021
Police cars and crime scene tape cordoned off Hot Blooded and most of the block. Pandora, who was waiting on my patio for us after the call, paced in the backseat of Saber’s SUV as he looked for a parking space. He found one a block from the club, grabbed some gear from the cargo area, and stuffed the items in his windbreaker pockets. We wove our way through the crowd of gawkers drawn by the flashing cruiser lights. Jackson must’ve given orders to let us both in, because the officer at the police checkpoint ticked my name off the list without so much as a glance. I will scout, Pandora said in my head and trotted off before I had a chance to respond. We found Jackson standing behind an older model white car, a grayish color to his black skin.
“Saber,” he said, then nodded at me. “The body’s in the car, but you may not want Francesca to see it.”
“No problem,” I told him, holding up my hands, and backing up a step as both men donned rubber gloves. I thought I saw Pandora skulking under the front bumper of the car but didn’t worry she’d get in the way. Thankfully, Ike’s body hadn’t released the kinds of fluids in death that a human’s would have. The smell of his relatively small amount of blood loss made me queasy enough. Overhearing Jackson murmur to Saber about Ike’s position in the car, and his head hanging by a thread of tissue, gave me all too vivid a picture of the crime scene. Jackson called for an evidence technician, and a short woman in a jumpsuit hurried forward. I heard the snap of a paper bag, something dropped inside it, and then more murmuring before the men and evidence tech headed for me. The woman carried the grocery-sized bag and stood a little apart.
“Here’s the rundown,” Jackson said. “The officer who was first on scene was on routine patrol when he heard screams from the parking lot. He found Donita Ward, aged thirty-five, on the ground just outside her passenger door, in hysterics.”
“Where is she now?” Saber asked, stripping off the gloves.
Jackson tipped his head toward an EVAC unit. The back ambulance door yawned open, and I made out the figure sitting just inside huddled in a blanket. She was so terribly still.
“Is she all right?” I asked Jackson.
“She’s in shock. The first officer got a preliminary statement, but it’s pretty garbled. You can talk to her,” he added, anticipating my next question, “but Saber suggested we have you look at something first.”
Saber handed me a mask and hairnet. “I want you to look at what appears to be the murder weapon,” he said. “You might want to wear a mask to cut the odor a little.”
I didn’t think a mask would help—not being as gaggy as I am about blood—but the hairnet would cut the chance of me contaminating the evidence.
“Okay, I’m ready,” I said through the mask.
Jackson motioned for the woman and pulled a humongous flashlight from a holder on his belt. The tech opened the bag, Jackson shined the light inside, and Saber put a steadying hand on my back.
I looked down at the long, wickedly curved knife. The handle was intricately carved and had the patina of antique ivory. Two bands of metal crisscrossed the ivory. My stomach heaved from the smell of blood smeared on the blade near the hilt, but my nose twitched from two other odors.
“The blade is silver,” I said, meeting Saber’s gaze over my mask. “It makes my nose itch.”
“Like an allergy?” Jackson asked.
“Yes. I don’t think there’s a super-high silver content, but it’s high enough. The bands may be silver, too.”
“Don’t take this wrong, but Saber says the smell of blood bothers you. You sure that’s not causing the itch?”
“Blood scent makes me dizzy and nauseous. The itchy nose is definitely a reaction to silver.”
“Do you recognize the weapon? The carvings look familiar?”
“It looks like a half-size scimitar, but I’m no expert on weapons. Neil might be able to give an opinion.”
“Who is Neil?”
“An anthropologist for the state of Florida. He lives in St. Augustine.”
Jackson nodded. “Once we see about lifting prints, we’ll have a number of experts look at it. Anything else you noticed?”
I hesitated because I really didn’t want to smell the bag again. But Ike had been murdered, and I had the bad feeling Donita was going to be a suspect.
I leaned closer to the bag and sniffed. Yep, it wasn’t my imagination. I smelled the faintest trace of citrus. I stood back, away from the bag, and ripped off the mask. “Citrus, Saber. There’s a citrus smell coming from the knife, and it’s the same scent I smelled in the club and on Laurel.”
“Laurel, the psycho vamp?” Jackson asked.
“The same,” Saber said, his lips set in a grim line. “I should’ve executed her Saturday night.”
“You couldn’t kill her in cold blood. Besides, the cleaning solution scent should’ve faded by now.”