Beneath the Scars
1. Chapter One
Chapter One
Byron
S omething about this is all wrong. I can't quite pinpoint exactly what it is, but looking at the scene and how everything is set up leaves me unsettled.
At first glance, it's all the same. From the young, fit male splayed on the bed, arms and legs spread apart, to the gaping mouth with the missing tongue, it all looks the same. Smells the same.
It takes the crime scene tech a while to realize I'm standing in the doorway, but when he does, he awkwardly shuffles out of my way so I can get a clearer picture of the gruesome tableau displayed in front of me.
The Cat has done it again.
It's a struggle not to flinch at the sight of the crude castration the victim suffered, but I've seen enough of them to have expected it.
"You're from the FBI?" the tech asks me from his corner, where he's dusting for prints. It's a waste of time. If this is The Cat, there won't be any prints. No prints, no DNA, not even the slightest hint of particles left behind for us to get a lead on.
Reaching for my badge, I nod in response before holding it out. "Agent Scott."
The tech's face lights up with recognition of my name. It seems my reputation precedes me even here, hundreds of miles from home.
"We've kept everything for you exactly like we found it, as requested. The medical examiner is waiting to come in and see the body; they're mighty pissed at the delay."
Used to the cold reception from the locals, I shrug at the guy's observation and slowly step into the room to look around. "You can phone them, tell them they can come in."
The young man rushes from the room, and the second he's out of the door, all thoughts of him leave my mind.
Time to get to work.
By the time the medical examiner shows up, I'm not paying any attention to the body anymore. I learned everything I could from it until they did their autopsy.
With my back turned on the victim, I don't see her when she walks in, but her soft floral scent gently wraps itself around me. The tension in the room ratchets up more than a couple of notches, and with the way the hair on the back of my neck stands up, I'd say she's trying to kill me with the way she's glaring at me.
"Can I help you?" I ask without giving in to the temptation to look at the person that comes with the tantalizing scent.
Nothing by stony silence meets my question, and I'm just about to turn around when she speaks up.
"Can you help? You're kidding me, right?" There's a pause before the sweetest voice carries on derisively. "He's kidding, right? Can he bloody well help? It would have fucking helped if he'd shown up earlier. Then I wouldn’t have been stuck waiting for him so I could do my damn job."
I can't help it. I have to turn around then. My curiosity demands it.
A small woman bends over the victim's body. Aaron Butler was a big man, and his large form makes the medical examiner look even smaller than I reckon she is. Her long dark brown hair is held back with a messy braid that runs over her shoulder and nearly makes it to the floor in her hunched-over position. Her oversized blue scrubs hide her shape, but I'd wager she's petite.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. It seems we've gotten off on the wrong foot." I step closer to her and the body, holding out my hand.
That's when it happens.
The floor falls out from under my feet.
Two large blue-green eyes glare at me with such disdain that it almost feels like a physical blow.
I'm so lost in those striking eyes it takes me a while to notice the rest of her face. And what a face! The slight pixie shooting daggers at me has the most delicate features. An upturned, small nose, delicate cheekbones, and a heart-shaped face perfectly match her red rosebud mouth.
The longer I look at her, the harder she scowls at me.
"Are you fucking serious right now? Have you never seen a woman with a damn scar before?"
I blink at her words uncomprehendingly. She turns to the assistant beside her, holding her hand for something.
She thought I was staring at her scar?
Well, sure, it's pretty prominent. Her entire right cheekbone has small radiating lines from her mouth to her eye. But compared to the rest of her, it's inconsequential.
The raging beauty is still ranting to her assistant about incompetent bureaucrats without manners, but all I can do is watch her. I don't need this right now. If Aaron Butler is another of The Cat's victims, then I need to have all my focus on the case. I can't be distracted by a pretty pixie with a chip on her shoulder the size of Mount Everest.
No matter how much I might want to try my hand at convincing her, I'm not a major asshole. It's probably best that she continues to hate my guts.
"Listen," I try again and clear my throat. "I'm sorry I made you wait, but it's important the scene stays intact."
Those eyes glare at me again before she turns back to her assistant. "And now he doubts we can do our job correctly." The guy helping her shrugs before spearing me with a short glare, too.
The pixie looks back at me. "According to my preliminary examination, he's been dead for at least eighteen hours. As you can see, he's undergone extensive torture, and without getting him on my table, I won't feel comfortable confirming the cause of death."
"He'll have bled out from the castration." Her eyes narrow at the interruption, and I hold out both hands in apology. "If it's The Cat, chances are this victim would have died from exsanguination due to the castration. The killer is too careful with their torture for it to be anything else."
She rolls her eyes at me. "Be that as it may, I can't confirm for sure. What I can tell you is there isn't any blood in the body and none around it, meaning the victim didn't die here, or the killer cleaned up exceptionally well."
"Thank you. When can you tell me more?"
The death stare she shoots at me is potent enough that the force of it nearly has me stepping backward.
"If we were allowed to come in when we got the call, the victim could have been at the morgue already. In fact, seeing as this is such a high priority, I might even have started the autopsy." She pushes her bangs away from her forehead with her forearm in an annoyed, absentminded movement. "Since then, we've had an apparent suicide come in, and I've already started on that; therefore, your priority case will only get started after I finish with the poor teenager that's currently cut open on my table."
"Sure, uh. Here's my card." I offer it to the assistant, who snaps it up and stuffs it in his pocket. "Call me when you're ready, and I'll come in when you do the autopsy."
She mumbles under her breath about having me look over her shoulder. Still, at this point, it's painfully apparent any kind of cordial working relationship with her is out the window, so I might as well embrace the suck.
My entire focus is on taking notes of the room as the rest of the crime scene techs filter into it to gather their evidence and take their photos. Mind you, not a single one of them grumbles or moans over the delay.
When I return from the bathroom, the ME and her assistant have removed Aaron's body, and I breathe a sigh of relief at having her presence gone from the scene.
I guess it's time to phone the office and let them know what's going on.