Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“Leatherface,” Jack murmurs. “He kills with a chainsaw, and this has to be a chainsaw.”
I process his words, and even the idea of a chainsaw being carried up the elevator and then back down unless the weapon is still here, with a fair amount of clarity. Unlike many of the cops here today who might see one murder every few years, if that, this is what I do. When this is what you do, you learn to separate yourself from the crime scene. I’m about to tell Jack to find the murder weapon when the realization that my feet are covered in red slush washes over me with sickening understanding. I look down and study the several inches of what appears to be a mix of blood and water slopping around my boots.
This is where my dislike of an excess of blood comes into play. It’s actually more than a dislike. It’s some kind of weird phobia I’d call trauma in anyone else but no trauma for me connects to a river of blood, which is what I am standing in. I swallow the bile in the back of my throat and straighten my spine.
Preserve any and all evidence, I tell myself, which isn’t going to be easy in this situation.
“I’m Special Agent Lilah Love-Mendez,” I call out to a group of about ten. “I need all boots and jumpsuits bagged for evidence, and yes, I know it’s a long shot that this helps, but we’re doing it anyway. And, no, I don’t give two shits if those are now your favorite rubber boots. They’re evidence now.”
“Where the hell are the boots?” a tech calls out. “I don’t even have a pair.”
Holy mother, I think, and eye Jack. “Tell them to get boots up here.”
He nods and actually obeys my command for once, and based on his excessively persistent personality, he’ll figure out where to get the boots and fast.
Ultimately, the boots are more for people’s safety and sanity than evidence protection. The chances anyone’s shoes have anything but blood and water on them at this point are next to zero, but I never take risks with evidence collection. And we can’t risk losing anything that might point to this monster and put him away.
I’m about to force myself to wade through this hellish river when a tall, fit Black man wearing a forensics jacket steps in front of me. “There are no rubber boots. I was first inside the apartment and when I realized what happened, I asked. I was told to do without and process the scene quickly. Apparently, some big senator lives here in the building. They want this situation controlled and quickly.”
“I don’t care if the President lives here. I care about the person who is chopped into pieces and deserves our best and this is not our best.”
“I agree,” the tech says. “It’s a shit show.”
Which is him insulting Rollins. And while I’m not a buddy to Rollins or anyone for that matter, I respect him. This guy does not or he wouldn’t be openly talking trash about his crime scene.
“Who told you to move forward without proper gear? Was it Rollins?”
“No. He wasn’t on site yet. The captain called my boss, and my boss called me. Rollins didn’t come past the door. I’m not sure he even knew we were without boots, which it seems to me he should have.”
Not the best lead detective work, but then he called me for a reason. He clearly felt in over his head and on this one, I can objectively say, who wouldn’t?
“I have on boots. They have them downstairs. And do not ever agree to contaminate a crime scene for political reasons, which is what they gave you, or I will personally beat your ass. Did you tell Rollins what was going on?”
“No, but the captain—”
“You should have told Detective Rollins, who is in charge of this crime scene, and could have called the captain. What is your name?”
“Noah James.”
“All right, Noah James,” I reply. “Where did the water come from?”
“Bathtub. Bloody water dripped through the downstairs tenant’s ceiling. And I don’t carry an FBI badge. I do what I’m told.”
“And I’m telling you right now, you fucked up. Don’t do it again. The man who’s in pieces has to count on us to do him justice. You did him an injustice. Where’s the weapon?”
“You mean the chainsaw? Because we all concur that’s what happened here. Not here,” he adds. “And everyone wants to know how he got it in and out of the apartment and how no one heard it running.”
“Gather the evidence before the water destroys it. That’s what I need you and everyone else to focus on. Has the ME been on the scene yet?”
“Came and went. He said he was going to be of a lot more use in the lab than here.”