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Torin huffed. “He’s forensic, Gage LeBlanc.”
The officer nodded, then motioned them on. Gage fell in beside Torin and in companionable silence, they set a lengthy stride down the alleyway to a large steel blue dumpster where a group of uniformed officers stood waiting.
Torin held up his plastic I.D. “Mancini, from the Canadian Soo,” he said as he tugged at his tight jeans then knelt beside a body covered by a white drape. He took off his shades and tucked them in his shirt pocket, his boots inches from congealed blood clearly visible beneath the drape.
“What do we have here?” he asked.
A uniformed officer, perhaps three hundred pounds, partially balding with bloodshot eyes squatted beside him. “Are you one of the detectives who examined the body discovered in the alley the day before yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“What about the one on the south side of International Bridge last week?”
“No, that was Jon Moyle,” Torin said, averting his gaze back to the draped corpse. “But I was briefed, and I read Jon’s report.”
“Well, it appears to be the same perpetrator, same M.O., female, beaten and raped with her throat slit.”
“Do we have I.D.?”
“Yes, we found her purse just beyond the dumpster. Her name’s Jennifer Lightfoot, twenty, college student, from the Michigan Soo.”
“Robbery?”
“Nope, credit cards and cash in the purse,” he heaved. “He just wanted her body,” he sighed, “and her blood.”
“Blood?” Torin retorted.
“Well, yes,” the officer nodded. “You said yourself you read the reports. The coroner stated that the other victims were missing over half their blood. I looked at this one good and for a Chippewa, she’s awful pale. She must have lost it all.”
“She’s Chippewa?”
“Yep.”
“How would you know that she’s Chippewa” Torin asked, his eyes cutting into the officer.
“Tribal identification was in her wallet. She’s of the Huron Clan.”
Torin and Gage shared a look. Torin nodded and without breaking the tether, Gage handed him a pair of latex gloves. He slid his hands inside, one after the other, flexing his fingers for a tight fit. He took a deep breath, and slowly pulled back the white drape. He cocked his head, storing the female’s scent, like a tattoo on his brain. He swallowed hard and though it wasn’t his first homicide, nor would it be his last, a great sadness washed over him.
Such a waste.
She was a beauty and death had not yet robbed her of such, raven black hair, with thick lashes that swept her cheeks. She was indeed as pale as ivory, even her lips which should have been a soft pink were ghostly white and bloody, at least what was left of them, for the predator had damn near chewed them to the gums. Dried blood streaked her chin with three trails that spanned her neck, disappearing behind her head. Scanning her neck which was sliced directly over the carotid artery, it occurred to Torin that someone had purposefully made the cut, as precise as a surgeon to drain the five liters of fluid comprising her vascular system.
The fucker fed on her like an open buffet.
He scanned the blood congealed on the pavement around the body.
That’s no more than two liters. The bastard must have been starving to consume three liters or else he’s a damn big Iridescent.
“So, was I right?” the officer asked, drawing him from his thoughts. “Do you think this one’s missing blood?”
“Would appear so,” Torin said, his expression wary.
The Council’s not going to like this.
“How does one account for such?” The officer inquired with a scowl. “All of the victims are Chippewa, young and beautiful, throat slit, drained of blood.”
Torin dragged in a breath and his brows furrowed. “I can’t explain it,” he lied. “Maybe some ritual or voodoo, I hear human blood fetches a big price on the black market.”
