Page 13 of Trigger

We reached Sycamore Street too soon for my liking because I wantedto talk to him some more. I doubted that leaving the LD was in my cards anytime soon, so I wanted to make my life easier. An agreeable, maybe even afriendly partner, was a good beginning. Speaking of…

“By the way, I’m sorry about your partner,” I said, looking for anavailable parking spot. “It must have been tough.”

And that right there was the wrong thing to say.Thewrongthing. His expression had changed so drastically he looked almost like adifferent person. So many emotions wrecked his expression, the most prominentbeing sadness and guilt.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He left the car before I could apologize, although I didn’t meanto provoke him, much less offend him. He already hated my guts, and I wonderedif it could get any worse. The answer to my hypothetical question was yes,because the crime scene was a mess. I had seen a fair share of blood-splatteredwalls, but those I presently faced made my stomach turn. Everything around meindicated that the person who did this was not a well-adjusted human being. Andthe lifeless, naked body of a young woman on the bed told me she died ahorrible, horrible death.

“No sign of forced entry,” I said, pulling on the rubber gloves asCarter did the same. “The victim let this monster in for some reason.”

“Yes,” he agreed, checking the window and the bolts.

His hospitable behavior toward me would surprise someone else, butnot me. I knew he was a professional. The bickering was fine in our free time,but this was our job, and we both knew how to do it.

I approached the bed, observing the body. The victim lay on herstomach, with her arms and legs spread wide and tied to the bed. There werecountless deep cuts and lacerations all over her body done by a sharp object.Her long blonde hair was tangled, her face smeared with mascara and tears. Herlifeless eyes were wide open and fixed on the wall across from her.

“She died of asphyxiation.” The man coming out of the bathroominformed us. “But the multiple knife wounds contributed to her death. There’sno sign of penetration, but I’ll confirm it at a later stage.”

“This is John Smith, our forensic examiner.” Carter did theintroduction. “John, this is Detective Tye Thorsen from New Mesa.”

“Welcome,” John Smith said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’msorry your first case here is such a grisly one.”

“Nice to meet you, John,” I said as we shook hands.

“What do we know about the victim?” Carter asked him as I walkedup to the vanity table cluttered with makeup and perfume bottles.

“Her name is Sophie Malik. Thirty years old, single, living alone.She was working at the bank on Mayfair Square.”

“Time of death?”

“About 4 a.m. The neighbor found her in the morning when he cameto walk her dog. We have his statement, but he doesn’t know anything.”

“Look at this,” Carter said, crouching next to the bed. He usedhis pen to overturn a piece of paper lying on the carpet.

“Some kind of receipt?” I guessed.

“Yeah. It’s from Allure. It’s a strip club at Park Lane.”

“What would a God-fearing, uptight banker that grew up on a farmin the middle of nowhere do in a strip club?” I wondered out loud.

When Carter looked at me, I pointed at the nightstand where stooda Bible, a worn-out copy of Pride and Prejudice and a photo of a small, blondegirl with her parents, posing in the middle of the cornfield.

His expression changed as if my deduction had surprised him, buthe remained silent. Instead, he pointed at the receipt.

“Something is written on the back.”

“Luz.” I read the word on the paper. “What does it mean?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll find out,” Carter said, straightening up.“John, when can we expect the forensic report?”

“Tomorrow morning. Maybe.”

“Busy week?”

“Busy year.”

Half an hour later, Carter and I stood on the street, inhalingfresh air greedily. This sort of crime always made me sick to my stomach, andCarter looked equally grim.

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