I lean in a bit and say quietly, “Between us, Quincy, I’m working an angle on this one. I’m trying to clean that mess up, too. Any chance I could get a peek?”

Quincy raises a skeptical eyebrow above the frames of his tortoiseshell glasses. I continue pleading my case.

“Just for a minute,” I say. “You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Very important.”

Quincy purses his lips. “What did you have for breakfast, Killer Chef?”

Breakfast? His bizarre question throws me.

“Nothing,” I say. “Why? I came straight here as soon as I got word. But now that you mention it, I’m starving.”

Quincy glances around, then lifts up a section of crime-scene tape and beckons me underneath.

“You won’t be for long.”

CHAPTER 33

Together we walk up the porch’s rickety wooden steps. Before crossing the threshold, Quincy hands me a paper face mask, disposable gloves, and a pair of felt booties. He doesn’t have to say a word; I remember the drill well. I slip them on, nod, and we enter.

I’m hit right away with the stench of stale urine. Padding through the dim entryway, I see soiled clothes and moldy fast-food containers strewn all around. Plenty of drug paraphernalia, too. Blackened spoons, charred crack pipes, dirty needles. This house might have been abandoned, but clearly, certain people still called it home.

When we step into the living room, I detect a different aroma. One I encountered plenty of times in my career, but hoped I’d never smell again.

The putrid tang of a rotting human corpse.

The small living room feels even more cramped since it’s packed with people, forensic equipment, and activity. Set up in each corner are portable three-legged fluorescent lamps that cast harsh light across the room’s stained walls and filthy carpet. Yellow plastic evidence markers have been placed all around the floor. One forensic tech is snapping pictures. A second is dusting a grimy glass coffee table for prints.

Two other techs are examining and taking swabs of Farzat’s body. Their own bodies are blocking my view, but his corpse appears to be lying in an old recliner. His bare feet are dangling over the footrest at a stiff, unnatural angle.

Quincy calls to the pair, “Bryant, De Soto, give us a look?”

The two techs step away from the body—to reveal a stomach-churning sight.