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Gail takes a step forward. "What do you have for us?"
The woman offers a wry smile. "Would you like the good news, the bad news, or shall I indulge you with the weirdest twist of all?"
Gail matches her smile. "I'm feeling lucky."
The woman motions for us to take seats near her desk and produces a series of photos. They depict not only the room's walls but also the same images illuminated under ultraviolet light. "Let's start with the basics: the 'blood' on the walls was actually red paint. Apart from the bed, no visible bloodstains are present."
The smell that initially struck us was indeed paint. Were the victims just inquisitive, dabbling in an urban legend?
The woman clears her throat. "The second revelation concerns the time of death. Both victims had already undergone rigor mortis when found. They'd been dead for more than two days, approximately five days. Oddly, the blood samples on the bed tell a different story. The client, not the woman, was killed there, and the weapon wasn't a machete or anything sharp."
I arch an eyebrow. "What was the cause of death?"
The woman points to a sealed packet holding three bloodied bullets. "Three shots to the chest," she states. "With a broken jaw, claw incisions, and a head wound occurring around thirty minutes after death. Strangely, the same pattern applies to the prostitute, except..."
"Except what?" Zayn probes.
She sighs and leads us to the covered bodies. With a grimace, she unveils the corpse of the woman, marked by ominous black spots of mold on her arms. "This indicates that her death occurred even earlier than we thought."
"But we found the client under the shower," Gail remarks. "Why didn't he exhibit any mold?"
"That's because she was wet for far longer," the woman explains. "In the woman's case, the mold was already growing and became apparent after arrival here."
I piece it together. "She was dumped in the lake. The culprit retrieved her and placed her here, meaning the only murder in that room was the client's."
I resist the urge to shake my head. What is the red-eyed man aiming to achieve?
The woman’s lips twist. "The perpetrator is sending a message, and using the client to do it."
"How do you figure?" I ask.
The woman’s lips twist even more. "Night Fang have a particular way of dealing with traitors or debtors. It's a recent trend, but it's gaining popularity."
She removes the sheet covering the client and points to his chest with the large incision, as well as the fractured jaw. "They make you bite the curb, then they kick your head, shattering your jaw and teeth." Her hand moves to the gaping wound where she extracted the bullets. "Finally, they turn you over and shoot three rounds into your chest, finishing you. The lake serves as the perfect setting to disappear the body. The woman was killed earlier, but the absence of a wound suggests this was no crime of opportunity."
My jaw tightens. My chest goes cold.
It was premeditated. And the client wasn't an ordinary man; he’d crossed the Night Fang in some way.
* * *
Standing in the shadow of the forensics building, Zayn and I exchange solemn waves with Gail as her car fades into the distance. The knowledge that Night Fang is consistently one step ahead hangs heavily in the air.
Zayn, casting a furtive glance my way, breaks the silence. "Chase, be straight with me. Who do you think is behind all of this?"
I let out a weary sigh. "A few days back, I was ambushed by a man with red eyes, brandishing a machete. He'd been lurking near the club and led a gang of thugs in attacking me. The coincidence is too glaring to ignore. He spoke of humans painting the walls to taunt him, and then he showed up to exact his vengeance."
"So, you suspect he—"
"I'm certain," I interject. "If it's not him, then he's linked to it in some way. These murders involve both firearms and machetes. But even if he's not the mastermind, he holds crucial information about Night Fang."
Zayn nods and tucks his hands into his pockets, his gaze fixed ahead. But he doesn't make a move to leave, a sign that's not lost on me.
"Thanks for your help last night. I didn't intend for it to end like that," I admit.
Zayn appears taken aback. "No, it's okay," he replies. "I overstepped the line, I just... can't stand to see people suffer, that's all."
His voice trails off, and I study him closely. "Sounds like there's a story behind that sentiment."
