“Leai. Not really, no.” Evangeline stepped next to the slab with the remains. “I can tell you about this poor soul, though. His name was Marco Flores, thirty-two, Hispanic. He was military and definitely wounded while serving his country. I can tell you more once I get his medical files from the Army, and I have already forwarded Shireen his social security number. He was killed by asphyxiation with some kind of rope. I found fibers in the area of his neck which will hopefully tell us what kind of rope the killer used. Also, his right pinkie toe was cut off, my guess is before he was killed, because I was able to find traces of LTB4.”
“Uh, Evangeline—” George lifted a hand in question.
“That’s leukotriene B4, a chemical involved in inflammation. Put simply, if a wound is antemortem, there’s LTB4, if it’s postmortem there isn’t. As there were only miniscule traces of LTB4, I think the amputation was done immediately before the killing. I already have blood and tissue samples in the lab and can hopefully tell you more once they come back. Estimated time of death was roughly two weeks ago. The exact date I can tell you once the etymologist is done with the insect samples we collected at the site.”
So delicious, fresh, still warm.
Andi shook his head. Now was not the time to get lost in the regularity with which the arthropods in the bunker had gotten their food or how the tiny eggs Evangeline had yet to clear from the body were racing toward hatching. The steady pulsing of the life forming inside them was like pinpricks on his mind, burrowing in with no rhythm at all; for that there were too many at once.
“Let’s go to Shireen, then. Perhaps she has already found something.” He turned toward the door, not waiting for George to give his consent.
“A good day to you, too, Andi,” Evangeline called out with a hint of amusement in her voice. Both George and Gelman followed Andi, not without bidding the coroner goodbye. Andi simply lifted his hand, acknowledging everything Evangeline did for him and how she put up with his grumpy ways in one gesture.
George quickly reached his side, leaving Gelman behind them when they entered Shireen’s lair. This morning she wore her hair in what could only be described as a bird’s nest that had fallen into a pot of neon pink and bright blue color, paired with yellow trousers with wide legs and a long-sleeve tunic in black and silver. The agonizing color clash did not distract from the deep circles under her eyes, though, or the worried look she gave them.
“Guys, Agent Gelman.”
“Hi, Shireen. You already know?” George nodded at her.
“I didn’t leave the precinct once I heard what you found.”
“I’m sorry. That’s probably not how you wanted to spend last night.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, George. It’s the asshole who did this I want to see hanging.” The fire in Shireen’s voice spoke of a long, sleepless night, too much caffeine, probably in the shape of energy drinks, and a sense of justice born of her own abysmal experiences, something only Andi was privy to.
“We’re doing our best to find him or her. What do you have about Marco Flores?” George knew how to get Shireen to focus. The flat-screen on the wall woke with a few taps of her fingers on her tablet.
“OfficiallyI don’t know much, except that he has been homeless for the last two years. He still collected his pension every month from various ATMs in the Goose Creek area here in Charleston. I have video of him doing so two weeks ago on Tuesday; the facial recognition was a match.” Shireen showed them a grainy security cam video of a man in several layers of clothing and with two shopping bags stuffed full of various items who got money out of an ATM. The money vanished somewhere in the depth of the huge coat he was wearing, and he looked around nervously before he left the camera’s range.
“Okay. What do you knowunofficially?” George kept his gaze on the flat-screen.
Shireen gave Gelman a nervous glance. The man shrugged. “I’m not really here, Miss DuPont. And even if I were, anything you have that helps us to get to the madman who did this faster is more than fine by me.”
For a moment Shireen seemed to weigh Gelman’s words until her natural instinct to help overrode her reservations about speaking in front of somebody from IA. “Unofficially I have already hacked his military records, which we will probably get sometime later today, officially anyway.”
“Probably.” George was still staring at the screen, which came back to life when Shireen opened Marco’s file.
“Marco was a staff sergeant with the Army Rangers, did three tours in Afghanistan, was in an explosion during his last stay there. No lasting damage, but he developed serious PTSD and was honorably discharged three years ago. The first year he lived in a group house with other veterans who have suffered trauma in Menriv Park, which is close to the Naval Base, and apparently, he did well. Then one day he vanished, occasionally paying a visit to the group home, but he never returned to stay. According to his medical files, his PTSD was well handled with Paxil, an antidepressant containing paroxetine, but after he left the home, there is no record of further medication, and paroxetine, or Paxil, doesn’t exactly grow in the streets, so it’s highly probable he didn’t take anything, which in turn fueled his PTSD.”
The picture Shireen was painting was sad and only too familiar. People who had risked their lives for society slipping through its net once they returned to civilian life—or at least tried to.
“Nobody has asked for him?” George sounded sad.
“No. He was an only child, and his parents died in a car crash while he was in Afghanistan for the second time. No relatives, just the therapists and veterans at the group home who couldn’t keep track of him because he didn’t want it. The perfect prey for a serial killer,” Shireen said grimly.
“You think the other victims will be like him?” Gelman stepped next to George to get a better look at the flat-screen. For somebody who was supposedly only there to see how the precinct worked, he seemed overly interested. Then again, it was a serial killer case, and Gelman had a degree in psychology. Andi shrugged. Not really his concern, certainly not at the moment.
“Chances are high. As soon as it was clear what kind of case this was going to be, I checked the missing persons here in Charleston but couldn’t find anything suspicious, which means the killer is either drawing from all over the country or from the part of the populace nobody misses. Since the bodies are all in one place, I’m operating under the assumption that the victims are from Charleston and perhaps a few of the surrounding cities, though it’s unlikely the killer transported them far.”
“You’re right. Long ways of transport are rare in serial killer cases. It’s all about opportunity and staying under the radar.” Gelman sighed.
“Anything else?” George was tense; Andi could read it in the hard lines of his muscles, as well as in the pheromones he was emitting. Even though the precinct was crowded and in uproar, George’s specific taste and scent were by now so familiar to Andi, he could detect them anywhere.
“That’s it from me for the moment. I’ll tell you as soon as something new pops up.”
“Thank you, Shireen.” George briefly touched her arm. “Try to get some rest.”
“Will do.” It was a blatant lie, as they all knew. With Gelman in tow, they headed for their desks, only to be intercepted by a bellow from Chief Norris, who was stalking the bullpen like a starved tiger.
