Ultraviolet ✔️

8.1

Chapter Eight

It's different seeing a place where someone died in the aftermath. When there are no officers, it just looks like a regular alley. Absent of a body, it's lost the lingering stench of tragedy and become just another location swallowed whole by the city of New York. I wonder how many people walk by, walk through, oblivious to what happened here.

I know I won't forget, not anytime soon, but I'm sure most bystanders have. I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad one.

Joel pulls some gloves on his hands, the latex snapping against his wrist. He begins to pull on the pipes, wiggling them to find which ones are loose. I wander further down into the alley, glancing around for any debris, any signs of where he might've left the murder weapon. I find none.

It was a slim shot, judging by the sort of killer we're dealing with here, but I figured I owed it to Valerie to look anyway, even if it didn't seem like I'd find anything.

"Why didn't the officers comb the area for possible weapons earlier?" I ask.

"The NYPD doesn't make a habit of dismantling public property unless absolutely necessary," answers Stan. "I honestly don't think any of us expected a murderer organized enough to premeditate this would turn around and use a weapon of convenience. It doesn't fit the MO."

"Or maybe it does," I argue. "Think about it; he could've scoped it out beforehand and looked for the right tool ahead of time. Then maybe it's not really a matter of convenience."

Joel seems impressed. "Look at you, Vi, you're already thinking like a detective."

"She's always been capable," Stan replies. "Enough talk. Make sure you look around. Be careful not to disturb too much."

Once more, we fan out, hoping for something to jump out. I know in my gut that there has to be some sort of clue here, even without knowing exactly what killed her. It only makes sense.

"Got anything?" Stan hollers over his shoulder.

Joel shakes his head, just as one of the pipes he's wriggling falls loose. It stops him cold, drawing our attention. He turns it over in his hands, examining it carefully.

"These things are rusty as can be," he observes, bringing it closer to him. "But that looks more like blood to me."

We're by his side in an instant, staring down at the very thing that could have taken the life of an innocent girl. Sure enough, even though most of it's been washed by the rain, the part of the pipe facing the building has what looks like blood splatter on it.

"We gotta get this to forensics," says Stan. "If it's hers, we might have something more to go off."

"He wouldn't forget gloves." I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, trying to imagine how the grisly scene played out. "I mean, if he planned it out, wouldn't he have used something as a barrier so he didn't leave prints?"

"He is an organized killer," Stan acknowledges. "That does make it a bit more challenging."

There's a lot about this meant to throw us off his trail. It's remarkable, really, how much Grant could've done to send us chasing our tails. On the surface, it might seem like a disorganized, sex crime, but it sure as hell is something deeper.

"You've got a fair point, but if this is the murder weapon and his alibi already doesn't check out, we can still arrest him and get him down to the station," Joel says. "Hopefully, he takes a plea deal. I have a feeling Karen won't leave him in for long otherwise, even if she knows just as much as the rest of us that something doesn't seem right."