I stared at the thermometer as the mercury climbed, then settled. “Not with much accuracy. Pre-dawn? After midnight? He’s showing signs of rigor, but the freezing temperature can severely compromise its onset. My reading is quite low, but that doesn’t surprise me, considering the weather. Too many factors at play. Ask me again when he’s in the lab. I might be able to give you a smaller window.”
Detective Hayashi gestured to the pile of neatly folded clothes at the end of the bench. A battered leather wallet rested on top. “Can we check for ID?”
I glanced at the photographer, who nodded, indicating he’d taken those shots already. “Go ahead.”
Kobe grabbed the wallet and found the victim’s driver’s license. “Jesse Vargas. Born in September 2002. So that makes him…”
“Twenty-three.” His partner removed the ID from Kobe’s hand and examined it. “No attempt to hide the victim’s identity.”
Kobe met my gaze. “Can we approach the body?”
I gave my consent, and the two detectives moved in. Kobe cringed again as he inspected the spike through the man’s penis. “Please tell me this was postmortem like the other guy.”
I didn’t answer.
Seemingly less affected, Detective Hayashi crouched and examined the injury.
“It enters just below the corona and exits the frenulum,” I explained. She hadn’t asked, but I felt compelled to fill the silence.
“Isn’t the frenulum an area of high sensitivity?” Hayashi asked, glancing between Kobe and me.
“It can be,” I answered.
Hayashi looked at Kobe, whose pinched expression hadn’t changed. “That could be notable.”
“Our perp issued pain instead of pleasure.” Kobe nodded. “Except, if he was dead first, it wouldn’t have mattered.”
“True. Maybe he’s trying to send a different message,” Hayashi said.
“Speaking of…” Kobe motioned to the cardstock.
Hayashi inspected it first, and her nose twitched. “Do you smell it?”
“Tropical perfume?” Kobe asked, not getting closer.
“Yes. It’s fainter than last time, but it’s there.” She tipped her head at the stack of clothing. “I also smell stale cigarettes and beer wafting off those.”
“Might have been out partying last night. Read the card, Rue.”
Hayashi used two glove-covered fingers to turn it the right way. “‘A self-righteous prick.’” She huffed what could have been a laugh. “That’s… creative.”
“That’s sadistic.” Kobe crossed his arms. It seemed more an act of discomfort than that of a person trying to stay warm.
Kobe scanned the sectioned off area, zeroing in on a patch of disturbed snow and several evidence markers. Stepping carefully, he approached the marks and studied them for a long time before calling to his partner. “We’ve got similar signs of a struggle. Might even be more intense than last time.”
His partner joined him.
Kobe pointed to the ground. “The prints aren’t as clear. It’s like they’ve been purposefully rubbed out.”
“Our perp was careful.”
Kobe made a noise of consent and glanced back at the bench and the man. It was then that I realized I was too busy watching him and not busy enough doing my job.
Our eyes locked, and Kobe’s intense concentration broke. He smiled and winked.
I looked away, refocusing on the body.
A short time later, Kobe mused to his partner. “I’d say he was attacked in the pre-dawn, or thereabouts. Maybe while stumbling home from a party. His driver’s license says he lives on Marlborough Avenue. That’s a few blocks that way. He’s attacked, strangled, stripped, and displayed on the bench in the same fashion as Navid. Then a spike is inserted through his… goods. A perfume-scented rose and an obscure note are attached. I have no fucking idea why or what it means.”
