Page 29 of The Hive Queen

“Sorry, sir.” He tugs off his tie and tucks it into his pocket. “Got dressed in the dark before heading here.”

We duck under the tape that blocks off the alleyway, heading for the crime scene.

Techs swarm around the body, collecting evidence and taking photos to document everything. As Johannsson said, Mayn prowls through all the bustle, a notepad in her hand as she records what she sees.

While the tech reports will be strictly factual, Mayn’s will include sensory notes about what she smells and even the taste of the air. If she’d been at yesterday’s crime scene, she may have been able to pick up on the same scent from the killer. I’ll take her back there later to see if there’s enough lingering for her to use.

We accept booties from one of the techs, fitting them over our shoes before venturing closer to the man crumpled against the wall.

Small flags litter the ground around a blue tarp that forms a makeshift tent against the wall. We step carefully as we approach and peer inside.

Like the last victim, his pants are around his ankles, and a giant hole is blown through his pelvis. The top part of his body lies on its side next to his legs, but it’s his blissful expression that disturbs me the most. No man facing such a gruesome death should look that happy.

He also looks on the younger side, closer to twenty, with track marks inside his elbows. An addict, clearly, and most likely a prostitute. The tent was probably his home.

Are the victims being chosen at random? Because I can’t see this man ever crossing paths with the other two.

One of my techs, Young, kneels next to the body, collecting samples before they can bag him up and move him to the morgue.

Flint’s low whistle breaks the quiet of the alley. “I think I would have preferred the raccoons.”

“There were some of those, too. One of them was trying to run off with the man’s genitals. Mayn caught it, and we rounded up its friend, too, just to be safe. We’ll take them back to the lab with us.” Young points toward some cages that hold two angry raccoons waiting to be hauled away. “Is there something you can do with them? Right now, we’re just waiting for nature to take its course.”

Flint blinks several times at the request before shaking his head. “No, not really.”

“That’s too bad. I’m not a fan of digging through excrement.” Young duck-walks over to the wall, using a long swab to collect something from the ground.

I lean down for a better view. “What did you find?”

She shakes her head. “Could be nothing. This alley is riddled with substances of unknown origin. We’ll have to sort it all out back at the lab.”

My gaze sweeps over the alley, thrown into stark relief by the standing lights.

As she said, it doesn’t appear the city has spent much money cleaning back here. A dumpster sits farther down from the body, the lid pushed up by the piles of trash within. The scent of stale grease and rotting food floats from it.

I’ve seen worse crime scenes, but this will be a nightmare to process. There will be hundreds of DNA samples found here, possibly more depending on how long it’s been since the alley was cleaned.

“It smells sweet.” Mayn casts a frown toward the dumpsters. “But so do a few of those trash bags. We should probably bring the dumpster back, too.”

“Any evidence that this was Others?” I ask.

Young twists to gaze up at me and raises her brows. “You mean aside from the giant hole blown through his pelvis?”

I frown at her. “Yes, aside from that.”

The sarcasm drops from her expression, and she shakes her head. “No handprints so far, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

I’m starting to think we got lucky with what we found at the last scene. There was nothing substantial in the report that Bailey’s people took, either. Of course, they were on a mission to wrap the case up as quickly and neatly as possible, and the girlfriend was the convenient scapegoat.

“I haven’t found an ID, either, but based on what we can see, I’d say he was living here. I’d also say this guy has been dead since yesterday morning.” Young points to a cheap watch on his wrist where the glass has been shattered. “You’ll have to confirm that with the autopsy people, but I think this is our second victim. Thank goodness for the cold and the tent. It helped preserve the evidence.”

The tent is also likely why he wasn’t spotted sooner. But if he died yesterday, why would the witness be lingering so long on the scene?

I turn to Pen and Flint. “Are either of you picking up anything?”

Flint’s eyes go distant before he shakes his head. “The man’s soul is long gone. There’s another raccoon, though, hiding in the dumpster.”

Mayn spins on her heel and strides toward it, ready to wrestle the disease-riddled thing into a cage with its brethren. It seems time in the ocean made her extra bloodthirsty for battle.

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