"You really believe that?"
"I have to believe that, and so do you."
I took in a deep breath and wished I hadn't. There was a faint bitter smell because we were standing near the end of the body. Death isn't neat, or pretty, or clean; it's all outhouse smells as your body does everything it can do all at once, one last time.
"Fine," I said, and I squatted beside the body on the balls of my feet. I made myself look at the body, really look at it.
"This body was sliced, neat, very few cuts, very efficient."
"So why tear the body into pieces?"
"Because they wanted to do it, and were strong enough to do it," I said.
"You know that doesn't feel right; try again." He stood over me, and for the first time in a long time I felt like the inexperienced newbie and he was the mentor again, telling me how to kill the monsters. He was one of the few people on the planet I would have taken that attitude from.
"They wanted the bodies to match the other bodies, at least superficially. They hoped the police would think it was the same killers."
"But it's not," Edward said.
"The first body and the third were savaged. They were literally torn apart. There were internal organs and guts everywhere. It was like a disorganized killer with maybe an organized partner directing, or controlling him. This is all organized. He, or they, are doing the kills like they've been told to, matching the first kill, but their heart isn't in it."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"This was a cold kill like the second one. The other two kills, the murderer took joy in it."
He came down beside me on the balls of his feet, too. "My kills are neat and clean, but I enjoy my work."
"You enjoy the planning and being faster, stronger, just better than whoever you're hunting, but do you actually enjoy the kill?"