Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Marco’s attention returns to me. “Do you mean to take over my crime scene?”
“Should I?”
“No. I got this shit.”
“Is it one crime scene or three?”
He throws a glower toward Jack and then levels me in an irritated scowl. “Yet to be determined.”
“And if it is three?”
“We might need a profiler,” he reluctantly admits.
“And low and behold, I appear.” I hold my hands to my side and back up to examine the wounds on the victim for the first time, which is way past due.
John is quick to step to my side, and says, “Five wounds, which I know you can see for yourself, but the interesting part is this.” He kneels and holds out his hand to hover above the chest and glances up at me. “They’re like a handprint. With blades.”
Jack jumps back into the picture. “Like a Freddy Krueger glove. It’s like Nightmare on Elm Street, only it’s not Elm Street.”
“And he’s not a kid,” Marco snaps. “Freddy kills kids. I told you, you’re reaching.”
“Actually,” I say, “I think Freddy killed kids when he was human but didn’t restrict himself to children once he became whatever supernatural being he became.”
“I can’t believe you know that,” Jack murmurs. “You’re a goddess, Lilah Love.”
I ignore him and add, “And even if I’m wrong, and he kills kids, it could depend on how you define a kid,” I argue. “I’ve known adults who act like kids. For instance, Jack here seems to fit that bill.” Jack opens his mouth to object and I hold up a finger. “But so could one single behavior to the killer.” I glance at Jack. “That doesn’t mean I agree with you.”
Marco motions for Jack to follow him. Jack grimaces and pales, but follows him to the door where Jay is not standing. He’s gone. Probably barfing up his last meal, but whatever. I’m glad to have a few minutes with the victim and John, who’s kneeling beside the body again. I join him, perched directly across from him. “What can you tell me, John?”
“There wasn’t a struggle.”
“He was surprised.” It’s not a question, and my brow dips with the realization of what took place, and where that leads me. “He’s naked in the middle of the room. How did he get surprised?” I don’t wait for his answer, but create more questions for myself, “He knew the person?” but this theory doesn’t ring true.
“The lights were out when we got here.” He points to the bathroom. “We’re actually not in the middle of the room at all. The walk from the bed to the bathroom is a direct shot.” He shoves his glasses up his nose. “It looks to me as if he was walking to the bathroom. He got to the door, and based on the entry points on the body, the weapons, all five blades, the glove with knives on it, assuming it was that, rammed upward into chest cavity at once. I also suspect based on the blood patterns, the bruising on his right arm, and a broken wrist on the same side, that he fell to his right and was later placed on his back quite quickly.”
“So we’d see the handiwork,” I murmur.
“Yes,” he agrees. “It does seem that way.”
“What kind of knife?”
“Sharp and long but sturdy,” he replies. “They sliced right through tissue and muscle without a whole lot of push and shove to it. I’ll be able to be more precise back at the lab.”
“Anything else?”
“Back at the lab.”
“All right then. I like this, John. You get me what I need and cut all the crap. Respect. I want to be there for the autopsy. Call me.”
“Day after tomorrow. I’ll call you with details, Special Agent.”
I laugh. “You avoided the name thing. You might just be the smartest one in the room.” I push to my feet and walk into the bathroom which is a big one for a New York City bathroom, but still tiny. A sink. A shower. A toilet. It’s sparkling clean, and mostly white, with a few splashes of black. The splashes of black on the rugs where DNA might hide. If John is right about the killer waiting in the bathroom, it’s a small place to hide. He was here—I say “he” simply because he was strong enough to drive those knives into another man’s chest—and in this tiny place, the chance he left behind evidence is in our favor.
I rotate and eye a forensics guy I do not know and point to the bathroom.
“Agent Love,” I say, indicating my badge. “Bag the hell out of that room and make sure you don’t miss so much a spec. That room is important.”
The man nods and I leave him to do his job, my eyes on the doorway where Marco, Jack, and Jay, have all disappeared. Good lord, how do I have Jack, Jay, and John in my life right now? It’s too many J’s and I hope like hell it’s not the curse of the J’s because the last thing I need right now is bad luck. Not that I really believe in bad luck. There’s chaos created by others or ourselves. You solve it by getting rid of the people, such as Jack and Jay. John can stay. And speaking of people who need to go. Kane’s uncle needs to go, I think. That’s a complicated scenario that places Kane in the spotlight with the cartel, but I’m up for the challenge.