Park and Stacey waved at us, and they both had blue New Gothenburg CSI windbreakers on, despite the heat. They’d only just gotten the jackets because the funding had been shit for the last few years, but they’d finally complained enough that no one ever knew who they were at a crime scene, and I thought they were proud of their unit name scrawled across the shiny fabric.
“We’re here to process the scene.” Park held high the black duffel bag he kept his kit in. He was cute and my type—slim, and the top of his head barely reached my chin. I’d tried to flirt with him in the past, but he never took the bait. His close-cut brown hair was spiked up, and his brown eyes gleamed in the sunlight as he flashed me a big smile. “We have a body van on the way. Coroner has been alerted. You haven’t been touching things, right?” he asked sternly.
Paxton and I both showed him our gloved hands, but his expression only smoothed out a bit.
Stacey laughed and shook her head, her thick, black-rimmed glasses glittering in the sunlight. She was Park’s opposite, nearly six feet tall and spent her weekends in bodybuilding competitions. Her pretty blonde hair was as short as his and curled in ringlets around her ears. “Yeah, get out of there. We’ll tell you if we find anything good.”
Paxton turned and hopped down, and I followed him.
“We think he was fucking someone,” I said, and Stacey wrinkled her nose.
“Are you telling me that because his ween is sticking out?”
“It’s not pretty,” Paxton said quietly, but then small lines crinkled around his eyes. “But no, there’s noween.” He broke down chuckling and elbowed me.
Park swallowed hard and stared at Paxton with big eyes. “On a scale of one to the bloated bodies we pulled out of the lake, where does it stand?”
Paxton grimaced. “Seriously, mate?”
Park gave him an apologetic frown. “Oh shit.”
It took me too long to remember my partner’s husband had drowned in Lake Ontario. “Park. Dude.”
“Sorry, Paxton,” he murmured miserably.
Paxton only waved a hand as if to say it was fine. “Somewhere in the middle. It’s definitely fresher, so it doesn’t smell as bad.” He winked at Park and tipped his hat at Stacey.
I felt a little awkward as usual because I just didn’t get why everyone acted so oddly around bodies.
Paxton gave me a friendly smile. “Let’s go over and see if there’s anything on the cameras at the truck stop.”
“Good idea.” I forced myself to mimic his expression because it was expected of me.
Paxton took off at a fast walk toward the truck stop, and I almost followed him but hesitated.
“You know, I’d like one more look to see if anything jumps out at me.”
Park stared at me like I was insane, and yeah, he might have me more figured out than everyone else. He was observant. Stacey gave me a serious nod as if she totally understood.
She didn’t.
I hopped back up into the cab and got as close to the body as I could without fucking up evidence. The longer I stared, the more the picture in front of me pulled together and made some sort of sense. The slashes across the man’s skin at first had appeared passionate, but as I studied the corpse, the more intrigued I became. The cuts didn’t seem to vary in depth and be all fucked-up the way they were if someone hacked at a body. They were meticulous and uniform, though I couldn’t be entirely certain on that at a distance. They seemed... full of intent. I stared around and looked up. There was a perfect handprint on the ceiling, but I smiled. I could already tell there would be no fingerprints. The shape was too flat, without the ridges of a hand. If I wasn’t wrong, that bloodstain was made by someone wearing a glove.
Dangerous respect bloomed in my chest because I had a feeling this would end up being a clean crime scene—no evidence. Why had this person killed? It was the ultimate taboo. I’d done many, many things I knew were unacceptable by normal standards over the course of my life, but this was one line I hadn’t crossed.
I’d thought about it.
Oh, how I’d thought about it.
“Officer Rogers, do you see anything useful?” Park asked, and I loved his impressed gaze as I turned to stare down at him.
“There’s a handprint on the ceiling, but I think you’ll find our killer was wearing a glove.”
He blinked and nodded, cheeks flushing, and I chuckled under my breath as I left him there and peeled my gloves off to tuck them in my pocket. As I stared around the overnight parking lot I didn’t see anywhere someone would’ve been able to hide, but there was a field nearby between the lot and the highway. The bright midmorning sun made me squint. Someone could’ve gone that way rather than toward the truck stop after they murdered the man.
Or they could’ve stripped their clothes and tossed them in the trash, then gone inside to indulge in a nice, leisurely shower. That’s what I would’ve done.
Biting my lip, I shrugged and followed after Paxton. There would be plenty of time to search the property. The overnight lot was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape, courtesy of Paxton, but the truck stop was in full swing. As I dodged trucks in the lot I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but I kept my eyes open when I pushed my way through the glass doors. I walked in to find Paxton at the counter—lined with every nicotine product known to man—talking to an older woman in an Aviator Truck Stop T-shirt, and she was nodding along to whatever he was saying while tickling the end of her braided hair against her cheek.
