LeBreton Flats beside theOttawa River was a sprawling green in the summertime, hosting several music and food festivals. In the winter, during the holiday, it was a desolate plane of cold snow and frigid wind that blew in off the water.
I parked behind a police cruiser next to the Canadian War Museum and collected my gear from the trunk. The area had been cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape, guarded by a few uniformed constables, who looked as though they wanted to be anywhere else.
Unlike at the university, there were no lookie-loos or media presence. Be it the weather, the Boxing Day holiday, or the fact that LeBreton Flats was out of the way, I didn’t know. Regardless of the reason, I was glad we didn’t have to fight off curious onlookers with their cellphones and immediate internet access.
Taking a slow, deep breath, I braced for impact before crossing the street, knowing the scene would be bad even before I signed in and ducked under the tape. Crossing the field toward the focal point of the investigation, I noted countless footprints in the freshly fallen snow, zigging and zagging in every direction.
I clenched my jaw, steeling my resolve.
Had the CSIs been careful, or had they trampled over important details?
The snow was heavy with moisture, thanks to the afternoon winter sun. The impertinent wind couldn’t seem to blow the evidence away, no matter how strongly it lashed out.
Bundled in my brown leather coat, a thick wool hat, and boots, I still couldn’t get warm and shivered with enough force that my teeth chattered.
I waved down a photographer—one of many—who rushed over, a camera slung around her neck. She wore thick gloves, a hat with earflaps, and a faux-army-style parka with the hood pulled up. The fur lining circled her face, but the vicious wind still managed to whip her bangs across her forehead and into her eyes, making her squint.
Danica Brooklyn was someone I’d worked with several times since moving to Ottawa. She was young—midtwenties—but efficient and didn’t require a lot of instruction.
“Merry Christmas, Dr. Chevalier. I didn’t think you’d be working over the holiday.”
“I wasn’t, but this is one of mine… the serial,” I amended. “I worked on the other three bodies, so it seemed fitting I should carry on. Detective Haven should be arriving soon, and—”
“He’s already here.” She thumbed over her shoulder toward the central area where the dead body waited. “I told him to hang back, but he took one look at the scene and ignored me. Sorry.”
I frowned and motioned for Danica to follow as I trudged carefully through the snow.
Danica jogged alongside, speaking through the thick wrap of her scarf. “I got as many pictures as I could of the ground and traffic patterns the second I got here. I figured by the time everyone showed up, it wouldn’t take long for evidence of that nature to be wiped away.”
“Thank you.” As an afterthought, I muttered, “It’s a good thing the storm decided to stop, or we might not have gotten any prints at all.”
“True. It was supposed to snow all day, so I would say we’re lucky.”
“Indeed.”
Surveying the scene as I approached, I picked out several glaring differences from the previous three kills. Primarily, the body had been poorly staged, missing the usual precision of placement. The whole thing was a mess, and my goddamn boyfriend was neck deep in the middle of it.
Hackles rising, I ground my teeth and approached.
The body, a male in his early twenties, had been propped in a sitting position against a tree. No bench this time. Kobe squatted in front of him.
A fizzle of irritation surfaced when he reached for the frozen white rose that had fallen from its holder and lay in mangled pieces on the ground.
“Don’t touch that,” I snapped with more venom than I intended.
Kobe jumped, withdrawing his hand as he spun to face me. Excitement flared in his honey-colored eyes, and his face broke into a smile as he got to his feet. “Holy crap, Dom. This scene isa mess. Everything about it shows poor execution and a rushed kill. Look at it.”
His hungry gaze swept over the snowy terrain, eating up every detail.
Mine didn’t.
“You aren’t supposed to have access to the scene until I’ve given you the green light. Get away from the body.”
Kobe’s smile faltered at the bite in my tone. He didn’t retreat, though, and pushed his luck, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “Dom, this is huge. This is more than escalation. It shows our unsub is rapidly devolving. The timeline between kills has already been far shorter than we usually see in a serial, but this…” He scanned the terrain. “There are signs of a struggle this time. This kill didn’t go as planned at all. Let me show you.”
Kobe reached for my arm, but I jerked away, keenly aware of other people looking on. “Detective Haven, I won’t ask you again. If you don’t comply with my request, I will have you removed from the scene, as is my right, until I have completed my examination.”
Danica glanced between us, clearly uncomfortable. They were not my rules. They were procedure, and Kobe knew it. My role as a forensic pathologist meant I was the first person to access the body and document the evidence.Iinstructed the CSI photographers to ensure a thorough and complete set of images was taken. It was up tometo determine the mode, means, and cause of death, even in a case like this where Kobe took for granted that he had all the answers.
