I resisted a terrible urge to say, "You can't handle the truth," but the thought helped kill some of the anger. I gave him calmer eyes and said, "The truth about what exactly?"
"Are there weretigers in Seattle?"
"I haven't been here long enough to know where to get a good cup of coffee. I don't think I should be the one you're asking. You've got a preternatural branch that is local to your area. They should know more than I do about the local wereanimals."
"They should, but somehow everywhere you go you know more monsters than the rest of us."
I shrugged, and didn't have to fight to look bored. "Maybe it's because I see them as people, not just monsters."
He motioned at the photos spread out on his desk. "Whatever did this isn't human. Nothing human could have done this."
I shrugged again. "I can't speak to that. I'm not in forensics and I've got cop friends who tell some mean stories about humans on PCP."
"PCP would make them strong enough to do it, but it also makes them crazy," Raborn said. "They could do the violent killings, maybe, but not this." He pointed at one photo. "This is precise. PCP doesn't make you precise, it makes you a fucking animal."
Since Edward and I had put that observation into our reports, I wasn't surprised to hear him repeat it back to me. "Like a wereanimal?" I asked.
"You know what I meant."
I sat up straighter in the chair because the gun at my back was digging in a little, which meant I was slumping. We were averaging three hours of sleep, and a different time zone every day was beginning to take its toil.
"I'm not sure I do, but if you called me in here to grill me about the local wereanimals, I just got here less than four hours ago. I'm good at gathering information about the local preternatural scene, but I'm not that good. No one is that good."
"What's killing the weretigers?"
"I'm not sure."
"Why are they being killed?"