I thought that had to be the apex of disgusting, and as far as the ick meter went.
This came close. What the building manager had found beyond that apartment door jumped right over awkward and landed smack dab on bizarre.
Sar Gedeon had gotten away from his wife. Too bad he hadn’t had similar success with his murderer.
And it was most definitely a murder.
The dead elf was shirtless, as if the killer wanted to show off his work. Though at least he still had his pants on. His killer had apparently decided to confine his work to above the waist.
Gedeon’s hands were clenched into claws, and the palms and insides of the fingers had been burned black. So much for the source of the burned brisket smell. The other burned body part was the skin over and around the breastbone. It had been branded with a single hoofprint. Though considering the presence of the sulfur smell, I figured we weren’t dealing with a homicidal cow.
The brand was either a signature by the demon that had done the burning, or the way it had held down the elf while it—or a partner in crime—had caused what looked to me, a non-medical professional, as the likely cause of death.
A gaping hole in Sar Gedeon’s chest.
Ian approached the body, careful not to step on any stain or splatter, squatted down next to the chest, and looked inside.
His brow creased. “That’s interesting.”
Only a man who’d spent five years as a homicide detective in the NYPD and the seven years before that doing something in the military that he wouldn’t (or couldn’t) talk about would describe the inside of a man’s open chest as “interesting.” Made me wonder what it’d take to make my partner regret eating lunch, which made me know I didn’t want to find out.
However, being the curious type, I found Ian’s description irresistible.
I went to where Ian squatted, leaned over his shoulder, and took a peek.
And regretted it.
Curiosity wouldn’t kill a cat, but getting a gander of this could make it hork up one heck of a hairball. Right now, I was about to do something similar.
I’d heard our folks who dealt with bodies as part of their jobs carried a little jar of Vicks with them. Constantly. On duty or off. With SPI, you never knew when off duty could turn to very much on duty.
Back in North Carolina’s pollen-filled spring and fall seasons, Vicks was my best friend. Some nights I was so stuffy I couldn’t get to sleep without a swipe of that wondrous eucalyptus-scented goop under my nose. Since coming to New York, my allergies were gone. My Vicks was buried in the dark recesses of the cabinet under my bathroom sink. When I got home, I was going spelunking.
I already carried Dramamine and Tums. Now I was adding Vicks. I’d only been on the job a year and I was already carrying around my own starter pharmacy.
Ian had his phone out. The pick up on the other end was quick. Ian’s communication was even faster. “We’ve got a demon, Class Five or higher.”
That’d send the folks at headquarters scrambling. Classes of demons went up to twelve. In my opinion, five was bad enough. Anything higher wasn’t known for having a light enough touch to leave a brand. We wouldn’t have found a hole in the victim’s chest; we’d have found a hole where the vic had been squashed into the floor.
Not all demons had cloven hooves, but no other supernatural did—except for satyrs and minotaurs, and neither one of those could radiate heat through their bodies to burn hands and brand a chest.
“You’re sure it wasn’t a branding iron?” I didn’t think it was, but it never hurt to hope.
“The burns on Gedeon’s hands weren’t made by grabbing a branding iron,” Ian said. “The fingers are spread the same width apart and burned in the same places. Our vic was grabbing a demon’s leg. The span of his hands indicates a larger demon, at least Class Five. The cloven hoof was holding him down while the demon’s partner cut his chest open and ripped his heart out.”
My lip curled. “That looks a bit jagged for a knife. Maybe a claw?”
Ian looked closer at the inside of the elf’s ruined chest. “A possibility. Good catch.”
My lip twisted further. “Thanks.”
“Do you see any other evidence to support that?”
Only my partner would turn a gruesome murder scene into a pop quiz.
“The lack of blood and dark edging around the entry wound suggests cauterization.” I managed a swallow, though it was more of a gulp to keep from gagging. “And what blood is there is blackened.” I gulped again, any attempt at cool and casual be damned. “Like it was heated.”
Ian nodded approvingly. “Nice.”
None of this was nice . . . not sight, nor smell, nor oily feel on my skin from the brimstone and burned flesh.
It’d take me a while before I’d be able to eat barbeque again. And for a Southern girl, that was a crime in itself.
The NYPD knew Sar Gedeon as a human drug lord. If they’d come in here now, they would have found him dead, sporting Spock ears, a cauterized hole in his torso, no heart, and a hoofprint branded into his chest. I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that investigation.
“So what would your precinct buddies have to say about this one?” I asked, putting a couple steps distance between me and the elf brisket.
“From a human viewpoint, we’ve got cosplay with the ears, possible devil worship with the brand, and apparent human sacrifice. This case would drive them crazy, but they’d love the challenge. I never thought I’d say anything like this, but knowing elves and demons are real can certainly simplify an investigation.” One side of his mouth quirked in a quick grin. “Makes me damned glad I came over to the dark side.”