But why would a nonhuman want to strangle a human with wire? Hell, most nonhumans could achieve the same result one-handed.
Unless, of course, our killer didn't only want death, but pain as well.
Which would certainly account for the bitter taste of vengeance in the air.
I knew about vengeance. Kye's death had been an act of vengeance as much as it had been a requirement of my job. He'd been a killer - a ruthless, cold-blooded murderer. And yet he'd made my wolf soul sing, and she still ached for him.
Would probably always ache for him.
Cole offered me a box of gloves, forcing me to take a hand out of my pocket. If he noticed the shaking, he didn't say anything.
"As you can see, he's been strangled," he said. "He's probably been dead for about five hours, and there's no sign of a struggle."
"Meaning he was probably drugged beforehand." I couldn't imagine anyone not fighting such a death. Which didn't mean he wasn't conscious or feeling every brutal bit of it.
"Or," Cole said grimly, "that he was killed somewhere else and dumped here. There's very little blood on the ground."
I snapped on a pair of gloves then walked around to the opposite side of the body, squatting near the victim's neck. The bits of wire that weren't embedded or bloody shone brightly in the growing sunshine. "The wire looks new."
"Yeah. And we've got very little chance of tracing it back to the source."
Not when barbed wire was still a staple fencing material for most farms - and Melton, despite being a suburb of Melbourne, was surrounded by farms of one kind or another. I touched the victim's chin lightly, turning his head away from me so that I could see the back of his neck. The wire appeared just as deeply embedded at the back as it was the front. I wouldn't mind betting it had severed vertebrae.
"Who discovered the body?"
"Anonymous phone call." I raised my eyebrows at that, and he grinned. "Line trace said the call came from 12
Valley View Road. That's the white brick house above the lake."
I twisted around and looked at the row of neatly kept houses that lined the park. The curtains twitched in 12
Valley View, indicating we were being watched.
"Have the police interviewed the owner?"
"The police weren't called first. We were."
I frowned. "That's a little unusual, isn't it?"
He reached forward and plucked a bloody thread from one of the wires, putting it in a plastic bag before saying
"Not when you're reporting that the killer is a red-faced demon."
That raised my eyebrows. "Really?"
"Seriously." His gaze met mine. "My normal response would be to suggest the witness's alcohol intake might have been a little high, but Dusty found cloven hoofprints. Which supports the whole demon thing."
A laugh escaped, then I realized he was being serious. "But demons don't have cloven hooves."
"That we know of. But there's no saying there isn't a branch out there that has."
"I guess that's true." I shifted, my gaze sweeping the park. Neither Dusty nor Dobbs was in sight, and the morning was filled with the sound of children's laughter. It was a happy noise that seemed so out of place given the brutality that lay at our feet - although we'd certainly seen far worse over the years. And done worse. Like shooting a soul mate. I bit my lip for a moment, using one sort of pain to control another, then added, "Anything else worth knowing?"
"Nothing obvious at the moment. I'll send you the report as soon as it's done."
"Thanks." I rose and pulled off the gloves.