Drained (Edgars Family #6) - Suzanne Ferrell Page 0,39

Trust me.”

With a sigh, he walked over to the stereo.

“I had a hard time trying to decide which music you might find relaxing. Something soothing. But melodic.” He pushed the on button and the sound of a snare drum and plucking strings of violins filled the room. “Ravel’s Bolero seemed like the best choice for a former athlete like you.”

As the music slowly began, he swayed to the rhythm. “I first heard this while watching the winter Olympics as a kid. Ice dancing competition.” He’d wanted to watch ski jumping, but his mother had insisted on the skating. He’d never seen anything like it, before or since. It was the first time he’d understood that humans served a purpose on this earth. Some to establish beauty, others to become important members of society, and others—he studied the lump of flesh on the table—others were meant to provide essential supplies that others might live.

The music stopped and he checked the blood bag.

“Your first bag is almost full. We’ll do a second one before you rest,” he said and switched out the bags. “I learned not to drain too much from you at once. Your reproduction of the product takes a little time.”

He hit replay on the stereo and settled into his recliner and closed his eyes, letting the music carry him away to a happier time. Mother’s smile filled his mind.

12

“Crime Scene hasn’t come up with any useable prints on the body or his clothes,” Jaylon said when Aaron arrived at the precinct.

“Nothing?” he asked, settling into his chair and logging into his computer.

“Found lots of fingerprints elsewhere in the place, but who knows how many of them belong to homeless people camping in the place for years? It’s like taking prints at a cheap motel.”

Aaron nodded. “Yeah, but if some of those hit in the system, we can rule those guys out. No way did a homeless person kill, clean and pose our guy. This is way too sophisticated a kill to be someone existing on the streets.”

The door to the captain’s office opened and out strode a short, wiry, grey-haired man with a receding hairline. Levi Stedaman was a no-nonsense boss, who zeroed in on his target—detectives and perps alike—with the pinpoint accuracy of a heat-seeking missile. “You two want to fill me in on this murder you stumbled into last night? And tell me why exactly you think this is going to need investigating? Homeless people die in warehouses all the time.”

No preamble, no small talk. Just get to the facts. Aaron liked that about the man. Helped people to focus in on what was important.

“Because homeless people aren’t cleaned from head to toe, dressed in pressed military fatigues and posed for sitting up for us to find?” Aaron leaned back in his chair, and pointed to the pictures from the crime scene he’d just loaded onto his computer. They scrolled slowly across the screen in a kaleidoscope of macabre images of a life size marionette slumped against the brick column.

“Damn.” Stedaman shook his head. “And you say he was scrubbed clean?”

“Waiting for official report from the CSU, but Ramos said it looked that way. She doubted they’d find anything forensically, given the scent of disinfectant all over him and his clothes.”

“Okay, it’s not just another homeless person dying from drugs, alcohol or exposure.” Stedaman wiped his hand over his face like he always did when he was frustrated or hated asking a question. “What do you think we’re looking at, then?”

Aaron exchanged a look with Jaylon, who shrugged, then turned back to their boss. “You don’t want to know what I’m thinking. At least not yet.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

No one wanted to verbalize out loud that they might have a serial killer on their hands.

“How do you want to proceed?” he asked leaning one hip on the desk opposite them.

Aaron flipped his phone over and opened to his notes page. “First thing we need to do is identify our victim. One of my sources said his name was Art, no last name. His prints aren’t in the system, so he’s probably never been arrested. However, he apparently was in the service. Vietnam. And he won both the Silver Star and the Distinguished Service Cross.”

Jaylon let out a low whistle.

“Impressive medals,” their boss said. “I bet there might not be too many men who won that combination of medals in that war.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” Aaron agreed. “Got a call in to the