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“Does it bother me?” he asks, his tone incredulous. “Okay,” he adds as if conceding, and offering up a confession. “I get it. This is you telling me you see all and know all, right? You want me to admit it? Okay,” he says again. “I threw up. I went to the door and threw up. It wasn’t pretty and I’m not proud of it, but it happened. I was a chemist before I started this job. I didn’t see dismembered bodies unless it was in a horror flick and I can tell you, it’s not the same.” He squeezes his eyes shut and points to his right. “There’s a leg on the couch next to me.” He opens his eyes. “Who has ever said those words but me?” He doesn’t give me a chance to reply, he’s still going. “I’m a Ph.D. chemist. I was making good money, but it didn’t feel like it mattered. I wanted to do something that mattered and I—”
“Stop melting down,” I order.
“Why? You accused me of being unaffected. Either way I go here, you don’t like me.”
He’s actually wrong.This,right here, right now, actually makes him human, not some caricature he seems to want to create of himself. “I don’t hate you,” I say. “But if you slop blood all over the place again, I will hit you, and enjoy it. Now, here is what I need you to do. Go work the scene. And while you’re at it, find out how many people really are not wearing boots.”
His eyes narrow and he lowers his voice. “You think it’s just that forensics tech?”
“Noah is his name. And yes, but talk less. Listen more. I need—”
“Silence,” he replies. “I get it. I’ll leave you alone and I’ll find out stuff you need to know.” He turns away from me and while he still sloshes, it’s at least less of a slosh.
I turn my attention to the room, and I do so with my full commitment to processing this scene to my highest level of performance. It would be easy in a case like this to do just what the ME did and say this is a job for the forensics team, but that would be easy. And easy is rarely the right answer. John has proven efficient at his job, but my first instinct when I heard he cut and ran was unusual for me. It was understanding. My second is irritation at him and me, for justifying handing off a crime scene because it’s too bloody.
Our job is not to be comfortable. It’s to be remarkable even when we’re uncomfortable.
For this reason, I ignore the fight or flight reaction I’m experiencing that is presently landing on flight. I dislike the weak part of me that wants to step out of this room and follow in Jack’s footsteps as I heave in a bag. And that doesn’t mean Jack is weak. He isn’t expected to have the nerves of steel I do. Jack hasn’t investigated hundreds of murders. He hasn’t, at least to my knowledge, stabbed someone over and over and killed them. I’m staying. And I’m staying because the freak in the mask believes I won’t stay.
I examine every body part and note that frayed clothing remains on the limbs and torso. But how, indeed, did this happen and no one heard it happening, is the only real question this process brings to mind. But it’s a big question. Chainsaws are like Harleys. They are loud.
“Have we found a cellphone?” I call out.
“No cellphone,” Noah calls back. “And I checked his pants, shirt, and the bloody mess all around him, but it could have floated off.”
Or he could have taken it.
I have a feeling this portion of this investigation will wield little to nothing in terms of evidence. Despite this gut feeling, I walk to every room and look in every drawer, even searching for clothing hanging in the closet and books on the bookshelf. The victim liked Stephen King. How ironic, considering the gruesome acts in King’s books. This gives me a momentary thought of Junior, the person who leaves me creepy notes. Junior is a nickname I gave this person when the notes became more and more dark and dramatic. They’re also filled with clues about my enemies and often point a finger at Kane.
I wonder if the finger-pointing at Kane will stop now that I married him?
But I’ll also happily welcome a note that tells me who our killer is or is not.
At this point, I’ve done what I can do and I flag down Jack, who cautiously walks a path to stand in front of me. “Boots?” I ask.
“Everyone has them but Noah. I’m going to see if I can get in his head.”
“Don’t,” I warn. “Because if you put him on guard and fuck up another lead, I will—”
“Fuck me up?” he offers.
“Exactly.”
“People don’t take me seriously. Or give me enough credit. I’ve got this.” With that, he turns and walks away even more gingerly this time than last. Damn it, I’ve gone from one extreme to another with Jack. First, I wanted to kill him. Now, I’m worried someone else will beat me to it.
Chapter Fourteen
I’m finally on my way out of this hellhole of a crime scene.
Once I’m inside the plastic tunnel outside the apartment, I pull off my boots and peel away my puke-yellow suit. Now there’s nowhere to hide the evidence if I lose my dinner. While this remains unlikely, at least for me, I’m still swimming in the memory of that bloody river—not the body parts, but the river, the blood. Which is not even a remotely logical reaction to any of this. I stabbed Roger over and over, and I was covered in blood. I felt nothing but relief that he was dead.
At this point, I follow my own instructions and bag my battle fear. The intent is to replace those items with my badass attitude, which isn’t as easy to pull off in my party skirt and stocking feet. My own shoes would be nice, but they remain downstairs. The entire set-up of this crime scene investigation is a mess.
Stepping out of the tunnel, I’m surprised to find Jay waiting for me and holding my high heels. Bless him, but damn him, because I wanted a few moments to shake off everything that just happened to me in that apartment. Since that’s not an option, I close the space between me and Jay, and accept my shoes, sliding them onto my feet. Going for the me that is familiar to both of us, I hit him with, “You could have come in and helped me search for evidence.”
“Yeah, that’s a hell no. I heard what it was like in there. I don’t know how you do it.”
I know he expects one of my fucking beautiful smartass remarks, but I don’t have one to offer. I don’t even have a bad version of one to offer. I don’t have much of anything in me in this moment. And I don’t know what Jay sees on my face but he sees something I don’t want him to see, because he says, “Kane checked on you. He’s close.”
