Crime scene investigation

There was a thin layer of soil on the corpse's clothing—enough to suggest it hadn't been buried, just stored somewhere damp and forgotten.

A place where light didn't reach. Forensic tests turned up nothing useful.

Trace elements hinted at decay and exposure, but nothing pointed clearly to a suspect or a location.

Pollen samples on the clothing offered the only real lead: woodland species native to the Mountain.

It narrowed the field, but it was still a forest-sized haystack. Someone would need to go there in person.

The corpse was marked with shallow scars—deliberate, patterned, but all post-mortem.

Ritualistic, maybe. The forensics team had seen worse.

Still, no blood trail, no defensive wounds.

Whatever happened, the victim didn't fight back.

No prints on the iron arrow lodged in the chest.

The killer had handled it like a pro. Or a fanatic.

There were signs of sexual activity.

DNA testing identified a second woman, Eliza Kunis, an actress with a tabloid rap sheet and a missing persons report.

She hadn't been seen for a week.

More hair was found—some matched to a man named Ceres Muller, ex-con, violent past, now also missing.

Other strands couldn't be traced. They didn't even know how many people had touched the body before it was staged.

And then there was the strangest part: no confirmed cause of death.

The organs had all failed, almost simultaneously.

No poison, no trauma, just sudden systemic collapse.

It mimicked a natural death, but it wasn't.

Someone had done this, and they had taken their time.

Even the time of death was murky. The body had been preserved somehow.

Cold, maybe. Manipulated post-mortem. Days? Weeks? The timeline kept shifting.

Abby stared at the reports, frustrated. All this evidence, all these fragments—and still nothing solid.

Without a time or cause of death, most of the data felt like white noise.

Eighty percent of it, maybe more, could be completely irrelevant.

Then there was the movie.

The victim, Alan McElroy, was a director.

His latest horror film, Wrong Turn, will be released next month.

According to someone in PR, it was supposed to be based on a "true story."

Abby considered watching it. Not because she believed in movie logic, but because the killer might.

She glanced around her apartment. Kate had moved.

That left Tony DiNozzo, who loved horror movies, and McGee, her weirdly reliable roommate.

Neither was an ideal choice, but she didn't want to go alone.

---------

Meanwhile, Kate Todd was trying to rebuild her life on the other coast.

She'd left the Secret Service after her last relationship went down in flames.

Turned down Gibbs's offer to join NCIS.

Took a post at the FBI's West Coast office instead.

"I need space from the East Coast's ghosts," she'd told Gibbs.

He hadn't argued.

Now, even as she settled into her new role, she couldn't shake the feeling that this case—this murder—was something darker than a typical crime.

The body had been found dumped in Vinales Valley, near Los Angeles, pierced by a heavy iron arrow that matched props from McElroy's film set.

Too coincidental. Too staged.

Kate had visited the site herself.

No footprints. No tire marks. Just a corpse and silence.

Like it had been dropped from the sky. A locked-room murder without walls.

So she called for help. Not from her lab, but from the East Coast. From Abby.

She trusted her instincts more than she trusted anyone in the LA office.

The killer had gone to great lengths to make this feel like fiction.

But Kate knew better.

Monsters don't need special effects.

The FBI's forensic team was competent—sharp, efficient, seasoned.

But even they couldn't nail down a cause or time of death.

Without those two pillars, what good were the rest of the clues?

"Still," Kate muttered, "some leads are better than none."

That optimism didn't last long.

As the puzzle deepened, the pieces began falling into a darker shape.

Eliza Kunis—last seen in Vinales Valley—had been romantically involved with the victim. She was also missing.

Police records confirmed it. No calls. No sightings. Gone.

Kate pulled up the LAPD's database.

The number of disappearances in that region was unnerving.

Some were written off as hikers. Others as addicts.

A few just fell through the cracks.

But they all had something in common: no trace, no explanation, and no apparent reason to vanish.

When LAPD handed the case off to the Bureau, Kate couldn't help but wonder: Did they know something? Or did they not want the blowback?

Whatever the reason, it was hers now.

Forensics wasn't getting her anywhere fast.

So she followed a hunch.

What about the film crew? Was there something going on behind the scenes of "Wrong Turn"?

Then came the news leak in the Los Angeles Post.

Big headline. Gruesome details.

And just enough of a tie to the movie to draw attention.

Too convenient.

Kate had worked in media control at the highest level.

She knew when someone was spinning the narrative. And this reeked of spin.

Controlled chaos. The kind used to build hype before a film's release.

Or cover up something much worse.

She made a call.

"Anthony Westwood," she said, walking through the downtown field office.

"I need to speak with you about the film."

Westwood was the film's producer—polished, evasive, PR-trained. His cooperation was surface-level.

Polite, even concerned. But when she asked to keep the investigation out of the press, he gave her a tight smile and a media-friendly shrug.

"We have a responsibility to keep the public informed," he said.

"People are curious, and the timing is... unfortunate, but not something we can hide."

Kate didn't buy it. Not for a second.

"Then I need to speak to Christian Booth. The director."

That made Westwood pause—just slightly, but enough.

"I'm afraid Mr. Booth isn't available right now. He's in post-production and doesn't want distractions. We're on a tight release schedule. If you have questions, you can send them to me."

There it was again. Deflection. A barrier.

But something about that name—Christian Booth—stuck in her mind.

She'd investigated him.

Former scriptwriter.

Kate leaned back in her chair after the call ended, eyes narrowing.

Westwood's protecting him. Or shielding others from him. Either way…

She opened a fresh case file and wrote the name at the top: Christian Booth.

A new angle had just opened. And she intended to follow it—no matter where it led.

----

References-

1. Kate Todd - a character from NCIS.