I sat down beside him and glanced at my watch. "About thirteen minutes."
As it turned out, they arrived in eight. Or at least Uncle Rhoan did—it seemed he'd beaten all land speed records to get here.
He came through the gate, a crime scene kit slung over one shoulder. His gray eyes swept the two of us critically. "You haven't been inside?"
I shook my head. "Other than the initial entry when we found the body, no."
"At least you can obey some orders." He glanced at Jak, his gaze narrowing a little. "You will not report anything you see inside. Not until we give you clearance. Is that clear?"
Surprise flitted across Jak's face as he nodded. He'd obviously been expecting to be banned from the proceedings.
Rhoan opened the kit and handed us both gloves and plastic booties. "Put those on, and don't touch anything without asking."
We both obeyed. Once Rhoan had the floating crime scene recorders up and operating, and was similarly kitted out in gloves and booties, we headed down to the kitchen.
"Jesus, it is similar," he said, as he entered. Then he glanced over his shoulder at us. "Stay at the doorway, you two."
He moved deeper into the room, carefully avoiding the bits of blood and gore. James Blake's torso was only half hidden behind the island, his entrails streaming out from his ruptured body like fat sausages.
"Arms have been ripped off." Rhoan's gaze met mine as he added softly, "Head separated."
I swallowed grimly. I'd been expecting it, but the knowledge still clawed my stomach. "Any idea what time he was killed?"
"The cleanup team will give us a more accurate time, but I'd say within the last half hour. The blood hasn't really begun to coagulate, and there's no sign of rigor mortis."
"Can't have been," Jak said. "I was parked outside for half an hour while I was waiting for Risa to arrive. No one came in or out."
"You couldn't have seen the back door if you were parked out front," Rhoan said.