Page 45 of One
Everybody around the table is grunting or nodding, like the serial killer nickname police.
Meg keeps looking at me with a softness in her eyes that unsettles me for some weird reason.
“But it’s true. He uses some kind of metal rope to strangle his victims,” Rami interjects. “Five, that we know of. All males. All young.”
“All male and young… what else?” Uri looks at me expectantly. The wariness is gone, replaced by interest.
“We all have clearance here, Michael. You can talk freely about the case,” Meg says, surely reading the hesitancy all over my face.
Clearance from the police? Like Raph had when he came to the morgue? Money really can buy most things.
But should I talk about an open case with a group of acquaintances? I look at Raph. Those deep green eyes are studying me intently, making sure I’m okay. And silently asking me to trust him.
Oh, fuck it!
“Actually, the first three were barely adults.” Rague lets out an angry, rumbling growl at that. Nobody seems to notice or care. I clear my throat and continue, “But the last two, one was in his twenties and the other in his thirties. They all had light brown hair and blue eyes and looked younger than their age, probably due to their thin build.”
“Did the police find any connection?” Uri is the one asking again.
“No. They had different jobs. Lived in different areas in Chicago. Went to different schools. No interests in common,” Raph replies. He must have read those police reports.
“I asked Serena to check through facial recognition if she can spot any of the victims together somewhere in the city in the last six months. But she found nothing.”
“Shouldn’t you leave that to the police?” I turn to Rami.
“As I said, they are the worst detectives ever. And they are working on two other cases on top of this one.” He shakes his head. “That Spencer detective didn't even ask you about the attempted robbery. He should check for links between the convenience store and the morgue episodes.”
Fuck, that’s true. Maybe I should have said something.
“I’m not going to put your safety in those incapable hands. Polsner ogles you when he should be catching a killer.” Raph places his arm on the back of my chair.
“Detective Polsner doesn’t ogle me,” I retort with a snort. Raph’s hand falls on my nape and squeezes.
“A love triangle.” Uri narrows his eyes at me. I really want to punch him in his handsome face.
“The real question is: why did the police choose you? Of all the forensic pathologists in Chicago with more experience with violent crimes, why you?” Gabe asks, looking straight at me.
“Yeah, you just moved to the city a few months ago. Why ask you?” Uri adds.
“Don’t,” Raph hisses.
I shush him, squeezing his hand. I do like his protectiveness when he doesn’t smother me with it. But this is a test. His family is assessing me. And I won’t cower behind him. Plus, I’m still half-upset at him from before.
“I’m a hematologist,” I simply say, lifting my chin slightly upwards to hopefully show those fuckers where they can shove it.
“Why would the police want a doctor who specializes in diseases of the blood and blood components for a strangling murder?” Sari’s voice is empty of any suspicion. He’s just curious.
“Can I tell them? Pleeeeease?” Rami asks me, almost jumping on his chair like a cute dog—a very large, cute dog.
“Fine.”
Ferdinand is placing delicious dishes on the table and my stomach rumbles again at the sight, making me forget for a second what we’re talking about. Raph takes my plate and starts piling food on top of it, and I can’t stop my smile at his sweet gesture. I’m starving.
“The victims were all affected by… hemophilia,” Rami pauses for effect.
“That’s interesting,” Meg says while taking a sip from her glass of water.
“Why is it interesting?” Rague mumbles as he shoves mashed potatoes and gravy inside his mouth.
