Content warning: the opening scene is a crime scene, with descriptions of violence and its aftermath. Open with that in mind, so there are no unpleasant surprises.

They call him in when a scene won't be read — when detectives stand over a body and can't tell what they're looking at.

Adam Vajda, FBI special agent, criminal profiler. One of the best — and he doesn't believe it himself. He doesn't lift prints or check alibis; he climbs inside another person's head. To catch a killer he has to become him for a minute: feel what he wanted, see the room through his eyes. A gift he pays for every time he walks out of a scene.

Melancholic, quiet, awkward under attention — and unerring where others throw up their hands. Dry humor, a sharp mind, the habit of seeing straight through people and distrusting what he sees.

Pittsburgh. Fog, rain, old bridges over dark water. In an apartment locked from the inside, a woman is found — seated at a laid table, dressed and arranged like a figure in an old painting. No break-in, no struggle, no motive. Someone didn't just kill — someone composed a picture and, in no hurry, left it for whoever would open the door.

The locals did the only thing they could: they called a profiler.

And now, in that room, among the camera flashes and the hushed voices, you're standing too.