Reed points his pen toward the trail. “No way the killer tried to hide this body. There are better places to dump around here. Why leave it so close to the trail?”
I glance around, blowing out another puff of air. “Whoever did this wanted the body found. Could be a convenient location for the killer, or something around the area resonates with him … or her.”
Lloyd shakes his head. “Doubt it’s a female. The cut’s too clean. The force to sever a head isn’t an easy one unless your female is jacked. Which I’m not discriminating or nothin’, but I’d wager with about eighty-five percent certainty your killer is male.”
“You said seventy-five percent last time,” Reed pipes in.
“Considering this is the same MO, the odds it’s a male just went up. There’s always the possibility of a partnership—female administers the drugs, male handles the dismemberment—but statistically, I’d still bet on a male. The team has bagged and tagged, so we’ll run DNA. If it’s the same killer, I doubt we’ll find anything. They’re clean.”
My eyes roam over the body, looking for any identification markers. Reed moves over to the area where they found the head.
“What’s this red here?” Reed points to the eyes.
“It’s called petechial hemorrhaging. He may have been asphyxiated first, which would be a deviation from the standard drugs in the previous three. We’ll know more once tox comes back.”
Reed rotates the head, seemingly unfazed this man was alive less than twenty-four hours ago. “Oh, shit,” he groans.
“What?”
“You better come look at this. Son of a?—”
I stand striding to the head and crouch next to Reed.
He points. “Look at that.”
A tattoo behind the man’s right ear gives me pause. A mermaid tail.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Damn Irish Mob.”
Reed nods. “I’m not telling her. You can.”
I shake my head as the roar of a motorcycle revs in the distance. “Looks like we both get to.”
None other than Aoife O’Donnell herself rolls up on her Ducati. The leader of the Irish Mob. At first, I figured they were a myth. Until Kieran O’Donnell and his so-called merry band of bastards stepped out of the shadows and proved me wrong. Then four years ago, when his daughter turned twenty-one, she took over for him.
It’s ridiculous, the department’s willingness to work with the mob like they’re some sort of partner in crime. Theyarethe crime. But I was told to sit down and shut up whenever I raised concerns about letting the Mob operate freely in Boston. According to the chief, the Irish keep the Yakuza in check and scare off the “bigger, deadlier” outfits that want a piece of Boston. I hate it. I hate it all, but I do what I’m told.
I wish I had my cigarette.
She pulls her bike nose to nose with the front of my car, and I frown. Her blonde hair spills from beneath her helmet, cascading to the middle of her black leather jacket. The leather continues down, wrapping her curves in black pants as well. When she lifts her helmet off and sets it on her bike, Reed lets out an audible whine.
I roll my eyes. Yes, Aoife O’Donnell is beautiful. Everyone knows it. I’ve only seen her in passing once, and hers is a face you can’t forget. Eyes doe-eyed and bright blue, a button nose, and blonde hair in loose waves that frame her face.
She marches down from the trail, and I hate how most of the officers part for her like she’s the damn chief herself. She doesn’task, and no one stops her when she lifts the crime scene tape and walks over. As she gets closer, I swallow.
Damn.
Her full cheeks are flushed, but she’s not all sharp-jawed and bony like some women. Her lips are plump, lush, but pulled into a frown. When I glance up, the bright blue in her eyes is dull and somber.
“That’s Finn, isn’t it?” She pulls out her phone and swears. “It is. His tracker leads right—” Her face contorts into terror as she stares at the head Reed and I stand near. I move quickly to block it. “Is that …”
I grimace. “She shouldn’t be here. Escort her back to my car.”
A single tear escapes from her lashes, and she bats it away, then steps forward, sucking in a wavering breath. “What happened? What the hell is going on?”
Reed approaches her, extending his arm to cover her shoulder and turn her around. He attempts to guide her back toward the scene perimeter, but she contends with his touch and pushes him away.
I linger on the severed head, my thoughts gnawing, until Lloyd does his thing and carts it away to the lab.
