Techs hustled around, trying to find evidence in the storm. Two figures in white struggled to somehow fix a tarp from one side of the creek to the other to protect the victim from the elements.

Angus caught the eye of a homicide cop standing to the side and then hustled toward him, ducking under the crime scene tape. “Thanks for calling me.” He waited until Nari had reached him. “HDD Special Agent Nari Zhang, please meet MPD Homicide Detective Tate Bianchi.”

Nari held out a slim hand and they shook, her dusky coloring a contrast to his deep black skin. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Ditto,” Tate said, with rain sliding down his strong face. He stood eye to eye with Angus at six-four and still looked as fit as he’d been years ago, when Angus had last worked with him. “You have to be quick, Force.” Tate released Nari’s hand. “The MPD’s Homeland Security Bureau received word that you’re no longer with HDD or FBI, and I got a special little note from the chief of police about you.”

“So you called Angus in anyway?” Nari asked softly.

Tate flashed a rare smile. “Of course. We also want to keep the feds away and keep this case ourselves, so I can only fight on so many fronts right now.” His deep brown eyes sobered. “No kidding. I can give you about five minutes and I’m going to get yelled at, regardless. This way.”

Angus followed him toward the tree and the victim, dropping to a crouch at the edge of the log. The woman appeared to be in her twenties, with pale skin marred by bruises and burns. Her chest gaped open, the ribs broken and the heart removed. The cuts looked smoother than on the previous victim. This woman’s long hair was wrapped over one side of the log, the rain having darkened it. “She’s blond?” Angus squinted to make out the color in the dark.

“Redhead,” Tate said. “Compared her hair to a white sheet of paper when we got here, but then it got wet, too. The body’s been here for at least a day, maybe more, and it’s rained the whole time.”

“You won’t find DNA from the killer anyway,” Angus said, standing. His heart raced. “When did she die?”

“At least a week ago,” Tate said. “I’ll compare her to the body last night. Makes me worry about tomorrow night, you know?”

Angus nodded. “This guy is definitely messing with us. Lassiter did like to play games.”

Tate’s shoulders straightened. “She’s not blond or particularly tall, Force. The MO is different. Before you ask, we’ve scoured the area, and no note. There’s no note for you. I think we have a copycat.”

Angus stood. “Did you see any tattoos on her?”