Page 41 of Dropping Like Flies

Griffin gave a little laugh. “What do you think I’m going to do? Try to bend you over Baros’ desk? Ask you to blow me at a crime scene?”

A tall blonde woman chose precisely the wrong time to pass our seats, her cheeks turning a fiery red as she overheard.

I glared at Griffin. “Maybe something like that. Saying stuff I don’t want other people to hear.”

He coughed. “Fine. Point taken. Is that it? Is that the only ground rule?”

I steeled myself for the next bit. “I expect us to be exclusive. This guy you’ve been seeing—”

“I haven’t been seeing him. We’re friends. Nothing else.”

It was tempting to point out that someone you fucked wasn’t just a friend, no matter how you tried to spin it, but I held my tongue. This was about building bridges, not taking a sledgehammer to them. “Whatever he is, it ends. I don’t expect you to stop being friends with him. I’m not that possessive. But anything else needs to stop. I don’t share.”

“Fine.”

“Will he think it’s fine?”

Griffin held my gaze without blinking. “It’s a relatively new thing. Don’t go turning it into something it’s not.”

“I’m not turning it into anything. I’m just making my feelings on the matter clear.”

“They’re clear.” A slight pause. “The same goes for you, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Any more rules?”

“You talk to me. You don’t keep things bottled up.”

Griffin pulled a face. “The rest I can promise. That, I’m not sure I can.”

“Will you at least try?”

A longer pause, the train slowing at a station and getting going again before Griffin finally answered. “I’ll try.”

I spent the rest of the journey in quiet contemplation. We weren’t fixed, but at least we were on the right track, which was a huge step forward from twenty-four hours ago.

Chapter Fifteen

Griffin

The call had waited until seven in the morning this time. It had been obvious from the get go that the victim’s body had lain undiscovered for at least a couple of days, which probably dated it to when we were in Manchester. Not that where we were made the slightest bit of difference when no one had happened across it until now. I continued with the procedure, regardless. There was only a slim chance of resurrection, but it wasn’t impossible.

By the time I finally admitted defeat, Ben had already seen the writing on the wall—or the bloody symbols if you wanted to be pedantic—and left the bedroom. I sat back on my haunches and studied the body, the sunlight streaming in through the windows making the crime scene seem that much more horrific. Which was a ridiculous thought to have when I saw dead bodies in daylight all the time. However, I usually saw dead bodies tucked up under flowered eiderdowns, not sprawled on the floor, leaving bloody stains on the pale blue carpet from their missing digits. Stains that would never come out. A testament to the violence that one human had done to another. And all because the perpetrator wanted to raise a demon if Professor Rafferty Hart was to be believed.

Footsteps sounded at my back and I braced myself for whatever the forensic pathologist had to say, the room having been cleared once more for me to do my thing. “I did tell you,” he said, his voice bristling with derision, “that he’d been dead for some time.”

Safe in the knowledge that I had my back to him, I rolled my eyes. “’Some time’ means nothing when you’re in my line of work. I get you don’t want us here.” In Ben’s absence, I decided it was okay to speak for him. “But we have a job to do the same as you. And while I understand that us doing our job makes yours more difficult, there’s nothing either of us can do about that when we’re just following orders.”

Patrick let out a snort. “I might buy that for Ben, but you don’t even work for them. You could have told them where to stick their job.”

I climbed wearily to my feet to face the indignant pathologist, his cheeks flushed. “If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.” While he was still thinking of a suitably cutting response, I gathered up my candles, doing my best now that I’d torn my gaze away not to look at the body, the victim this time far too young and fresh-faced.

Even though I knew nothing about him, I knew he deserved better. Everyone deserved better than to die alone on their bedroom floor simply for the crime of picking someone up. At the start of this case, I might have possessed an emotional detachment, but the longer I spent on it, the angrier I became. I wanted to see what Satanic Romeo looked like—a man apparently charming enough to have his pick of young gay men and get them to invite him home, but vicious enough to murder and mutilate them.

“You should probably know that I’ve made a complaint,” Patrick said.

“Good for you.” I picked up my bag and threw it over my shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll give it the consideration it deserves.” He could take that whatever way he wanted. I shouldered my way past him, Patrick forced to step aside. I paused before answering the door to look back at him. “It’s a good job you don’t fit the physical description.”

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