The Cursing Stones

by Sonya Bateman

  I watched her blanch, close her eyes, and pull herself together. “All right,” she said under her breath. “Whoever or whatever you are, you’re going down.”

  She took her photos, and I helped her move the body out of the bag and onto the table. I handled the messy end. Once he was up and blocked on the autopsy table, she swapped her camera for scissors and started cutting away the remains of the suit.

  Halfway through one jacket sleeve, she froze and stared at the corpse’s arm. “I’ll be damned,” she said.

  “What?” I came around to her side of the table and looked. The man had a tattoo on his bicep — a dark blue cross with a loop at the top, flared arms, and a tapered point at the bottom that looked like a sword.

  For some reason, the sight of it chilled me.

  Viv pointed with the scissors. “The first victim had that same tattoo on his chest.”

  “Jesus. Two guys with fucked-up cross tattoos,” I said. “I think you’re going to have to drop the wolf theory.”

  She nodded faintly. “Actually, it’s a fucked-up ankh. But yes. The targeting is too specific.”

  “Abe’s going to love this. I don’t think he wanted to be right about the serial killer thing,” I said. “Want me to break it to him?

  She looked at me, but before she could say anything, my phone went off. “Hold that thought,” I said, and walked a few steps away. A glance at the screen told me I wasn’t going to be able to help Viv much more tonight. I tapped answer and said, “You’re killing me, Rufus. What now?”

  “The new kid quit.” Rufus Tamblin, my contact for residential pickups, had a voice like old gas station coffee — thick, burnt, and occasionally nasty. He’d brought me into this job, but he didn’t exactly run a well-organized ship. “Left a body on the stairs. Walk-up building, 1830 Lexington. It’s yours now.”

  “Come on, Rufus. I just—”

  I was talking to dead air. He’d already hung up.

  Holding back a string of colorful words, I shoved the phone in my pocket and turned to Viv. “Gotta run,” I said. “Apparently, there’s a stranded corpse over on Lexington with my name on it.”

  “So I guess you’ll be back?” she said with a smirk.

  “Yeah. Try not to have too much fun without me.”

  “I think I can manage that.”

  We said goodbye and I headed out to the van, thinking about pointed crosses and serial-killing wolves — and the anger I could still feel from the latest victim.

  This was going to be a hell of a case.

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