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“I feel like I touched a live wire, but I’m good,” he said, concern easing somewhat.
I pygahed again so I could deal with people who didn’t know about demons and lords and nefarious otherworldly plots. “Okay, let’s finish this and get out of here.” I willed myself to focus on the mundane aspects, moved to the open door of the semi. “Pellini,” I called. “Can we turn her?”
“Let Baxter get his pics,” Pellini said, giving a jerk of his head at the tech. “Boudreaux and I need to see too.”
I stepped back as the lanky crime scene tech swung easily into the truck, followed by Pellini and scrawny Boudreaux.
“Already got my pics of all this,” the tech said with an easy smile. “Just waitin’ for y’all to finish your looksee.”
“We’ve lookseed the front,” I told him. “Now we want to looksee the rest of her.”
His smile didn’t flicker at my acerbic tone. “Not a prob! C’mon, detective,” he said to Boudreaux. “Turn the princess here so I can do my shots.”
Boudreaux and Zack turned the woman over and settled her onto her stomach. Zack gently pulled her hair aside, showing the sigils that spread over her upper arms, back and buttocks, and down her legs to her calves. Beautiful and horrible. And only the barest trace of arcane residue now. Everything had coalesced for the trap and then dissipated.
Zack gave me a nod, confirming that it was safe for me to approach. I hated to do it but I pulled on gloves, crouched and carefully eased her legs apart, then shone a flashlight at her vagina and anus. “God damn it,” I breathed. The plastic of the flashlight creaked as my grip spasmed on it. It was hideously obvious she’d been raped and sodomized.
I closed her legs, stood. Pellini cursed under his breath, and when I glanced back at him I saw his eyes on the body, outrage and anger naked on his face.
“I will see these motherfuckers fry,” he muttered to himself. I gave him a slight nod. That was one thing we could totally agree on.
Pellini’s phone rang. He looked at the ID and headed out again.
My gaze skimmed over her as I looked beyond the sigils. No ligature marks. Bruising at her wrists, thighs, and breasts. Held down, not tied for the rape. Immobilized with either drugs or arcane power for the sigil cuts. No obvious sign of what killed her. Possibly blood loss, though I had a feeling the cause of death was arcane in nature.
Exhaling, I stepped back, tugged my gloves off. “Thanks for letting us have a look,” I told Boudreaux.
“Sure thing,” he said. “You’ll tell me or Pellini if you get anything, right?” His voice held an almost desperate edge. I actually felt a little sorry for him. He knew in his gut that this was way out of their league.
“Damn straight I will,” I replied with a firm nod as I lied through my teeth. Sorry, Boudreaux, but I don’t think you want most of what I might get.
I stepped out into the sunlight and hopped down from the trailer bed, feeling as if darkness sloughed away from me as I left the confines of the semi. Ryan and Zack climbed down, each giving sighs of relief that echoed my sentiments.
I disposed of my gloves in a biohazard bag, then walked over to Pellini as he tucked his phone away. “Thought we had an ID, but it didn’t pan out,” he told me then nodded toward the trailer. “Related to the Symbol Man?”
“It might be a copycat,” I told him honestly, “but I think you have a brand new flavor of sicko on your hands.”
“Lovely,” he muttered.
“Any other leads on the ID?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No match on prints. I’m checking missing persons and other channels. Still no clue where she was killed.”
“All right, we’ll work our angles as well. Thanks.” I moved to leave but the expectant look on Pellini’s face halted me.
“So, did you, uh, come up with . . . anything?” he asked, and I had the strangest impression he really did mean anything. That was a first. Pellini had never sought my input before. And especially not for anything with even a whiff of strange.
I gave him a guarded look. “Um. Well, we’re going to follow up on the—” I stopped short of saying sigils, “—patterns carved into her skin. I think those are significant.”
He surprised me by listening intently, giving a nod, and then writing down what I said in his notebook. No lie. I could read his oddly neat handwriting from where I stood. Gillian: patterns of cuts may be significant, will follow up.
Good grief. Had I come back to an alternate world version of Beaulac? I hid a smile at the thought.
“Doc will probably get right on this,” he said, referring to Dr. Lanza, the coroner’s office pathologist. “I’ll let you know as soon as he does.”
“I appreciate that.” I paused, gathering my thoughts. “This is a weird one, that’s for sure.”
He remained quiet for several seconds, then nodded. “Yeah.” For an instant it looked as if he wanted to ask me something. His face displayed an odd
