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The officer shook his head. “Probably occult or witchcraft. There’s a lot of devil worship these days, damn dangerous world we live in.” A couple of the other officers joined in mumbling amongst themselves and Torin heard one say, “Sad damn world to be raising kids.”
Torin cast his eyes back to the corpse.
Especially if they’re Chippewa females.
The officer at his side leaned closer. “You got kids, Mancini?”
“No,” Torin said, unbidden images of his wife’s miscarriage flashing in his mind.
“That’s good, at least you can sleep at night. I got four little ones, worries me sick thinking something like this could happen.” He leaned even closer and whispered. “I hope you catch him soon.”
Torin took a deep breath, the officer was too close for comfort and his scent was compelling, so much so that he was aware that he had sex in the last two hours and hadn’t showered. He caught the scent of a woman wafting from his skin, middle aged and on her period. He forced his mind from the officer and for once, he wished that he couldn’t read humans. He grasped the drape bunched beneath the victim’s chin and slid it down from her chest, careful not to touch or contaminate the crime scene. Her blouse was literally ripped and hanging to her sides, her bra cut by a sharp blade. Her breast was covered in dried, cracked blood, the nipples chewed off, most likely swallowed or taken as a trophy. He moved the drape off her lower body, which was nude, her panties nowhere in sight. He leaned closer examining her inner thighs which were riddled with bite marks smeared over in dried blood which had blackened. His eyes narrowed, tracing the deep furrowed slashes that ran from her bloody labia trailing to her buttocks.
The sonofabitch used his fangs to torture her.
He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, the distinctive smell of semen wafting and though he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that mortals could not detect the scent, his face warmed. He dropped his head.
You didn’t deserve this.
“Whew! Stinks to high heaven,” the big man at his side mumbled as he stood up and turned his head, gasping for air.
Torin snapped his dark eyes to the officer. “It’s the sun, it does that to a corpse.” He turned back and though the scent now escaping her corpse was putrid, he focused, scanning one last time for detail.
“She fought him,” Torin said, as he stood up and took off his gloves. “Bag her hands, half her nails are broken off, and there’s a good chance his DNA is salvageable.” He countered a look from Gage. “Be sure to swab her, inside and out. I doubt he used a condom, this attack was pressured, he wanted her bad and he took what he needed, quickly.”
Gage, donning a paper gown with his hands gloved, dropped down beside the corpse. Torin stepped back giving him room to work. He noticed that the big officer was pale as a sheet. “Are you okay?”
“Queasy,” the big man moaned.
“Deep breaths.” Torin said.
The officer heaved his chest, taking in air.
“Do we have a weapon?” Torin asked.
“No, he lamented with obvious regret. “Sorry, we searched the alley and the construction site just beyond the dumpster. Nothing.”
Torin turned away, watching as Gage worked his magic, collecting evidence. He took a breath, heady with death and though he and Gage both knew this whole scenario was but a guise and that none of the evidence would ever be used, they played their part, right down to Gage complaining that someone had bumped the corpse from its original position.
“No way,” the big officer objected.
Gage pointed out the proof as evidenced by a section of dried blood with the victim’s hair stuck to it, stretched inches from the corpse.
The officers began to argue, accusing one another as Gage met Torin’s gaze, mission accomplished, mayhem the result. Gage resumed his task. He took samples and tightly bagged the girl’s hands. He used tweezers to pick up two of her red polished nails lying near her side and bag them. He swabbed her inner thighs and bagged the pipettes, then with precision swabbed her breast and mangled lips and bagged the tipped applicators. Finding her panties as he lifted her legs to swab her vagina, he retrieved and bound them in plastic. Finally, he stood up and cast his eyes to the big officer. “Use gloved technique to body bag and transport.”
“Yes sir.”
“I want this entire area searched for—”
“We already did,” the officer interrupted.
“Do it again,” Gage said. “Even the dumpster. I need the weapon, it’s crucial.”
“You heard the man,” the officer barked. “Get to it!”
Gage stashed his sealed bags in a case for transport, took off his gloves and walked toward Torin, “We’re done here, Detective,” he said without a hint of emotion.
“Carry on,” Torin said, briefly making eye contact with the big officer. He turned, Gage at his side, and striding from the crimes scene, past the barriers, held up his arm to cover his face as photographers snapped pictures, reporters dogging them for tips. They forged a path directly for the sanctity of the Charger.
