Page 7 of Butterfly Assassin
As soon as Miller saw them approach, he ducked under the tape and met them beside one of the police cars.
Michael held out his hand. “You the SIO?”
Shaking hands, Miller nodded. “Yep.” He ran a hand through his hair and offered them a wry smile. “We need to stop meeting like this.”
The first body had been found near Covent Garden, so was covered by the metropolitan police, but the second hadn’t been all that far from here. Miller had worked that one too. If this was the same as the others, then it’d make three bodies in three weeks, all apparent shifter killings. Michael and Frank had seen their fair share of murders but not with this frequency. “Same as the others?”
“Looks that way.” He pointed in the direction of an open door, gesturing at the petite, dark-haired woman talking to Miller’s partner, Price. “Samantha Wells works at the café next door. Came out for a cigarette break and found him lying in the alley.”
“What time?”
“About half past six this morning.” He sighed. “She called for an ambulance first, and the paramedics called us as soon as they saw the body.”
Michael glanced at his watch. It was ten to eight now. They’d got the call from Miller about twenty minutes ago. He’d wasted no time contacting them this time. “Coroner been notified?”
“Yeah. Peters arrived about ten minutes before you, actually.”
“Jesus, that was fast.” Dr Clive Peters was a forensic pathologist. He’d worked the other two murders and, in Michael’s opinion, was one of the best they’d worked with. People tended to move quickly when a shifter was involved. “Any idea on time of death? Or an ID?”
“According to his driving licence, the deceased was Charles Crossford, age twenty-five.” Miller turned and lifted the tape, so Michael followed. “Peters had just started examining the body when you got here.” They stopped on the other side of the tape, well away from where Miller’s men still worked the crime scene. Behind them, Frank got out his notepad and began to sketch.
Michael glanced around the alley. Two industrial-sized bins sat on either side of it, with rubbish scattered about on the ground. Evidence from here would be a nightmare. At least it hadn’t rained overnight. Dr Peters was crouched next to a body splayed out in front of one of the bins. Even from where they stood, Michael could see blood splatter up the side of the bin. Turning to Miller, he asked, “He was killed here?”
Miller nodded. “Looks that way.”
Michael pointed at the bin. “I’m assuming that’s his blood on there.”
“That’s not all.” Miller grimaced, and Michael knew what was coming next. “There’s other reasons to suggest he was killed here.” He passed out plastic shoe covers and gloves. “They’ve already cleared a path through the scene. Come take a look for yourself.”
Michael donned the protective gear. Taking great care to stay within the markers, he followed Miller towards the body and Peters. “Morning, Clive,” Michael offered when they were within earshot. “Anything for us yet?”
Peters huffed out a laugh. “Impatient as ever, Detective.”
Michael shrugged even though Peters wasn’t looking at him. “Just want to catch the bastard.”
Peters stood and faced them. “I’ll be doing a post-mortem examination, but I’m prepared to go out on a limb and say cause of death was loss of blood. Looks like both carotids were severed.” He glanced down at the body, and so did Michael.
Charles Crossford lay face up on the ground, lifeless eyes staring out at nothing, with his legs and arms splayed as though he’d collapsed to the floor and died in that exact spot. Which he probably had. His throat, or what was left of it, had been torn open, leaving a mangled mess behind. Blood stained the ground underneath him, and Michael tried hard not to focus on the bits of flesh smeared over Crossford’s shirt. It almost looked as though— “Did the killer wipe something off on his shirt?”
Peters sighed. “I suspect so.”
His fucking claws. Because looking at that injury, there was no doubt in Michael’s mind, Crossford had been killed by a shifter.
Peters waved a hand at Crossford’s shirt. “We’ll collect it all and have it sent to the lab, of course.”
Michael nodded. “When can you do the autopsy?” Maybe the killer left something behind for them this time.
“Tomorrow morning, first thing.” Peters gestured to the body. “But I can tell you now, he died within the last eight hours—rigor’s not fully set in yet. Might be able to narrow it down more after I get a look inside him.”
Suppressing a shudder at Peter’s almost cheery tone, Michael turned to Miller. “We’d like to be present at the autopsy.”
Miller raised an eyebrow. Technically, as SIO, Miller was in charge until this was confirmed as being carried out by a shifter, but the fact Crossford had his throat ripped out was pretty damning. Still, Michael didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, and since Miller already had things under control, he was more than happy to let him take charge for now.
“Of course.” Miller nodded. “And I’ll have all the evidence collected here sent to your labs too. I think you’ll agree there’s little doubt that it’s going to end up as your case.”
“Thanks.”
Michael glanced around them. “Did he have anything else on him apart from his driving licence?” This area of London wasn’t known for its nightlife. The surrounding buildings were mainly office blocks, some of them empty, awaiting renovation. What the hell was Crossford doing in an alley here in the early hours of the morning?
