‘It’s theoretically possible the perp put the wedding band on someone else’s hand,’ Norman says. ‘I’d advise against telling the family until we’ve confirmed prints or DNA.’

‘I’d say they have a right to know,’ Thistle says.

‘They also have a right to not be jerked around,’ Norman responds.

‘What do you think happened?’ I ask Thistle. ‘Best guess.’

Thistle folds her arms across her chest. ‘I figure we’re being manipulated. The perp planted Biggs’s hand and his blood there to lead us off-track—or maybe he thinks he deserves to be caught, since he’s clearly unhinged. Violent impulses he can’t control, and maybe a loose grip on reality. There are a bunch of other possibilities, but that’s my gut feeling about what we’re dealing with here.’

Thistle has caught plenty of killers, and she’s getting close to profiling me. Luckily, Norman distracts her.

‘Two things to note, Agent,’ she says. ‘First, the hand was removed post-mortem. So whoever screamed, it wasn’t Biggs.’

‘Huh.’ Thistle deflates. ‘Well, this just officially became a homicide investigation. Can you get time of death?’

‘No more than a week ago. I can’t be more specific than that. Lividity is useless without the rest of the body, and I’m thinking the killer may have refrigerated the hand, though I’m not sure for how long.’

It worries me sometimes, how good Norman is at her job.

‘What about the blood?’ Thistle asks. ‘How fresh was it?’

‘Very,’ Norman says. ‘And that’s the other thing. I compared it to a sample from the hand. They don’t match.’

Makes sense. The blood was from the guy whose face I bit.

I can sense Thistle getting excited. ‘Different DNA?’

‘I don’t have DNA results back yet. But blood group is a much simpler test—it takes ten minutes. The hand is A positive, the puddle is A negative. They came from different people.’

‘The victim and the killer,’ Thistle says. ‘It’s gotta be.’

‘Maybe,’ I say, thinking fast. I don’t want us chasing the wrong guy, but I also don’t want to implicate myself.

Thistle ignores me. ‘If the killer was the one screaming, then who attacked him? And why?’

She looks at me expectantly, but I don’t know what to say.

‘It was a lot of blood,’ Norman adds. ‘Whoever left it behind is likely to need stitches.’

Thistle nods. ‘Okay. We’ll start checking hospitals. Anything else we should know?’

Norman passes her a manila folder. ‘It’s all in here, but I’ve given you the essentials.’

‘You taught at Braithwaite, didn’t you?’ Thistle says.

‘Briefly,’ Norman says. ‘Go Panthers.’

‘Can you tell us anything about what Biggs was like to work with?’

‘I taught med science. I don’t think your victim and I ever met.’ Norman turns to me. ‘What happened to your eye, Blake?’

‘Huh?’