Inhaling, he caught the scent of death.
Fairly recent killing, he decided, but not as juicy as an immediate one.
"Humans," he sneered. "If only they were more efficient and would kill each other off completely."
"Aye," someone agreed.
"Onward," he demanded, proceeding forth.
As they stalked by the crime scene, Xcor looked into the alley. Human men with queasy expressions and fidgety hands stood around a large box of some kind, as if they expected something to jump out at any moment and seize them by the cocks with a taloned grip.
How typical. Vampires would be delving in and dominating - at least, any vampire worth his nature. Humans only seemed to find their mettle when the Omega interceded, however.
Standing over a cardboard box that was stained through in places and big enough to fit a refrigerator in, Jose de la Cruz flicked his flashlight on and ran the beam over another mutilated body. It was hard to get much of an impression of the corpse, given that gravity had done its job and sucked the victim down into a tangle of limbs, but the savagely shaved-off hair and the gouged patch on the upper arm suggested that this was number two for his team.
Straightening, he glanced around the empty alley. Same MO as the first, he was willing to bet: Do the work elsewhere, dump the remains in downtown Caldwell, go trolling for another victim.
They had to catch this motherfucker.
Clicking off his beam, he checked his digital watch. Forensics had been doing their nitpicking job, and the photographer had clicked her shit, so it was time to take a good look at the body.
"Coroner's ready to see her," Veck said from behind him, "and he'd like some help."
Jose pivoted on his heel. "Have you got gloves ..."
He paused and stared over his partner's broad shoulder. On the street beyond, a group of men walked by in triangular formation, one in the lead, two behind him, three behind them. The arrangement was so precise and their footfalls in such synchronization that at first, all Jose noticed was the militarylike marching and the fact that they were all wearing black leather.
Then he got a sense of their size. They were absolutely huge, and he had to wonder what kind of weapons they were packing under their identical long coats: The law, however, forbade police officers from strip-searching civilians just because they looked deadly.
The one in the lead cranked his head around and Jose took a mental snapshot of a face only a mother could love: angular and lean, with hollowed cheeks, the upper lip malformed by a cleft palate that hadn't been fixed.
The man resumed looking straight ahead and the unit continued onward.
"Detective?"
Jose shook himself. "Sorry. Distracted. You got gloves?"
"I'm holding them out to you."
"Right. Thanks." Jose took the set of latex and snapped them on. "You've got the - "
"Bag? Yup."
Veck was grim and focused, which, Jose had learned, was the man's cruising speed: He was on the young side, only in his late twenties, but he handled shit like a veteran.
Verdict thus far: He did not suck as a partner.
But it had been only a week and a half since they'd really started working together.
At any crime scene, who moved the bodies depended on a host of variables. Sometimes Search and Rescue handled it. With others, like this sitch, it was a combination of whoever was around who had a strong stomach.
"Let's cut open the front of the box," Veck said. "Everything's been dusted and photographed, and it'll be better than trying to tip it forward and have the bottom rip free."
Jose glanced over at the CSI guy. "You sure you got everything?"
"Roger that, Detective. And that's what I was thinking, too."
The three of them worked together, Veck and Jose holding the front side while the other man used a box cutter - natch. And then Jose and his partner carefully lowered the panel.
She was another young woman.
"Damn," the coroner muttered. "Not again."
More like damned, Jose thought. The poor girl had been done just as the others had, which meant she'd been tortured first.
"Fucking hell," Veck muttered under his breath.
The three of them were careful with her, as if even in her deceased state, her battered body registered the rearrangement of her limbs. Carrying her a mere two feet, they placed her in the opened black bag so the coroner and photographer could do their things.
Veck stayed crouched down with her. His face was utterly composed, but he nonetheless gave off the vibe of a man who was angered by what he saw -
The brilliant flare of a camera flash broke out through the dim alley, sure as a scream through a church. Before the shit even faded, Jose's head ripped around to see who the hell was taking pictures, and he wasn't the only one. The other officers who were standing about all snapped to attention.
But Veck was the one who exploded up and took off at a hard run.
The camera guy didn't stand a chance. In a totally brazen move, the bastard had ducked under the police tape and taken advantage of the fact that everyone had been focusing on the victim. And in his escape, he got snared in what he'd violated, tripping and falling before he recovered and gunned for the open door of his car.
Veck, on the other hand, had the legs of a sprinter and way more lift than your average white boy: No scurrying under the yellow for him; he vaulted over the bitch and launched himself onto the hood of the sedan, pulling his weight up by the lip of the hood. And then everything went slow-mo. While the other officers rushed forward to help, the photographer floored it, and the tires squealed as he panicked and tried to peel off -
Right in the direction of the crime scene.
"Fuck!" Jose yelled, wondering how in the hell they were going to protect the body.
Veck's legs fishtailed around as the car snapped through the yellow tape and came arrowing right for the cardboard box. But that son of a bitch DelVecchio not only stayed put like glue; he managed to reach in through the open window, grab the wheel, and crash the sedan into a Dumpster four feet in front of the goddamned victim.
As the air bags exploded and the engine let out a vicious hiss, Veck was thrown up and over the trash bin - and Jose knew he was going to remember the sight of that man airborne for the rest of his life, the guy's suit jacket blown open, his gun on one side and his badge on the other flashing as he flew without wings.
He landed flat on his back. Hard.
"Officer down!" Jose hollered as he ran for his partner.
But there was no telling that SOB to stay still or even a chance to help him up. Veck jumped onto his feet like the f**king Energizer bunny and lurched over to the knot of officers who had surrounded the driver with guns drawn. Shoving the others out of the way, he ripped open the driver's-side door and pulled out a partially conscious photo poacher who was one last pastrami and rye away from a heart attack: The bastard was as fat as Santa Claus and had the ruddy coloring of an alkie.
He was also having trouble breathing - although it wasn't clear whether that was from inhaling the powder of the air bag or the fact that he'd made eye contact with Veck and clearly knew he was about to get a beat-down.
Except Veck just dropped him and dived into the car, pawing his way through the deflated bags. Before he could get hold of the camera and bust it to dust, Jose jumped in.
"We need that for evidence," he barked, as Veck outted himself and lifted his arm over his head like he was going to slam the Nikon down on the pavement.
"Hey!" Jose two-handed the guy's wrist and threw all his weight into his partner's chest. Christ, the f**ker was a big bastard - not just tall, but jacked - and for a split second, he had to wonder whether he was going to get anywhere with this manhandling bullshit.
Momentum turned the tide, however, and Veck's back slammed into the side of the car.
Jose kept his voice calm in spite of the fact that he had to use all his strength to keep the guy in place. "Think about it. You kill the camera, we can't use the picture he took against him. You hear me? Think, damn you ... think."
Veck's eyes shifted over and locked on the perp, and frankly, the lack of crazy in them was a little disturbing. Even in the midst of manic, physical exertion, DelVecchio was strangely relaxed, utterly focused ... and undeniably deadly: Jose got the sense that if he let the other detective go, the camera wasn't the only thing that was going to be irreparably damaged.
Veck looked entirely capable of killing in a very calm, competent way.