“No,” Gavin said bluntly, and took the missing persons report from Warren, glancing at it before he spoke again. “Up until six months ago, Francine lived in an upper-class suburban neighborhood. She was a dentist and now she’s dead in a slum? Killed like this? What in the hell was Francine Donohue doing here and for that length of time? Who was she hiding from? And what was her connection to Jeanne Coleman? This is what I want to know because there’s no way this can be random. This is not the work of some serial killer. And damn it, this isn’t some gang killing either.”

The small group grew quiet after Gavin’s rant.

“What was the first victim’s occupation?” Val asked, her voice soft. Gavin stared at her. She was scrutinized as much as her question and wanted to crawl away, wishing that she’d never said anything at all.

“Jeanne Coleman didn’t have one,” he answered. “She was a recluse.”

“Jesus, nothing in this case makes any sense,” Howie said.

“Certainly not anymore,” Gavin said, and entered the apartment.

Val followed the group in. Howie stopped to talk to a few people who were standing just inside the doorway. As she waited for him to finish, she watched the production unfolding. The experience seemed surreal as the number of people entering the small apartment grew larger by the second. Crime-scene technicians and uniformed officers hurried in, all discussing the course of action they were to take. They carried an array of equipment. Some had cameras around their necks. All wore jackets and name badges listing who they were and what they were there to do. Outside, commotion from reporters and bystanders created a steady hum in the background.

Howie walked away from the conversation and motioned towards Val to come too. She trailed after him down the hallway. She knew where they were going and what she was about to see. As they entered the bedroom, she held her breath and quickly looked around.

A team of technicians was busy collecting evidence and two more were photographing it. Gavin and Warren talked with several officers.

“So far we found one set of prints. They’re on the ceiling in the closet over there,” the one officer said. “The ceiling obviously had a repair. Water damage can be seen. The prints more than likely belonged to the person who fixed it.”

Very few people were around the bed and when Howie moved closer to it, Val went too, now able to see what remained of Francine Donohue. On the pillow lay what appeared to be a complete set of human teeth. They had been ripped from the victim’s jaws. This was obvious. Some had pieces of bone still attached while others possessed remnants of clinging tissue. All were covered in dried blood. Val winced at the sheer violence of it all. God, I hope she was dead before any of this started.