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Stephan met his gaze and shook his head minutely. The young officer stepped aside as they approached the elevator. Gabriel glanced at his name tag: Sanders.
“Tenth floor, sir?”
Gabriel nodded, noting that Sanders’s eyes were a deep, unfathomable green that somehow seemed older than his years. It was almost as if the soul behind the eyes had seen more than one lifetime.
The officer pressed the button, then stepped clear as the elevator doors slid shut. Stephan raised an eyebrow at Gabriel. “Why ask about Marsdan? He’s a beat cop, not homicide.”
Gabriel shrugged. “That officer was working with Marsdan when Sam’s apartment was bombed.”
“He might have been transferred.”
“Maybe.” Or maybe he was just getting suspicious in his old age. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check why that officer was here, when he had the time. “How old was Maxwell’s son?”
“Twenty-five, same as the others.”
The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. The hallway beyond was pale blue, offset by gold carpeting. Four doors led off the hall, and a police officer stood guard at the far end
. Gabriel glanced up at the ceiling. CSMs were stationed at regular intervals, tracking them silently.
“You requested the building’s security tapes?”
Stephan nodded. “Copies have already been sent back to your office.”
“Good.” Gabriel stepped into the apartment. The place was huge, and the floor-to-ceiling glass flanking two sides of it only added to the feeling of space. What few inner walls the apartment had were pale blue, but the carpet and the furniture were white. Another CSM hovered in the middle of the room, red light flashing to indicate it was recording.
Gabriel showed his badge to the monitor, then said, “Our victim obviously didn’t have any kids, not with all this white furniture. Do we know his name?”
“Harry. And no—there are no kids, no wife, and, as far as Frank knew, no girlfriend.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “What about a boyfriend?”
“It’s a possibility. Frank was rather brusque when I asked if there was any particular woman his son might have been seeing.”
The body lay on one of the white sofas. As long as you didn’t look below the waist, it would be easy to think Harry had merely died in his sleep. His arms were crossed, his face peaceful. There was no terror, no hint that he’d known he was about to die so brutally.
“Cause of death?” Gabriel asked, despite the fact that it was obvious. No man could lose both his penis and testes and survive the resulting shock and blood loss unless he had medical help really fast.
“Same as the others—blood loss. There’s an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the dining table, too.”
“Same brand as before?” Gabriel squatted to inspect the gaping wound. The blood staining the leather no longer smelled fresh, and the wound itself was beginning to blacken.
“Yes. We’ve scanned for prints, but our killer was wearing gloves again. All we got was a latex smudge.”
“Hmm. There’s one difference, at least. Our killer has shown no real precision with his knife work here. He’s basically just hacked it all away.”
Stephan snorted softly. “I suppose it’s a hell of a lot easier to part a man from his penis than it is a woman from her womb and ovaries.”
“True. But all three victims were obviously unconscious before the murderer operated, so why take care with the women and not with young Harry here? There are several deep nicks on his right inner thigh.”
“Maybe our murderer gets a perverted pleasure from gutting women and wants it to last longer.”
Gabriel frowned. Something in that statement didn’t sit right. The murderer had been meticulous in every detail so far, so why would he change anything just because this victim was male? The sheer number of cigarette butts at every scene very much suggested that the murderer had sat back and watched the blood pour from his victims. And that, in turn, perhaps suggested that he enjoyed the death more than he did the cutting.
Gabriel rose and then hesitated. On the back of the sofa, near Harry’s right hip, a hair glinted softly in the light. It wasn’t one of Harry’s. His hair was red, the same as the other two victims. This was blond and long, with a dark root.
He dug a glove out of his pocket and carefully picked up the hair. “Got a bag?”
Stephan dug one from the crime kit on the table. “Maybe he did have a girlfriend.”
