Chapter 7

I endedup catching a ride with Belle to the crime scene, my head a little sore from my incident the previous night. I'd driven to the bureau on my bike and regretted it, almost wiping out twice.

My eyes remained closed as she drove, yet despite the insistent throbbing behind my eyelids, I asked questions. "Who called in the body?"

"Shopkeeper. He starts baking early and saw it the moment he arrived."

"Forced entry?"

"Yes. The perp covered the camera in the alley without being seen. Most likely by hugging the wall to reach it. Then they drilled through the lock."

"They came prepared to break in," I mused aloud. "Any clue as to why that particular shop?"

"You won't like it," Belle muttered.

"I don't like a lot of things."

"It's called Grandma's Sweets."

I managed to not groan. "Did the victim work there?"

"No. Although she might have visited, given it's close to her place of work."

"You mentioned something about the body being posed?" I happened to glance at Belle and saw her hands white-knuckling the steering wheel.

"The sicko slashed the poor girl's throat then lay her on the shop floor in a pool of her own blood. He grabbed a display basket from the window and filled it with goodies before wrapping her fingers around the handle and making them stick with some kind of adhesive."

"He glued her hand to it?" I couldn't hide my shocked exclamation.

"Yup. He also used a spatula to shape the puddle of blood so it looks like she's wearing a cape."

Next level depravity. "That's sick."

"You don't say," she huffed.

"Was she wearing red?" Given everything I'd heard so far, I already knew the answer.

"The picture I saw showed her in a red T-shirt."

"Dammit! I thought Hilda was going to put out a warning."

"She had a press conference scheduled for this morning. No one thought the killer would act so quickly."

"We're dealing with a psycho, though. Unpredictability is the whole name of the game."

Then again, not entirely unpredictable, we had someone targeting people wearing red, perverting the Red Cap curse.

The police cars and crime scene tape forced us to park a block away and walk over, pushing our way through the gawkers. Murder brought people out in droves, driven by morbid curiosity along with moral superiority at not being the victim.

We passed by the caution tape by flashing our badges. Patterson spotted us by the door to the bakery and waved us over.

I had my hands shoved in my pockets as I stopped a pace from him. "Hey, Chief. Heard it's an ugly one."

His jowly cheeks sagged more than usual. "She was just a kid. Turned twenty-one last month according to her driver's license."

"What do we know so far?" I asked, despite the recap I'd gotten on the way over. Belle took out her phone to take notes. We'd long ago ditched paper in an effort to save the planet. Ironic given the Grimm Effect seemed determined to pollute it with curses.

"Farrah Longley, age twenty-one, was on her way home from work." The chief pointed up the street. "Waitress for the Rockin' Ribs restaurant and bar."

"She live around here?"

Patterson shook his head. "The bus stop for the night route is a block past here. We figure the perp waited in an alley and grabbed her. I've got officers canvassing to see if anyone saw anything or caught her on camera. Also searching all the alleys to see if we can find any signs of struggle."

"Cause of death…" I knew but wanted to confirm.

"Throat slashed. She bled to death." The chief ducked his head. "Poor kid didn't stand a chance."

"Is the body still inside?"

"Yes. I thought you might want to see it before the coroner took it away."

Not really, but first impressions could make a difference and in-person beat a picture every day.

I glanced at Belle. "You coming in?"

She grimaced. "I'd rather not. You know I don't do well with violence." Unlike me, Belle avoided confrontation. She'd only come this time because she'd taken one look at me and said, "You should be in bed."

A bell jingled as I entered the bakery, the smell of goodies overwhelmed by the stench of death. The store had no chairs or tables, but a long glass-covered display case that acted as a counter ran almost the full length of one wall with shelves across from it on the other. I didn't pay it much mind. The floor, or what lay upon it, drew the eye—and twisted my stomach. Good thing I'd not eaten yet.

I ignored the officers suited up in white taking pictures and dusting for fingerprints; my eyes remained on the girl. Sprawled sideways, positioned as if she were skipping. Her hand glued to the basket full of muffins. The pool of blood that had been swirled to create a cape flowing at her back.

Utterly grotesque. But that wasn't the worst of it. The girl indeed wore a red shirt emblazoned with a company logo from her work, and she also had bright red hair. But something about her tresses seemed off. I crouched for a closer peek.

"See something?" Patterson had entered and stood at my back.

"You said you had a driver's license."

"Yes. Why?"

"Can I see it?" I didn't want to mention my hunch before I confirmed something.

Patterson muttered to someone, who popped out and returned with a sealed evidence bag. Patterson took it from the cop and then handed it to me. The driver's license picture sucked but clearly showed blonde hair. The description said blonde too.

I glanced at what I could see of the victim's scalp through the fiery-colored strands and muttered, "The killer dyed her hair."

"What?"

I pointed. "You can see the spots where the dye leached onto her forehead." A jagged red line. "It's also on her scalp." I glanced at Patterson. "Is it okay if I touch her hair?"

"Go ahead."

"Can I have a glove?" Someone handed me one, and once I had it on, I grabbed a tress and rubbed it between my fingers, the tips of them turned red immediately. "Fresh."

"Holy shit." Patterson blinked at me. "Why would he do that?"

Rather than spill my theory, I rose and snapped off the latex. "No idea, but we'll probably see it happening again with his next victim. You and the director need to put out a warning. No wearing red and people should stay inside at night. No roaming the streets if alone."

"That will cause panic," he remarked.

"Better panic than death." I emerged into bright sunshine, but it didn't warm the chill within.

Belle took one look and steered me away, murmuring, "You look like you've seen a ghost. What's wrong?"

"He dyed her hair red."

"Why?"

I turned a wry smile on her. "Because the killer is sending me a message."