Soul Survivor (9 page)

“I'm sure,” I snapped. “I have it knitted onto a scarf my mama made when I was a child. It's back at my apartment if you need to see it. This is sloppy, but it's my crest. Without a doubt.”

Damien and Adrienne's eyes locked as if they could communicate without words.

“You mentioned that the first victim had Celtic runes too, right?”

Adrienne nodded. “Yes. We haven't seen her in person obviously, but that's what we were told. We'll finish here and then go see her, as well.”

After clearing his throat, Damien pointed out some of the other slashes along Moe's body. “These lashes look like they were made with a switch or something that would have hit hard and fast. It's not the work of a knife or a blade of any kind.”

“They're erratic and wild,” Adrienne continued for him, looking closer at one slice particularly. She looked again at her file in hand. “We'll have more information post-autopsy, but for now the cause of death is being cited as suffocation.”

“In a public square?” The doubt must have been evident on my face because George started rubbing my back in circles, taking over where Adrienne left off.

“We're just going off of what's in the file, Monica,” she said quietly.

“May I see it?” I held out a hand, palm up.

“What? You're actually going to
read
one of the files?” Damien said.

I rolled my eyes and snatched it from his hand. “Don't be sarcastic, Damien. You don't wear it well.” He smirked and bent to look closer at the body. We both knew I was lying. He did sarcasm in the hottest way possible.

I sat in the chair by the door and started flipping through the pictures. Because of the death's public display, there were crowds of people surrounding Moe's body. He had been staked to a bulletin board in the middle of the town in a Christ-like fashion—hands outstretched, feet bound together. It was the sort of community board where people could hang flyers and business cards. “He was just a farmer,” I murmured. “How the Hell does he tie into another murder of a young woman?”

“Could just be random profiling. No rhyme or reason to why he chooses his victims,” Adrienne said while looking under his fingernails. “It looks like he put up a fight. We'll find out if there's any DNA under here soon enough.”

I remembered what Damien had said back in April—many times, the surrounding scenery holds the clue, not just the body itself. Something as simple as the dirt from the murderer's shoe can be enough to convict. Scanning the picture, I looked at the pavement. The statue. The crowd. Swimming in a sea of faces was one I recognized. In the front row to the right of the body—those hard black eyes. Chiseled, angular features. Skin so deathly pale, it was almost translucent. The mystery man who had helped save me six months ago. The vampire who had turned me from angel to demon. Dejan.