“That you, Detective Williams?” said the photographer, recognizing Daryl from other cases. “It’s hard to tell who anybody is these days. What are you doing here?”

“Long story,” said Daryl as all three entered the lobby. “Could be related to the Strangler investigation.”

“Right,” said the photographer. “I saw your recent press conference on TV.”

As they approached the obviously rattled doorman, Daryl flashed his badge. “We need to get into the Brandts’ apartment,” he said.

“Four officers are already up there,” said the doorman. “Third floor, 303.”

“Was there anyone here with her tonight?” said Daryl as he walked towards the elevator.

“Like I told the other officers. Ms. Brandt had a flower delivery about an hour ago,” said the doorman. “Come to think of it, I never saw him leave. Of course, I might have been helping one of the other tenants and missed him.”

Standing outside of Zoe’s slightly ajar front door, the detectives pushed it open, the photographer following behind them. From the large octagonal foyer, they could see furniture had been overturned indicating a struggle had taken place.

“Ms. Brandt,” Daryl called out. “It’s Detective Williams.”

“Ms. Brandt,” shouted Heather, as the three slowly walked down the hall towards the living room. “Zoe.”

A male voice called out. “We’re back here.”

Daryl and Heather walked under the tall, rounded archway leading into the living room, blood splatters covered one full wall. A heavyset man with dark hair lay face down in a puddle of blood next to the couch, a corkscrew with the word Justice printed on the handle was still in his hand.

“Holy shit,” said Heather looking around at the blood-covered room. “It’s like the prom scene from Carrie.”

“How did you get wind of this already?” said one of the three police officers in the room.

“Good news travels fast,” Daryl said as he and Heather walked towards the dead man’s body.

The photographer waved, showed his credentials and started taking pictures.

“Looks like he bled out from the wound in his neck,” said one of the police officers. “She got him right in the jugular. Lucky shot.”

“Where’s Ms. Brandt now?” said Heather, kneeling down next to the dead man, trying to avoid contaminating the pools of blood on the floor.

“In the shower,” said one of the officers. “Woman was covered in the victim’s blood. My partner, Helen, is waiting for her in the bedroom to make sure she doesn’t touch or move anything.”

“Why did you report this to the Strangler task force?” asked Heather.

“When the lady came to, she said the man tried to choke her,” said the first officer.

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