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The wet gleam of it has dried, but even in the evening gloom I can tell it’s darker, more rusty and organic than the last X. Not the same bright artificial crimson of spray paint.
I squeeze Delilah’s hand firmly, then let go and hunker down into a crouch, leaning in to breathe, though I keep my distance so I don’t step on the crushed grass in front of the X.
Still close enough to get a good whiff.
It’s coppery, all right.
Kind of tinny, thin, meaty.
“Shit.” I drape an arm over my knee. “Yeah, I’d say that smells like blood. Doesn’t mean it’s human, though. Little chickenshit cowards who do stuff like this usually go for animals. Might even be something from the butcher shop, squeezed out of a fresh cut.”
“I tried not to touch anything so I wouldn’t disturb the crime scene,” she whispers. “But you’re sure it’s not human?”
“Can’t be one hundred percent positive till we run it through forensics.” I fish my phone out of my back pocket and line it up to start taking photos, snapping them between words with the flash on my camera bright. “But if it was human blood, whose blood would it be? We got no recent missing persons reports, nobody reporting any assaults. So it’d have to be the perp’s blood—or an out-of-towner we don’t know about. Factor in the psychology, too. Most stalkers are too coward to be murderers. So an animal’s more likely.”
Delilah releases a miserable, sad sound.
When I look up, she’s clutching her hand over her mouth. “God, that’s awful. Who kills animals just to threaten someone?”
I have a few ideas.
Right now, though, the asshole ex is looking pretty likely.
Ex.
X?
Huh.
I push myself up, throwing an arm around Delilah’s shoulders. “Let me call this in so we can get an official report and get started investigating. Then if you want me to, I’ll stay with you tonight.”
For a moment she goes stiff against my side—but then she relaxes, melting against me, turning her face to me till she’s practically hiding against my rib cage.
“Okay. Yeah, I think I’d like that. I think I’d like that a lot.”
It takes me five minutes on the phone with the captain to explain the situation.
Ten more minutes and Grant pulls up with Henri like I didn’t just drag both of them out of bed. We probably should’ve called in Bowden, but he’d just make some excuse about taking a look in the morning.
He’s feeling his age, and if it’s after nine, the odds of getting him out to a crime scene are pretty slim.
The whole time, I keep Delilah glued to my side—and she doesn’t protest.
The captain and Henri take more photos. Henri throws up some crime scene tape in a neat square around the X and the crushed grass before swabbing the blood and sealing it away in a sample bottle.
I make sure they’re up to speed on Roger Strunk, including the NYC DMV photos we pulled along with the photos Delilah turned over, plus vehicle registration and plates.
Tall man, light-sandy-brown hair, a narrow face, shallow blue eyes. Drives a midnight-blue Mazda Miata, fairly new.
Right now, he’s our best suspect.
And the fact that it’s likely blood elevates it from a petty crime to stalking and harassment with intent to harm.
For a moment, I’m separated from Delilah as Grant pulls me aside, and we put our heads together for a low, muttered conversation.
“Should she be staying here tonight?” he asks. “I don’t feel good about it. At least not until we get the samples back from the lab and confirm if it’s blood or not.”
“If she wants to stay, I’ll stay with her,” I answer. “But I’ll see if I can talk her into crashing at my place or The Rookery.”
“Might be for the best.” He shakes his head, tugging at his beard, this little thing he does when he’s agitated. He wasn’t promoted to captain that long ago, but Grant doesn’t like this kind of disquiet in his town. “Been real damn busy in Redhaven lately. Ever since she showed up.”
I can’t help how I bristle. “She’s the victim here, Cap. Not the problem.”
“Not what I’m saying. Stand down, Lucas.” Grant gives me a grave look. “You know that old saying, trouble comes in threes? We’ve got a dead girl with an overdose, a new teacher being stalked by her ex... I just wonder what’s coming next.”
“Nothing, if I have my say,” I growl.
What if he’s right, though?
Right now, I’m thinking of another old saying.
The simplest solution is usually the right one.
The fact that all of this is happening now, after Delilah blew into town, can’t be unconnected.
We’re not looking at separate incidents.
Somehow, the fucking creepy crawler stalking Delilah is tied to Emma Santos. That could still make her ex a suspect.
If Strunk is deranged enough to use blood for a threat, he might just be deranged enough to kill a girl in cold blood and plant her body to scare Delilah into running back to NYC, where he has more access to her.
