down the alley in front of them. She held out her hand. “Can I get some cash first? My baby needs diapers.”
Ransom pulled a twenty out of his pocket, keeping his gaze on her. She picked at a meth sore on her cheek as her eyes darted down to the money. “His name’s Toby. He deals down on Mohawk.”
“Toby what?”
The girl sniffed, wiped at her nose. “I don’t know. Just Toby.”
Ransom regarded her. “You messed up with drugs again, Sheena?”
Sheena shook her head. “Nah. I’m trying to get my kid back.”
“I thought you said your kid needs diapers.”
“He does. He’s with my mom and I’m gonna drop some off. I’m in a program now.”
“Yeah? That’s great. Stick with it.”
She nodded. “I will. Hey!” She looked back and forth between Ransom and Reed, smiled in a way that made Reed think she’d forgotten what a real one looked like and was just moving her muscles in some half-remembered simulation. “If you have any more questions, you know where to find me, right, Ransom?”
Ransom gave her a half-hearted wave and walked toward the yellow caution tape protecting the scene and Reed followed. “Sheena,” Ransom muttered. “She used to work as a CI when I was undercover.” He blew out a breath. “Fucking sad.”
Reed didn’t disagree. Mostly, he was sad for that baby she’d mentioned.
They headed down the alley. The scent of rot hit Reed’s nose and he grimaced.
“Hey, Carlyle. Davies,” a criminalist named Maria Vasquez greeted. After saying hi to her and the other team members close by, Reed swore softly, bending down next to the dead man lying against a pile of garbage bags so tall, it looked like they might topple over at any moment. It smelled to high heaven.
“Hell of a crime scene, huh?” he muttered, noting the sludge on the ground where bags of trash had leaked onto the pavement. The techs would be there all night bagging rat excrement.
The criminalist next to him sighed but didn’t comment.
Reed took in the sight of the murder victim. He looked just like Steven Sadowski had, mouth open, empty eye sockets filled with black paint dripping down his stubbled, sunken-in cheeks.
Reed reached in his pocket and pulled out a pair of nitrile gloves he’d grabbed from his trunk. He snapped them on before pulling the collar of the man’s shirt down. “Ligature mark on neck,” he said.
“Looks like the cause of death,” Maria noted as the second criminalist shot a photo next to her, Reed squinting from the flash.
“Have you checked his pockets?” Reed asked.
“We checked for a wallet. There was one in his jacket pocket. No ID, just a wad of cash, and some pills wrapped in plastic. It’s all over there in an evidence bag.” She gestured toward a collection case nearby.
“Have you checked down his pants?”
Maria glanced up from her work. “We usually leave it to the ME to undress the victim.”
“Check down the front of his pants for me, will you?”
Maria shrugged, pulling the man’s track pants down slightly. There was a handkerchief with something wrapped in it sitting on his groin. Maria pulled the handkerchief out and set it on top of a paper evidence bag. When she unwrapped it, they all stared down at a pair of eyeballs, muscle and flesh hanging from the edges in torn clumps. Reed cringed.
“Well then. That’ll haunt my dreams,” Ransom said. “Is there supposed to be some kind of message here? Why not just put the eyeballs in his pocket or something? Why down his pants?”
“Relating his eyeballs to his . . . other balls?” Reed murmured.
“Yeah? How so?” Ransom asked, sounding genuinely interested.
“I have no idea. I’m just throwing out random theories.” Reed addressed Maria, “What about the back of his neck? Can we get a look?”
“Yeah. I’ll hold his head and you push him toward me,” Maria instructed.
Reed pushed while Maria held the victim’s head steady and Ransom leaned in next to Reed. A red circular brand could be seen standing out starkly against the man’s pale, lifeless skin. “Same leaf,” Reed said. Ransom took out his phone and shot a quick photo of the brand and then Reed and Maria positioned the body back where it’d been.
“Same killer,” Ransom said. “No doubt.”
“No doubt,” Reed agreed.
As Maria picked up each detached eyeball and placed them in an evidence bag, Reed noted that they looked far neater than Steven Sadowski’s had looked.
Fuck.
The killer was already improving his craft.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Liza rubbed her temples, attempting to massage away the stress