Tora nodded, and showed him what she’d written down. On her little notepad, there were two things.
‘Jonathan Miller—US Army, dog tags/wallet.’
Well, that was no big shock.
He knew many vets kept their tags on them at all times, even when they weren’t in battle. His were tucked into his wallet.
Old habits die hard.
“Doc will give us positive once he gets the vet center to send over his medical records.”
The man on the floor spoke up, finally having an answer for Tora.
“Your TOD is about twelve last night. He’s not quite twenty-four hours out, and rigor is in full effect.”
Well, that gave them a timeline.
Now, they just had to find a way to figure out who hated him and opted to shank him in a building without power or security cameras.
“Thanks, Doc,” she said. “I’m going to wander around, and see if maybe whoever shanked the man dropped the knife for us to find. Some fingerprints would be damn helpful. I’ll be in later for ID.”
The man nodded.
“Be careful. You know how this building is sketchy as shit. I wish whoever owned it would just tear it down. I’m damn tired of coming here to pick up a body.”
Mac agreed there.
If they had a dollar for every homeless person that ended up dead in here, they’d be rich. Two months ago, like he’d mentioned, it was a drug-related death not far from this very spot.
Then again, they knew the building was owned by a company inSalt Lake City, and they likely didn’t give two shits about it.
Rich people never did.
They were too busy getting richer.
“I’ll be careful,” she said. “Get the scene processed, and get us what you can. I know DNA is going to take a while. I’m sure the homeless, if we can get them to talk to us, know what happened to Jonathan Miller.”
The man nodded.
He didn’t doubt that.
“On it, Detectives. See you at the morgue for your update,” he said, giving his CSI’s the order to get things handled.
As he did, the two detectives wandered around, looking around, behind, and in things.
There was so much garbage in the building from the homeless coming there to lay low when it rained, snowed, or was just too crappy out.
There were also syringes.
Empty meth bags.
And a plethora of used condoms.
Yeah, this place was a shithole, and the owner wasn’t helping the situation out.
Her partner was to the point.
“I don’t see anything covered in blood that might have been used to stab him. It looked like a normal wound,” Mac said, sipping his coffee while wearing a pair of gloves. “This is probably going to be homeless-on-homeless crime.”
