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Victor wouldn’t fucking stay dead!
“Whoever did this,” she said, her gloved hands steady over the print powder, “has done a very good job of cleaning up, both the trash and the evidence.” Her voice dropped as she leaned closer to me. It caught me off guard—Keya and I weren’t exactly the type to confide in each other. “Good for them.”
I couldn’t remember a single time we’d exchanged a personal word after all the years we had worked together.
After the forensics team was done, Detective R gave me a ride back to the Medical Examiner’s office. We talked about Victor Bane again, about Millicent, and Leo Kesler.
“If the detective is right, Dr. West, this is going to become a bigger problem.”
He didn’t understand how big of a problem it could become. For me.
As he was parking the jeep in the parking lot, the detective got another call. Stomach twisting, I waited, tapping my fingers against the dashboard.
He cursed, hung up and turned toward me.
“The Strangler,” he mumbled. “He’s back. This is turning out to be a bad day already and it’s not even lunch yet.”
Sister Serena lay exactly where I’d left her yesterday. Sitting on the lone bench, head lolled to the side, hands wrapped around a bunch of roses. She looked even paler, her cheeks sunken and hollowed. I felt a sharp pang in my chest as I took a step closer.
Detective R cursed when his eyes fell to the gash on her throat, even obvious with the bow tied around her neck—the bow I had tied.
“This isn’t his MO.,” he muttered, eyeing her dress. “And the red dress…”
“It was white before,” I said, putting on the gloves. The blood had soaked every inch of the fabric, transforming it into a gruesome shade of red.
“This doesn’t fit. The Strangler doesn’t mutilate like this. He leaves no blood, no mess.” He rubbed his temple. “God, I wish these monsters would just stop. Every day, it’s a new case, a new horror. Detroit’s become a breeding ground for serial killers and psychopaths.”
Detective Rosario glanced at me, his expression softening as he took in my own pale face. “It’s gonna be a long one, Dr. West. If you’d like, I can get Dr. Metha to help with the workload.”
I shook my head. “No. I can handle it. I know the Strangler’s case inside and out. But… Did Dr. Metha finish Rishi’s autopsy?”
Rosario’s face fell, and he let out a long sigh. “No leads,” he admitted. “There were defensive wounds, yes. He trusted the killer enough to stop his car in the first place. Middle of nowhere, in the dead of night. Why? What would make an officer do that?”
“He must look normal… approachable, even,” I murmured, trying to piece it together. “Not threatening.”
“Or…” Rosario’s face darkened. “It could be someone Rishi already knew. Someone he recognized enough to let his guard down.”
An unsettling silence fell over us.
Detective R was right.
The Strangler might be closer than I had thought.
When I finished the preliminary exams, I called a cab and went directly to the medical examiner’s office.
Leo Kesler’s body arrived already in a black body bag. I ignored him. I knew who killed him, and I didn’t care that he was dead.
I went to Coffee Connexion and ordered a latte.
“You okay?” Lisa asked. “The body the other day, the one displayed in front of the ME office, was the man who came in before, wasn’t it? The artist.”
“Logan Jones. Yes.”
She shuddered as she prepared my coffee, and sliced a piece of dark chocolate cake.
“On the house.”
“Thanks, Lisa.”
