Page 12 of Blood & Snow
Every detail is correct.
This woman has genuine forensic training and the analytical mind to apply it effectively.
She read the crime scene like an experienced investigator.
"What else?" I ask.
"The victim knew his killer. Or at least trusted him enough to turn his back in a confined space. This wasn't arobbery or a random attack. It was an execution carried out by someone the victim believed was an ally."
I stand up from the chair and walk closer, studying her face for signs of deception or performance.
She meets my gaze without flinching, waiting for my evaluation of her analysis.
"Your assessment is completely accurate," I tell her.
"This is my previous cleaner, and he thought he could buy his freedom to leave my organization. He was wrong."
The confirmation that she's been cleaning up the aftermath of an assassination makes her face go pale again, but she doesn't break down or start pleading for her life.
The forensic training has given her a framework for processing violence as data rather than horror.
"Finish the cleaning," I order.
"Make sure you get the blood from between the floorboards. Use the detail brushes for the cracks."
Nadya returns to her work as I stand over her, applying her scientific knowledge to the elimination of evidence.
She scrubs methodically, testing each section with a chemical solution that reveals traces of blood invisible to the naked eye.
It's a professional technique that would satisfy any crime scene investigator.
I make all of my cleaners use it.
Two hours pass before she finishes the job completely.
The apartment looks pristine, smells of industrial cleaner, and shows no sign that a man died violently on these floors.
She bags the corpse like she's handled human remains before, then cleans the bathroom and kitchen to remove any DNA evidence I might have left behind.
"It's finished," she says, stripping off the latex gloves and placing them in the garbage bag with the other contaminated materials which I'll take to the warehouse across town and burn.
I inspect her work, looking for missed blood spots or forensic evidence that could compromise the scene.
The floors are spotless.
The walls show no spatter patterns.
Even the grout lines between tiles in the kitchen have been scrubbed clean of organic material.
And the black light shows no trace of body fluids anywhere.
"Acceptable," I tell her.
Relief floods her face at the word.
She believes completion of the task means survival, that demonstrating competence has earned her freedom to return to her normal life.
It just shows dangerous naivety about how my organization operates.
