The mattress was new. I could tell from the tags still attached to the corner. They'd replaced it entirely after the incident. Smart, but unhelpful.
I moved to the walls next, checking the area where Violet said the message had been daubed. It had been scrubbed clean and repainted, the fresh paint still faintly evident in the way it caught the light differently than the rest of the room. No traces of blood remained.
The carpet was worn and dingy, the kind of industrial-grade stuff they put in dorm rooms because it was cheap and durable. I examined it inch by inch, looking for any discoloration that might indicate blood.
Most of it was spotless. The cleanup crew had done their job well. But then I noticed something. The bed had been moved slightly since the incident; probably shifted when they replaced the mattress. And beneath where one of the bed legs now sat, just barely visible at the edge of the frame, was a small section of carpet that looked slightly darker than the rest.
I crouched down, eyes narrowing.
The bed leg was sitting partially on top of a patch of carpet that hadn't been scrubbed as thoroughly as the rest. It had been hidden beneath the leg during the cleanup and therefore mostly protected from the cleaning solution.
I pulled out my phone and turned on the flashlight, angling it to get a better look. It was definitely darker than the surrounding fibers. Could be dirt, or a stain from something else.
Or… it could be blood.
I pulled a small utility knife from my pocket and carefully lifted the edge of the carpet. The fibers were stiff in a way that suggested something had dried there. I cut a small square, maybe two inches by two inches, working carefully to avoid contaminating the sample.
Once I had it free, I held it up to the light. The discoloration was visible on the underside too, where dark liquid had soaked through the top layer and settled into the backing.
This was it. The sample I needed.
I pulled a plastic evidence bag from my jacket pocket—I'd come prepared—and sealed the carpet square inside, making sure to press out any air before sealing it completely. Then I stood and surveyed the room one more time to make sure I hadn't missed anything.
I hadn’t.
I left, locking the door behind me, and headed back to my car. Once I was inside, I pulled out my phone and dialed the concierge service again.
Two rings. “Concierge service. Name and code, please.”
“Julian Valcourt. Code seven-seven-four-nine-delta.”
“Verified. How may we assist you, Mr. Valcourt?”
“I need a lab,” I said. “Somewhere that can analyze a blood sample as soon as possible.”
“What type of analysis are you requesting?"
“Species identification. I’m fairly sure the sample is from an animal, and I need to know what kind. And, if possible, I need it traced back to where it was sourced. Butcher, slaughterhouse, or whatever.”
“Understood. One moment, please.”
I heard the clicking of keys on a keyboard as the operator searched the network.
“There’s a facility down in New Rochelle that can accommodate your request right away," she said. “WestchesterForensic Services on Crosby Avenue. I'm sending you the address now, along with a priority authorization code. Give them the code when you arrive, and they'll expedite your sample.”
My phone buzzed with a text containing the address and a string of numbers.
“Thanks. Send them a heads-up that I'm on my way.”
“Already done, Mr. Valcourt. Is there anything else?”
“No. That's all.”
“We're here if you need us.”
The line disconnected. I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, entering the lab's address into my GPS.
I pulled into the parking lot of Westchester Forensic Services thirty-three minutes later. The building was sleek and modern, all glass and steel. I grabbed the evidence bag and headed inside.
