The coroner handed him a pair of gloves as he passed. It was good that they'd taken the time to do so, as it would never have crossed Tony's mind on the way through the yellow tape. He knew better, of course. He'd been to dozens of crime scenes over the years, and not wearing gloves when looking over the evidence was one of the first rookie mistakes that got forcefully corrected.
The sad fact of the matter was that he had other things on his mind right now. Namely an unceasing pressure and pounding, every pulse of which felt like they were going to send his stomach rolling. When he wasn't trying to keep his eyes open against the blinding light, he was too busy keeping his feet moving in the correct order to worry about the damn gloves.
In the rare moment that his mind cleared enough to process a thought or two, he was thrown back to thinking of the bottle of Jack and the cans of Coke he had stacked up the night prior. Various positions were passed back and forth on whether or not it had been worth it to pass out alone on the couch yet again, flicking between reruns on basic cable.
Moving past an ambulance, its flashing lights sending sharp pain behind his eyes with every rotation, he decided that things could be decidedly worse. He could be dead, like the poor soul who was currently slumped against a dumpster. He sobered up somewhat just from the view. The poor girls pale face was contorted into a ghoulish smile. However she'd gone out, she'd been the happiest girl in the world at the time. On instinct he rubbed his neck.
Someone was already crouched near the corpse, occasionally leaning out of the way for the photographer to snap a pic. She looked up at him, what looked like a wallet in her hand. Her short cropped hair was swept to one side. The wallet dropped from her hands as she stood, looking him over with the most unimpressed look he had ever seen.
"'Bout damn time," she said.
He didn't give her the satisfaction of following that train of thought. Instead he just rubbed his eyes, trying to give himself enough willpower to focus. "We get a time of death yet?"
"Jack's estimating somewhere between 1 and 3 this morning," she said, dropping whatever insults she'd had primed. "Checking with the local bars to see if anybody spotted her at closing time last night, no word yet."
Tony bent down, picking up the wallet and poking through it. All it confirmed were a few suspicions. No money taken, all cards present. After a quick gesture to the photographer, who nodded with approval, he began manipulating the corpse. A few turns of the neck, checks of the wrist, a look at her front and back.
"No wounds," he said. It was a lie. A good one, on many levels. Good because to them it was true, and good because it was better that they never knew it was true.
"Yeah, Jack's not sure about that one," she said, making a general gesture at the deceased, "Clear signs of bloodletting, but we're not sure how."
"Christ," he said, happy he was still able to sound surprised and disgusted. The pair of bumps were obvious to him, but he didn't blame anyone for missing them. They were slighter than the bite of a gnat. Which was worrisome. The person who made them knew what they were doing.
His hands found their way into the girls pockets. He produced a handful of items, a tube of chap stick, a few crumpled up receipts, before he found what he was looking for. With a sigh, he offered the tiny slip to his partner.
She took her turn to sound disgusted, "Christ."
"Blood donor," he said grimly.
Her eyes rolled as she bagged the slip, "Some sick fuck thinks he's a vampire."
"Yeah," he muttered, standing.
His pocket buzzed. The familiar sign of a phone call, save for the fact that it didn't continue. For a moment he wondered if it was better or worse that they already knew. On the one hand, he wasn't exactly looking forward to having to break the news. On the other, they weren't going to be happy having to hear about it from third parties.
Turning back towards his car, he offered only a short explanation, "I'll see if anyone at the Red Cross knows anything, start working on the timeline."
He didn't wait for her response. The walk back to his car was brisker than the walk in. His phone was out of his pocket the moment his ass hit the seat. The recent call was from a number he'd never seen before. Local area code, spoofing his own number. Spam call should have been his default assumption but he knew better. The dial tone had barely started before someone picked up.
"Again?" was all he heard from the other end. It impressed him how much a single word could house so much pure contempt.
"Again," he said, glancing up at the rear view mirror. He half expected someone to be in the back seat.
"This will be the last one, mister Ambrose. Should it happen again, we will have to drastically reconsider our working relationship.
He winced as the line cut. It was with clammy hands that he put the keys in the ignition, and pulled away.
