Chapter 8

For the love of God, get your mind on the crime scene.

It wasn't the first time Sawyer had admonished himself since getting here—two minutes before Bashir, and it had taken all of his self-control not to stare at him as he got out of his car, like his appearance would have changed in twenty minutes.

It kind of had, though. The man Sawyer had gone to dinner with—funny and relatable and clever—was still there, but he was covered by the veneer of the very professional Dr. Ramin, who put on his gloves, mask, and shoe covers with the air of someone beginning a solemn ritual before going over to the body.

The very, very curious body.

"It's weird, right?" Huerta murmured to Sawyer as they stood aside and let Bashir get to work.

"Yeah, I'd say finding a body with the eyes and tongue removed is pretty weird," Sawyer said.

"No, not that! I mean, yes that, but I mean specifically compared to the other murders! Because it's not hard to figure out that the tongue and eyes were removed post- mortem, but the body was definitely killed here because you don't lose that much blood without cacking real fast, and I bet the lividity shows that—"

Sawyer turned more fully to the young crime scene investigator. "You're that sure they're connected?"

"Of course! It's the only thing that makes sense when you take in the statistical occurrence of murders in this city, not to mention the deliberate nature of the presentation and the…oh. I…uh. Huh." Huerta made a face. "I guess it does sound kind of incriminating of me when I say it like that, doesn't it?"

"Just a little." Not that Sawyer thought Huerta was involved in these murders or any murder outside his job, but the guy was utterly oblivious to social norms. "Why don't you go stand over with Officer Doran for a while? I think he could use a distraction." He'd been the first on the scene again, and while this death wasn't nearly as gory as the first one the young officer had had to deal with, he had still been white-faced and shaky when Sawyer got there. He'd sent the young man to tape things off and hold back anyone who might be out for a late-night stroll behind a grocery store—eh, stranger things had happened.

"Okay!" Huerta bounced off toward the unsuspecting Officer Doran, and Sawyer was finally able to get some one-on-one time with Bashir again.

Or rather, Dr. Ramin. Which was fine, he liked both aspects of the guy.

"Do you have an idea about the cause of death?" he asked as he stopped about five feet away. There was no sense in risking more contamination of the scene.

"The stab wound through the chest seems like a good candidate, although I really can't rule anything out." Bashir gestured at the slash through the man's flannel shirt and the formerly white T-shirt below it. "Although I've got to say, if that is the cause of death, it's either the luckiest strike ever or this man was drugged before he was killed."

Sawyer nodded. People had a lot of misconceptions about being attacked with knives, and one of them was the idea that all it took was a single strike and you'd be done for. Sawyer had had to tackle a man who'd been stabbed over twenty times, five minutes into a brutal fight, because the guy just wouldn't go down. He'd seen another man's neck slashed open—the kind of slash that sprayed arterial blood all over the place—and yet the guy had stayed on his feet for a full minute after the fact, ranting and swinging a crowbar around until he finally passed out. Both men had survived, too.

"Yeah, that would be a hell of a lucky strike."

"If he was drugged," Bashir went on, "then there might be some sort of connection to the type of drug used and removing the eyes and tongue, possibly as a means of lessening our chances of identifying the drug itself, but…that's really not how toxicology works." He was staring at the victim's pants now.

Sawyer followed his gaze. Huh. The fly on the jeans was unzipped.

Bashir narrowed his eyes. "Not much I can conclude here. Not until I've autopsied him."

Sawyer nodded. "Your people should be here soon, right?"

"Right." He smiled suddenly. "This might be the first time Tami was ever glad to hear me on a night call."

"Oh?"

"Yes. She was a little…less than enthusiastic about the prospect of you and I going on a date."

Overprotective staff. Got it.

Sawyer already knew she didn't like him or his interest in Bashir; she hadn't gone out of her way to hide the fact. It figured that she'd be protective of her boss. "Think of how disappointed she's going to be when she sees that I'm the detective on the scene."

Bashir's smile vanished. No, wait, come back. "Where's your partner?"

"Detective McKay has something personal to deal with right now. I've got a temporary partner until things settle down, but I told her not to come out tonight." Which Nan hadn't liked, but tough cookies.

"Ah." Bashir paused. "Is Mrs. McKay all right?"

Of course Bashir knew about Molly. This was a decent-sized city, but not so big that there wasn't a lot of cross-talk between city employees. Sawyer knew for a fact that Selina at dispatch was the biggest gossip on the force, and she had friends everywhere. Besides, Molly's illness was…not exactly fresh news. "As much as she ever is these days." He didn't say a word about Kurt's drinking or the family flying in for what could be the end. There was a line between accepted gossip and private matters, and he wasn't about to breach it. "Is there an ID for the victim?"

"He had his wallet on him, actually, as well as a medical alert bracelet." Bashir stared down at the body, one gloved hand on the dead man's wrist, almost like he were feeling for the nonexistent pulse. "His name is Gerard Johnson, and he's allergic to shellfish."

Gerard Johnson. Sawyer nodded and pulled out his phone, which buzzed at him before he could call up Nan. New notification from…his sister?

Shit.

Well, she was going to have to wait. He thumbed through to Nan's contact and dialed .

She picked up after the first ring. "Do you need me on scene?"

It seemed like someone was suffering from a bit of desk fatigue. "No, it's fine," Sawyer assured her, and he could practically hear her deflate. "We have an ID, though, if you want to start looking into the victim."

"Shoot."

"Stabbed, actually."

Nan sighed. "You're not funny."

Sawyer was pretty sure he was a little bit funny, but he let it go and read off the victim's information to her. "It's definitely a murder, so be careful reaching out to family," he finished, remembering the terrible scene last time with Christopher White's parents. "We should set up interviews as soon as possible in the morning."

"Got it. Do you think we'll have more information from the M.E.'s office by then?"

Sawyer glanced over at Bashir, who was in the process of loading the victim onto a stretcher with his assistant. "Maybe. Depends on what shows up during the autopsy. Bashir is taking him now, so—"

"I'm sorry, who is taking him now?"

Sawyer rolled his eyes. "It's not like I was going to call him ‘Dr. Ramin' on our date, Nan."

"Oh, shit." Her tone veered from teasing to apologetic. "Of course this had to happen right in the middle of your date. Damn it, Sawyer, you should have let me take it."

"It's not like I could have continued the date anyway, since Bashir was called in at the same time," he pointed out.

"Still…"

Sawyer gave in. "I promise to help you get out of the office soon, all right? Your wife is going to kill me if she finds out, though. "

Nan made a zzzzip -ing sound. "My lips are sealed," she promised, then ended the call.

Sawyer checked in with the scene commander and updated his captain before he turned back to the victim and saw Bashir taking off his gloves. The body was loaded into the van, which was just starting to pull out. He'd apparently missed Tami. What a shame.

Sawyer picked his way over to Bashir. "Anything else you can share before an official autopsy?"

Bashir frowned at the spot where the body had been. "It's just a hunch at this point, but I think the evidence definitely points to the victim being drugged. There's nothing I can see that would indicate he fought back."

"That's similar to the first two murders, then."

"It is, but…" He shook his head. "There's something that seems different. The first murder was staged so elaborately, like there was a genuine effort to hide the fact that the death wasn't accidental. And the second…again, there was a lot of work put into making the death unusual, even though a toxin was definitely involved. This time, it's almost as though…I don't know, as though the killer was rushed. Cutting out the eyes and tongue—those are brutal, but I'm positive they were post-mortem wounds. Apart from the stab wound to the chest, that's all I've been able to confirm so far. So what was the point?"

That was a good question. The victim—Gerard—was an average-looking man in his mid-thirties, with tan skin and brown hair. He wore a polo shirt, khakis, a pair of black tennis shoes that could double as more formal loafers at first glance…why target him?

Why target any of these people? Maybe the investigation would turn up something interesting in the victim's background this time .

"I don't know," Sawyer said, "but I'll keep you updated."

"Thanks." Bashir's frown turned into a rueful smile. "I wish we'd gotten to finish our date."

"You'll just have to let me take you on another one." There wouldn't be a lot of time—not with three bizarre unsolved murders in as many days—but he'd make it work, damn it.

Bashir's smile became more genuine. "Maybe breakfast next time? I know a great place for it."

"That sounds perfect." They stared at each other, smiling obliviously, until Sawyer said, "It would be really bad form for me to kiss you at a murder scene, right?"

"Right…yeah, I better—I need to get back to the—"

"Yeah, and I should—"

"Right."

"Yes."

"Okay." Bashir nodded firmly, then extended his hand. "I'll see you later, Detective Villeray."

Sawyer shook his hand. Bashir's grip was warm compared to his own; he really didn't want to let go, but he was aware that he didn't have a choice. "I look forward to it, Dr. Ramin." Sawyer watched him go, then straightened his shoulders and turned back to the scene.

Time to help Officer Doran with interviews.

Having Nan as his temporary partner made things that used to feel like a heavy lift take way less effort than Sawyer was used to. By the time he got back to the station, she'd already gotten a background check done on the victim, informed his family of the situation, and set up interviews for the next day. "Which I'm happy to take lead on," she said, "because Christine and the kids have gone to her parents' place for the weekend and if I spend too much time at home I'll just end up cleaning the house for forty-eight hours straight."

"And that's a bad thing?" Sawyer asked.

"It is if I'm doing it by myself," she said. "Go home for a while. No one's coming in until the afternoon, you can get some rest."

Sawyer took Nan's advice. He went home, stared longingly for a moment at the nice suit he'd intended to wear on his date with Bashir and hadn't even had time to change into, showered, and fell into bed. He slept for six solid hours, a miracle during an investigation like this, and he could have slept even longer if not for the sound of his phone on the verge of buzzing itself off the bedside table. Sawyer grabbed it and answered instantly. "H'lo?"

"Sawyer! I've been trying to get in touch with you for forever! Where have you even been?"

"Jessica?" Why was his sister calling him at…he checked the clock…ten in the morning? "What's wrong? Is Chloe okay?" Chloe was her daughter.

She tsked. "Chloe's fine."

"Do you need someone to bail you out?"

" Sawyer ." There was genuine hurt in her voice. "I haven't asked you for bail money in years, why would you even go there?"

Sawyer groaned. She was right, it was rude, but… "Give me a break, I just woke up."

"It's ten in the morning where you are. Why are you just waking up?"

It was no use trying to explain a cop's schedule to his sister. After her second course of rehab—the one that actually made a difference—Jessica had decided to design her life around a strict schedule: waking up at six, meditating, eating a light breakfast, having a run, doing her green tea ceremony…by nine o' clock every morning she was already well into her day, and she never went to bed later than ten at night. It made life better for her—made it easier to manage the tough times—and Sawyer would never say a word against it.

Not even when he wished he was still asleep. He could have had hours more sleep if she hadn't decided to call him at New York o'clock… "I'm sorry. Why are you calling?"

"Can't I just want to talk to you?"

"Not at ten in the morning," he replied. "Don't you usually save this hour for yoga?"

"Pilates, actually, but I decided to switch it out for an afternoon block because I have something I've got to talk to you about."

That sounded serious. "Is it Mom?" The other option was their father, but Sawyer hoped it wasn't anything to do with that man. He'd gone no-contact with him a decade and a half ago, and he wasn't budging unless Pierre Villeray was on his deathbed. Maybe not even then.

"No, she's fine too. She's in Milan for Fashion Week right now. No, this is about an opportunity I just got!"

Oh, that sounded promising. Jessica hadn't worked in Hollywood in years, all her latest efforts going to Broadway, but he knew she wanted to. "Is this about a role?"

"It is, although the role would be for Chloe, not for me. I would be in the position of producer."

"Wow, that's great."

"It is!" Some of her enthusiasm bled away. "But there's a tiny little bit of a catch."

Not so great. "What kind of catch?"

"Well…" It turned out, the show was a variation on the de tective theme—a young, super-smart female officer haunted by her tortured past, solving crimes right out from under the noses of older cops all while hunting down the serial killer who had murdered her parents and running a true crime podcast on the side. It sounded rote, to be honest, but rote was a decent way for an actor to get consistent work if they weren't being chosen for tentpole movie roles.

"It's a pretty new effort," his sister went on. "And we don't have many experts lined up to consult with on the actual police work aspect of things yet."

"So you want me as a consultant?" That sounded…possibly tolerable.

"Exactly!" Jessica sounded pleased. "We're working on the pilot episode right now, and as soon as my writer heard about that crazy chainsaw thing in your city, I knew we—"

"Wait. What?"

"The chainsaw murder! Hello? It's all over the crime vlogs right now."

How had it gotten all over the crime vlogs? What the hell?

"—just so exciting," his sister was saying. "I mean, that's the sort of thing you only hear about in movies, but now it's happening in real life! My writer is really into verisimilitude, so as soon as I told him I could get the details of what really happened from you, he jumped on it."

Sawyer ran his hand down his face. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you're asking about a case we're actively investigating." He was irritated and didn't bother to hide it. "A case that's only a few days old. I have no idea who started talking about it, but I hope whoever it was stops, because there's nothing I can tell you. If you want to write about a chainsaw murder so bad, make some shit up or research another one."

"No!" Jessica protested. "Part of the selling point of this show is the idea that we're drawing directly from real life, from things that are happening almost right now ! It's what will make it stand out in a sea of similar content. We can't just start ‘making shit up' or no one will watch it!"

"Then no one watches it."

"Sawyer." Oh, that was her pleading voice. "Come on. You know how badly I need a break. And this could mean amazing things for Chloe's career, too."

"Chloe is working on two different shows right now. Her career is fine."

Jessica scoffed. "Are you kidding me? It's Netflix. There's no certainty that another season is going to be picked up. And you didn't hear it from me, but that bitch of a lead in Uncanny slept with the director and got him to promise her that he'd kill Chloe's character off in three more episodes. By this time in a month, she could be completely out of work."

"Then she can try out for something else like everybody has to."

" I've got the next big thing for her!" Jessica insisted. "This is a show that could make her into a household name! We've got interest from HBO!"

"You don't even have a pilot yet."

"Sawyer!"

He gritted his teeth. He hated upsetting his sister, but there were a dozen good reasons he kept his distance from anything related to show business at this point. She should have known better than to ask him in the first place. "You know I only want the best for you and Chloe, but I'm not going to break confidentiality about a case just to give you a few more titillating facts to throw into your maybe-show. I want you to keep my name off this project, and don't ask me for help on this again."

Jessica started to cry. "I can't believe you're doing this to me!" she gasped out. "How can you be so cruel to us? To family !"

"Good luck with the project," he said, then ended the call.

Well. That was not how he'd hoped his morning would go. Still, there was nothing else he could do. His sister would forgive him…or she wouldn't, but either way, Sawyer wasn't going to compromise a case for her. He hoped she left well enough alone and found another murder to write about. Jesus, it sounded so macabre when he put it that way.

It was macabre either way. And he wasn't going to be a part of it. His sister could bitch as hard as she wanted.

Let's hope she stops here. If I have to talk to Mom too… Ugh.

He needed coffee to face the day now. Lots of it.

Even work had to be better than this.