The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

Chapter Nine

 "This way!" Gin called out as she raced down the road.

Booker and Trinket chased after the street urchin as she led them through the city center. Adrenaline pounded through Trinket's veins, and she could tell from the look on Booker's face that he was ready to burst with excitement as well.

There was a crowd up ahead, and the three of them slowed as they neared it. People swarmed around the flower shop, staring up in horror at Mr. Wotton's body still hanging from the lamp post.

"How did I not see that?" Gin said, gawking at the corpse as it swayed in the wind.

"The police will be here shortly, I suspect," Trinket said.

"Yes," Booker agreed. "So they'll be too preoccupied to notice three individuals engaging in potentially shady activities."

He flashed an impish grin. Trinket wanted to disapprove, but Gin returned his grin with one of her own. "Come on, we'll turn around and take Clark Lane so we don't attract attention," the urchin said.

They wove in and out of streets and alleyways, and between the blinding snow and her shortness of breath, Trinket found herself becoming incredibly disoriented. Nevertheless, she held on tight to Booker's arm, trusting that Gin knew where she was going.

At last, they stopped in front of the Tinker's shop. It was dark inside; even the windows of the apartment above the shop were pitch black. However, lying only feet away from the front door was a body. The snow had begun to accumulate on top of it, and though it wasn't enough to hide it completely, it did help the corpse blend in with its surroundings.

"I was checking for lost change on the street when I stumbled across it," Gin said as she stared at the body. "Came running right for you soon as I realized what it was."

Booker crouched down and scanned the body carefully while Trinket checked the surrounding area, looking for footprints or some sign of how the victim had been killed. But there was no blood, no struggle, just like with the last body. There were footprints, but they led in all different directions, and she assumed they were from innocent passersby.

"Trinket, look at this," Booker breathed as he nudged the corpse's arm with his walking stick.

She approached and knelt down beside him. It was another woman, this one older than the first, perhaps in her late thirties. She was emaciated and stiff, her skin the pale color of death that Trinket was becoming very familiar with. Unlike the previous body, though, this one was only half-dressed. Her upper half was laid bare, covered only by the layer of snow that was piling up on her chest. While Trinket should have been appalled at seeing a woman's breasts hanging free, her attention was seized by the corpse's arms. They seemed to have something attached to them. Something thin and flabby, like leather or skin.

"What is that?" she asked, afraid to raise her voice above a whisper.

"I have no idea, but it certainly doesn't belong on a human," Booker said. "Much like—"

"Bird talons," Trinket finished.

"I did good, right?" Gin said, the self-satisfaction clear on her face.

Booker smiled warmly at her as he rose to his feet. "As always, your work is superb."

"What do we do now?" asked Trinket, still staring at the body.

Standing with his chin in his hand, he gazed at the body for a moment. Then, without warning or explanation, he whipped off his wool coat and draped it over the woman's exposed body. Trinket raised her eyebrows, surprised at his sudden sense of decency. However, when he hauled the corpse onto her stiff, useless feet, it was clear he was up to something risky.