers to discuss the weather as a guard triple her size watched from the corner of the room.

So, Hannah was surprised when she had been asked to go to Quebec with Bev to watch her consult on a case in the field several long months ago.

"You need to see how the research you do becomes a profile I can make to catch these guys Hannah," Bev insisted. "Think of it as a learning experience."

Nine female bodies had been found in Mont-Tremblant National Park, dismembered. The first three had died at least 3 months prior. Three more seemed to have been dumped around just over a month ago. The last three had been found around two and a half to three weeks after they had been dumped. They were all ID'd by dental x-rays as missing women from McGill University. All blonde, blue eyes, high achievers. Aged between 18 and 25. None of their paths in life had ever crossed. None of them were the type to get lost in the woods or get into a stranger's car. But somehow, they all seemed to vanish, one-by-one, from campus in broad daylight.

Never wanting to disappoint anyone, Hannah tagged along. Oddly enough, crime scene photos were more or less equal to as disturbing as corpses up close and personal. It was hard to see the long decayed remains as human, Hannah thought, but she figured that was due to desensitization after years of seeing the photos. She observed, she took notes, she spent several late nights developing a working profile with Bev.

And then, after one of those late nights, Bev had left early to grab coffee for their day. She didn't come back. Car accident. Dead on arrival. Her death completely unrelated to her extremely dangerous profession.

Hannah had to deliver the profile to a room of already skeptical police officers and she looked young and inexperienced. She joked about having a baby face whenever she was ID'd at a bar. The profile was basic at best: a male in his 20-30s, Caucasian. Killing surrogates for someone he believes to have wronged him. An ex-girlfriend/crush or mother was most likely. Crimes are sexual in nature but are clearly instigated by intense anger. Remorse is unlikely, due to the lack of burial formal. The man is intelligent, as shown by his clever choice of dumping location, allowing bodies to pile up over a year. He was probably awkward in social situations and actively avoids large gatherings. The RCMP seemed impressed with her, but Hannah knew she was missing something. Something huge.

She had to give a press conference Bev had written up on her own. Hannah was the behavioural science expert on the case. She was the only one able to do Bev's job quickly and effectively. The case went cold anyway, as Hannah expected, and she returned to Ottawa to sit across from self-centered murderers and pray she was doing something useful.

That had been over six months ago. Hannah still didn't have a PhD supervisor; she was loosely followed by several faculty members but, for the most part, was on her own.

It gave her time to brood about the killer who got away. Her first, possibly her only, murderer and he got away. Had he killed again? And was what Hannah was doing now helping save lives? Could she do more good in this field if she were investigating active murderers? Hannah didn't think she could handle staring at dead girls for weeks on end and then heading home having not avenged their suffering. Not again. She lived every day with the burden of knowing justice hadn't been served, in a world that seemed to become increasingly evil each day.