gathered himself together as he surveyed the scene.
“Crack den it is then,” he said. “Coronor can take it from here.”
Tyrell didn’t reply, staring at the bodies. Lopez turned to Cain.
“We’ll need forensics. Make sure nobody else comes in here until they’ve finished up.”
“The District doesn’t have a forensic department,” Cain said with an oily smile. “They’ll have to go to Quantico.”
“That’ll take months,” Lopez pointed out.
Cain shrugged without interest as his lips began grinding around his gum again. “I don’t suppose these dudes are in any rush.”
“We’ll handle it,” Kaczynski said. “Lucas, you done here?”
Tyrell remained silent for a few moments, looking around the room before nodding vaguely. “Sure Terry, just give me a few minutes.”
Cain rolled his eyes. “It’s a bust, let’s get this place swept clean.”
Tyrell took a few careful paces amid the detritus on the carpet, skirting the table in the center of the room. He crouched down beside one of the bodies, the corpse’s dark skin graying with decay. Reaching out, he lifted the man’s lips with a plastic spatula and peered into his mouth.
“Jesus,” Cain choked, “I’m sure he flossed before he took his ticket out of life.”
Tyrell moved to another of the corpses and then to the third, performing the same task with each before finally standing up.
“What’s up?” Lopez asked. “You smell somethin’?”
Tyrell ignored Kaczynski’s chuckle. “This wasn’t a crack den.”
“It sure as hell wasn’t a frat party,” Cain said.
Tyrell gestured to the bodies.
“One crackhead ODs himself, I can handle that. Three at once, simultaneously and naked? That’s pushing it.”
Tyrell saw Cain shake his head wearily.
“Isn’t the first time. These losers probably tripped each other out all night before going off the edge in some kind of binge. We’re wasting our time, let’s go.”
Cain left the doorway, covering his nose with his hand. Nobody followed.
“Profiling shows addicts come in all shapes and sizes, and he could have gone out on crystal meth and not crack,” Kaczynski countered, but his tone conceded the point.
Tyrell crouched down again beside one of the bodies, motioning for Lopez to join him.
“Tell me what you see, Lopez.”
“No tattoos or major scars, no gang colors like the other two,” she said. Tyrell nodded, and her tone became more thoughtful as she placed a gloved hand on the corpse. “No rigor mortis.”
“Exactly,” Tyrell agreed, “and decomposition has begun.”
“Rigor mortis only lasts a few hours,” Kaczynski said, moving closer, “which would mean they died yesterday evening latest. What else?”
Tyrell looked at Nicola, who shook her head. Tyrell gestured to the arms of the corpse.
“Puncture wounds and evidence of drug abuse on the arms, but look here.” He pointed to the backs of the hands. “This one shows signs of intravenous medical procedures like saline drips.”
Kaczynski squatted down alongside Lopez and looked at the marks.
“Homeless people often check into clinics with various ailments, get free medical aid and so on, even substituted drug programs.”
Tyrell pointed to the undignified mouths gaping open in silent death throes.
“This guy has good teeth,” he added. “The others don’t. I’d bet he’s had dental work done and we’ll see it in the autopsy. Not the mark of the crack addict. And look at this”—Tyrell pointed to the man’s index finger, where a pale band bisected the dark skin—“he could have been married long enough for the ring to have marked and—”
Tyrell stopped, holding the hand still as Kaczynski stared at him.
“What?”
Tyrell turned the hand over, examining the fingertips.
“They’re darkened, see?” he asked, showing the tips to them both and shaking his head in confusion as he looked at the feet and saw the same discoloration. “It looks like frostbite.”
“Frostbite?” Kaczynski echoed. “Are you kidding? It’s been eighty degrees or more across the District for two weeks. Ain’t nobody gettin’ frostbite round here.”
Tyrell frowned. “You got any ideas as to what the hell else it could be?”
“Decay of some kind?” Lopez hazarded. “Livor mortis?”
“It’s in the toes too,” Tyrell pointed out, “and the legs are elevated on the couch, which rules out livor mortis.”
“Maybe circulatory distress during overdose?” Lopez said.
Kaczynski shrugged. “What are you suggesting? It’s a setup? Drug-motivated homicide?”
“I’m not suggesting anything other than that we should get forensics in and run a check for missing persons,” Tyrell said.
Kaczynski exhaled noisily. “You think that they weren’t alone?”
“You’re damned right,” Tyrell replied. “I want to hang on to this one, see what turns up. Can you get them down to the medical examiner’s office in a hurry?”