Bad Blood

Chapter 4 - Blood in the Hotel Room

The hotel had already been cordoned, the level evacuated by the time Alistair arrived. He was still in his tuxedo, his shirt half-buttoned and crumpled, the bowtie around his neck unfolded. His hair was disheveled as if he dived in the most deviant debaucheries of Denerim last night and had just woken up from an alcohol-infused nightmare. He wished he hadn't, then he at least had had an excuse. But the ugly truth was alcohol became like water for him. It kept him alive for another pointless day. He felt so pathetic and unprofessional. Maybe he was really just a white-washed policeman with pet cases, who got a fancy office for his half-blue blood after all.

He still felt the taste of her lips and suddenly she slipped into his thoughts again.

Solona Amell.

He savored her name on his tongue, a sweet candy the ghost of her touch had left behind.

He grunted as stepped out of the elevator and passed through the police cordon. He had other things to worry about rather than thinking of women. Or one woman in particular. Cullen was already there, fresh and clean, looking very spick-and-span, as always. He was taking notes into his cheap notebook, as always. He was drinking from a hip flask, medicines for his headache, as always. He was the better and more dutiful of the two of them. And he wondered why Cullen stuck with him at Homicides. He was clean after all, got his damned promotion, he should have been at the drug corps by now, or back in the FBI where he belonged. This stint was supposed to be a secondment, after all. He never really understood why he left the Bureau for the Yard.

The crime scene was a disaster zone. With the working had officers already rummaging through the place collecting the clues, combing every hidden nook, the place looked like a tornado had torn through it. With blood. A tornado of blood. The flash of the camera recorded every single detail. And yet, Alistair wondered how much crucial evidence they destroyed along the way, things they thought were meaningless, with their stomping great boots. How many pieces of the jigsaw would be missing this time?

Alistair's feet brought him to the corpse lying face down on the huge ornate canopy bed, naked. Where the skull should have been was a mess of mangled skull and tissue, blood and brain splattered everywhere on the mattress. The sheets were a deep burgundy red of congealed blood. As he stared at the scene, he marveled at how immune he had become to the view of corpses as a detective, while other deaths haunted him night and day. He saw their faces, their blood sparkling red and fresh, while the man who lay before him was just a carcass.

He noticed something next to the bed, a small vial, the cerulean contents spilled on the nightstand. Alistair heard it singing to him, strongly and alluring and he wondered if Cullen also noticed it. If he did, Cullen was doing a good job ignoring it.

"Lyrium, in that case, you wouldn't recognize," a female voice called him. Alistair turned to the coroner, the ebony-haired woman, picking up the pieces of skull from the polished oak parquet. "I have a wonder, Alistair if you indulge me."

"Ah, there you are. I was starting to miss you," he sighed. "Do I have a choice to not answer, Morrigan?" He didn't have to look at her to know she was there. Tall, slender, hair tied back in a messy bun. Probably wearing a gray suit with a pencil skirt under that white lab coat she wore. He glanced at her. And she was. Deep purple shirt today too. Must be date night.

"None, actually. I was simply wondering if this... neglected outfit of yours is the new regular uniform of the Yard detectives?" she asked, not even looking at him.

"Well, yes, This is from this summer's collection following the latest fashion crimes. This one is called ' The Broderick '. You like it?" he said, the snark dripping from his voice. He swept his eyes across the white lab coat of the woman, stained with blood. She had the reek of the morgue. Formaldehyde and rotting flesh. He always thought Morrigan preferred the company of the dead over the living ones. At least she acted like it. "I had a hard night, so let's just stick to the business."