"Same as the others — blood loss. There's an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the dining table, too."
"Same brand as before?" He squatted to inspect the gaping wound. The blood staining the leather no longer smelled fresh, and the wound itself was beginning to blacken.
"Yes. We've scanned for prints, but he was wearing gloves again. All we got was a latex smudge."
"There's one difference, at least. There's no real effort to be precise in his knife work here. He's basically just hacked it all away."
Stephan snorted softly. "Hell of a lot easier to part a man from his penis than it is a woman from her womb."
"True. But all three victims were obviously unconscious before the murderer operated, so why the care with the women and not young Harry here? There are several deep nicks on his right inner thigh."
"Maybe our murderer gets perverted pleasure from gutting women and wants it to last longer."
He frowned. Something in that statement didn't sit right. The murderer had been meticulous in every detail so far — why would he change anything just because this victim was a male? The fact that the murderer had sat back and watched the blood pour from their bodies suggested it was the death, rather than the cutting, that he enjoyed more.
He rose and then hesitated. On the back of the sofa, near Harry's right hip, a hair glinted softly in the light. It wasn't one of Harry's. His hair was red, the same as the other two victims. This was blond and long, with dark roots.
Gabriel dug a glove out of his pocket and carefully picked up the hair. "Got a bag?" he asked.
Stephan dug one from the crime kit sitting on the table. "Maybe he did have a girlfriend."
"Could still be male. Long hair is fashionable in the rave scene at the moment. I'll run a check on Harry's acquaintances and see what I can find."
Gabriel secured the bag in the crime kit and turned back to the sofa. He had an itchy feeling that there was something else to be found. In the previous two murders, the killer had been careful not to leave anything behind. No hair, no prints, nothing that might give him away.
This time he'd been less than precise with his cutting. Maybe, just maybe, he'd been less than precise with his clean up. He studied the position of the body for a long moment, and then walked around to the back of the sofa. Blood had stained through, contrasting starkly against the white, embroidered material. Oddly enough, the thick carpet showed signs of a recent vacuuming.
He frowned and studied the crisscrossed suction patterns across the carpet. Only the small section between the sofa and what looked to be the bathroom had been touched. Near the bathroom door, a faint footprint marred the lush white lawn.
"How many people have been in the apartment since the body was discovered?" he asked, squatting near the print.
"The usual — the two state officers who attended the original call, the building super who let them in, and us. Forensics is still on the way. Why? What have you found?"
"A print." He glanced up at the crimecorder. "Record image and location of print."
The black sphere responded immediately, zipping across the room to hover inches from his head. "Image recorded," a metallic voice stated.
"Resume original position." He knelt to study the print. As he did, he noticed a slight stain near the door. Liquid of some sort had been spilled near the doorframe. He touched it lightly — the carpet was dry and stiff, almost as if had been glued together. He sniffed his fingers. The faint but unpleasant mix of urine and rotten eggs had him screwing up his nose in distaste.
"Jadrone," he muttered, coughing to ease the sudden stinging in the back of his throat.
"What the hell is Harry doing with something like Jadrone? Frank's family is human, not shifter."
"Which means maybe our killer is shifter." It would certainly explain why no one had noticed any strangers hanging about in the two previous murders, particularly if their killer was a multishifter.
Though Gabriel doubted if the killer would actually be taking the stuff himself. Jadrone was designed to ease the inevitable bone and muscle problems that afflicted most shifters late in life, but it also had an unpleasant side effect. After several months of continual use, the ability to tell truth from fantasy blurred. Life became one big dream for the user. Their killer was too practical, too careful, to be on some Jadrone-inspired trip.
So why in hell was there Jadrone on the floor?
"The government took Jadrone off general prescription a year ago," Stephan said. "It shouldn't be too hard to track through records and find out who's still taking it."
He smiled grimly. It might not be too hard, but it was a task he had no intention of doing. Sam could. It would keep her out of his way a bit longer. Her anger and frustration had been all too evident in her smoke-shrouded blue eyes tonight. A few more pushes, a few more inane tasks, and she'd be asking for a transfer. All he had to do then was convince Stephan it was for the best.
He rose and continued on into the bathroom. The stark whiteness was practically blinding — it had to be hell on the eyes when the sun hit it. A slight breeze stirred the hairs at the back of his neck. He glanced at the ceiling to make sure it wasn't the air conditioning and then turned. A hole had been cut into the thick glass wall.
"Crimecorder, record bathroom evidence," he stated. As had been the case in the two previous murders, this hole was barely big enough to fit his fist through. And the edges were razor sharp, indicating laser cutting.
"Any thoughts on these holes?" Stephan asked from the doorway.