THERE WAS no mistaking death had come. It’d struck often in San Francisco, and Kane knew of at least three people in the city who’d gone pining for the fjords just that Sunday morning. The bloody, pulpy remains lying at Kane’s feet brought the number to four.
Chinatown stretched out around them, a draconian maze of alleys and buildings layered thick with soot and desperation. It was too early for tourists, but the back streets were already bustling with deliveries and people who saw nothing, heard nothing, and who slipped away into the shadows like liquid when anyone who smelled of cop drew near.
Fog settled down deep into the cracks between the pressed-in buildings, pushing back the dank, ripe-green stench leeching out from the old cobblestone corridors. The cold mists ran thick, steeping the alleys in its own tongue-scraping shadowy tea, providing enough cover for a rattle of roaches to brave the heavy cop boots stomping back and forth. The insects slipped out from under a row of green dumpsters, their sides scraped and black with cast-off food, a skittering tide of chitin and antenna rolling in and out to sip at the body’s leaking remains.
Restaurants dominated this end of the area, cramped little holes manned by generations of silent, angry people working off loan-shark debts incurred by their grandfathers. Smaller unmarked businesses pocked the alleys, slender thresholds with cracked wooden doors and no signage, but the rough murmur of angry Cantonese shook through the cracks, quieting when a uniform rapped on the door in his hunt for a witness. Near the victim, a crate of cabbage sat on its side, rotting blackened heads oozing out from between wooden slats, and Kane stepped carefully around it, spotting a bristle of whiskers poking out of the sticky mess.
“Should I push in, sir?”
The uniform, a scrub-faced blond kid who creased his pants nearly to a razor point, adjusted his cap and called out to Kane as he walked by. Even in the alley’s milky dimness, Kane could see the green tint in the young cop’s face and how his too-bright eyes slid away from the remains.
“Nah, leave it.” He steered the young man to a pack of hunched-over elderly women at the far end of the alley, their fingers coated with a layer of flour. “Chances are they’re prepping the kitchen and left the security door open. It gets hot as shit in the back, and they’d want the cold air. See if any of them saw something. Take Mu?oz with you if you need help with translating.”
Kane knew enough Cantonese to know it would be bad news all around if one of those doors opened up. He’d run with Vice for a few years before being tapped for Homicide, and he’d been quickly educated on how much violence lay behind Chinatown’s thin wooden planks.
Cause of death was going to be muddied, despite the apparent battering. Crouching a few feet away from the victim, Horan from Medical and Forensics took pictures of teeth and bone splinters while instructing her assistant on how to angle a measuring T so she could capture a reference scale. The blonde medical examiner looked up when Kane stepped over, and he held out a hand to help her up as she began to rise.
“Thanks.” She took his hand, using it to support herself. “Where’s your partner? I thought he was back on the job.”
“Yeah, he’s all blessed and Pope-ified. Kel’s doing a perimeter run around the block with the cadaver dogs.” Kane stood steady as Horan got herself upright.
Perky and amiable, Horan was both a blessing and a curse on a crime scene. Blessing because Kane knew if there was something to be found, she’d be the one to dig it out, but a curse because the petite blonde was exacting, taking hours to process a scene before kicking information out for an investigating officer.
He was going to try anyway. “Got anything?”
“Really? We’ve been here for an hour, and you want something?” Her snort was a touch away from derisive, but Horan’s smile lessened its sting. “Cause of death could be a beating or a gunshot. I won’t know until I get him on the slab. I can tell you we found a wallet, but I can’t confirm ID or even if it’s the right guy until I match the body to prints.”
“Lots of blood,” Kane murmured, sniffing the air. “Can’t tell if there’s body decay or if that’s the damned rotten food.”
“I’d say he’s fresh. Rigor and body temp are pretty consistent with death happening a few hours out. I’m even going to go out on a limb and say he was killed elsewhere and dumped here. Alessia! Do you have a moment to give to Detective Morgan here?”