“Time of death?”
“Preliminary estimate, between 1:30 and 3:30 a.m.Rigor is consistent with that timeline.”Stark gestured to the victim’s clothing.“His attire suggests he was out for the evening.And the smell—” She didn’t need to finish.The sour stench of alcohol emanated from the body, noticeable even among the other odors of death.
“He was probably at the Centaur’s Den last night,” Jake said, remembering Derek’s history of bar fights and public disturbances.“He could have been walking home from there when he was attacked.”
Stark nodded.“He was heavily inebriated.Blood alcohol content will tell us exactly how much, but it was substantial.Would have impaired his reaction time, made him vulnerable.”She lifted one of Derek’s hands.“Defensive wounds are minimal.Either he didn’t see the attack coming, or he was too drunk to put up much of a fight.”
As Stark continued her examination, Jake stood and surveyed the scene again.The old mill district was a perfect location for an ambush—poorly lit, largely abandoned at night, buildings blocking lines of sight from the main streets.But this felt different from a simple mugging gone wrong.The yarn, carefully wrapped around the body, spoke of planning, of ritual.
“What do you make of this?”Jake asked, gesturing to the red decoration.
Stark frowned.“It’s...deliberate.Someone took time with this.See how the yarn forms this pattern across the chest?”She shook her head.“This wasn’t done in haste.Whoever did this spent time with the body afterward, arranging it.”
“A signature,” Jake muttered.“A calling card.”
Stark met his eyes, her expression grim.“If that’s the case, you might want to prepare for the possibility that this isn’t a one-time event.”
He understood her meaning.A killer with a signature was rarely satisfied with a single victim.
Stark clicked her tongue and added, “I guess it goes without saying, things keep getting stranger here in Trentville.”
Jake didn’t argue.It was all too true—and the rising tide of violence during the last few months was a matter of great concern to him and Sheriff Jenna Graves.
“We’ll transport the body to the morgue now,” Stark said, motioning to her team.“I’ll have preliminary findings for you by late afternoon, full report tomorrow morning.”
Jake stepped back, watching as they carefully lifted Derek’s body onto a gurney.The red yarn looked almost festive trailing out of the black body bag—a grotesque parody of gift wrapping.Jake’s phone felt heavy in his pocket; Jenna needed to know about this.But not yet.
He checked his watch.Jenna would have gone to the hospital by now to bring Piper home after twenty years of searching for her.That reunion deserved to happen without the shadow of a new murder investigation looming over it.He could manage the initial steps alone, give Jenna these few precious hours before pulling her back into Trentville’s darkness.
The decision made, Jake turned toward Main Street.The Centaur’s Den was only a fifteen-minute walk from here.Aaron Hopper would be preparing to open for the day, and Jake needed to know what had happened in those final hours before Derek Sullivan met his killer.
As he walked, Jake’s mind worked through the details they’d gathered so far.Derek Sullivan, local handyman, yard-worker, and all-around troublemaker, strangled to death in the early morning hours after leaving the bar.Body decorated postmortem with red yarn in an elaborate pattern.No obvious robbery—Derek’s wallet had still been in his back pocket, cash intact.This wasn’t about money.It was about...what?
The Centaur’s Den came into view, its windows dark, CLOSED sign still hanging on the door.Jake knocked firmly, knowing Aaron would be inside preparing for the day’s business.After a moment, he heard footsteps approaching, and the lock clicked open.
Aaron Hopper stood in the doorway, his massive frame nearly filling it.Despite the early hour, he was already dressed in the bar’s unofficial uniform—black t-shirt, dark jeans.Recognition flickered across his face.
“Deputy Hawkins.Little early for a drink, isn’t it?”His attempt at humor fell flat as he registered Jake’s expression.“What’s happened?”
“Need to talk to you about Derek Sullivan,” Jake said.“Mind if I come in?”
Aaron stepped back, holding the door wider.“Sure.”He led Jake into the dim interior.A single light illuminated the bar area, where a rack of glasses stood half-filled.
“Derek was in here last night?”Jake asked, though he was already sure of the answer.
Aaron nodded, leaning against the bar.“Yeah.Regular customer, though not always a welcome one.”He crossed his thick arms over his chest.“What’s he done now?”
“He’s dead, Aaron.Murdered sometime after leaving here.”
Aaron’s arms dropped to his sides, genuine shock widening his eyes.“Murdered?How?”
“Strangled.Found this morning in the mill district.”Jake watched Aaron’s reaction carefully.“When did he leave last night?”
“Jesus,” Aaron muttered.“Around 1:45, maybe 1:50.We close at 1:30, but he wouldn’t clear out.Had to...encourage him to leave.”
“Encourage him how?”
Aaron sighed."I threw him out.Literally, he was drunk, belligerent, knocked over some glasses when I cut him off.He took a swing at me, so I escorted him to the parking lot."At Jake's raised eyebrow, he added, "Look, I didn't hurt him.Just removed him from the premises.It's not the first time."
