“A lesser Fae fairly called and enslaved wouldn’t have a choice.”
“Yes, but how many humans know how to summon a Faerie these days? And I repeat, what the hell would they want with a corpse?” I swirl the tea in my cup to keep my hands busy.
“Perhaps she was a changeling?” He arches a dark brow.
“Let’s go with your theory.” I salute him with the mug. “What good could she be to them, deceased?”
“They honor their species. Perhaps they wanted to bury her among her own people in their land?”
I wrinkle my nose. “They’re careful. If Faeries crossed over, we would never ever know.”
“Yes. Faeries are far too cunning. Unless their goal was to make mischief?” He poses his question like a query.
I shake my head. “That’d be morbid. Even for them.”
“Are you sure there was nothing was unusual about the victim?”
“Trust me, Miles. We all scoured her records, house, school, and online history. The woman should be instated to sainthood.”
“Hmmm.” He picks up a packet of Jammie Dodgers, opens the wrapper, and shakes two out for me, keeping two for himself. He knows my pension for British sweets. I take a bite of the buttery biscuit with jelly filling and hum my approval.
“Perhaps,” he pauses to chew and swallow, “they were making something?”
I cover my hand with my mouth. “What?” I ask around the cookie.
“The humans. Maybe they needed the parts for a spell or a magical weapon.”
I wash down the cookie with tea. “Short of bringing a monster made of pieced together parts to life, I’d say nay. A hand of glory requires a murder’s hand. Things of that nature tend to come from beings who exude serious darkness, so it doesn’t fit.”
“Or the opposite. Sometimes what’s needed is purity.”
“Then we’d be getting into virgin sacrifices and blood magic. She was dead already. It wouldn’t do any good to take from her.”
“And we’re at an impasse.” Miles sighs. “Perchance it was a random bout of human insanity. People don’t always have a reason for their strange and horrific actions.”
“I’d feel better about leaving it at that if I knew the how.” There’s a riddle I have no idea how even to begin to solve. How does one remove a body from a grave, cause catastrophic damage concentrated in one place, and only leave behind faint footprints and a few drops of blood? What group of people could gain power from that? Is it a cult with some whacked out initiation process?
“Did you run the DNA through the database?”
He sniffs. “Of course I did.” His words are acidic. “Whoever it is has never committed a crime … that they were caught for at any rate.”
I grunt. Another dead end. “Sorry, Miles. I want to get this figured out. I know you’re a pro at what you’re doing.”
He grants me a smile. I am forgiven. “I can tell you the person who bled is a male, more than likely Caucasian. Admittedly, I garnered more information from the prints you took. You’re looking for at least three males. In between the height of five-foot-nine-inches to six feet. They range from anywhere from one-hundred and seventy pounds, to two-hundred. I can tell you the make and model of their shoes, but to summarize two were in a pair of cheap steel-toe boots, and the other in gym shoes.”
“They don’t sound like they were very organized.”
“It wouldn’t appear so. Lucky for us, or we wouldn’t have prints or blood.”
“All we have to go by is three men, possibly tall and lean. At least one Caucasian, and all of an undetermined age?” The list of suspects that fit that description could fill a stadium.
“Indeed,” he says glumly.
“That’s broad as hell, Miles.” My shoulders slump. I feel the resolution of the case slip further away. I want to solve every case, but the truth is, a good chunk of them we can’t. I can show people how to protect themselves from further harm, but tracing the source isn’t an easy task.
“It is now. Later, after we’ve gleaned more information, there may be more we’ve missed. Forensics is a puzzle. You can only get the big picture one piece at a time. This is a patient man’s game.” He sips his tea, pinky up, and I swear he has never been more British. Right now, he’s the equivalent of a vampire Sherlock Holmes. All he needs to complete the look is a pipe, a tweed jacket, and a matching cap. My lips twitch.
“Did I say something amusing?” His puzzled expression is adorable.