Blood. Blood everywhere.
The bathtub, not very large, was coated inside and out with blackened blood. As it had evaporated and decomposed, it left dark ring-like stains along the tub.
On the sink, many small black fragments lay scattered—on a cutting board and next to a knife.
Tiny pieces were mixed among drops of blood and pooled stains. A white, semicircular object lay near the doorway. Larry bent down, picked it up, and examined it carefully.
"One side is slightly convex, the other flat, with two concave surfaces. This is a kneecap. Looks like this is the dismemberment scene."
Larry's words made Jane nauseous—she nearly vomited.
Max, who had decided to come in despite Larry's warnings, clutched his chest and turned even paler.
After a moment to steady himself, he grabbed the camera and stepped in to take photos. After all, there were bloodstains and rotting flesh everywhere. The sticky sensation under his shoes with each step made his skin crawl.
"Larry, look!"
Following Max's pointing finger, Larry took two steps forward and saw it—a blood-drawn heart on the white bathroom tile behind the blood-stained shower curtain.
Max's excitement grew when he noticed that, at the tip of the heart, there was a bloody fingerprint with distinct ridges. Larry, however, gave a slight shake of his head, leaving Max puzzled.
"What is it?"
"That handprint isn't from the killer. The depravity here is so deep that he used the victim's severed hand." Larry's words made Max lean closer for a better look—only to feel his excitement drain away instantly.
Even imagining it painted the killer in an even more disturbing light: using a victim's severed hand to draw a heart on the wall… sheer madness.
Larry was right about one thing: the print was extremely clear. But Max only sighed and began photographing it, collecting blood samples, and tagging them.
Larry and Max worked back-to-back, facing the sink.
The mirror above it was also spattered with blood and debris. Even the tissue box on the counter wasn't spared.
Yet, oddly, no tissues seemed to be missing from the box. Larry leaned in to check—there were still some inside. He pulled one out. No blood. Could it mean the killer had actually used a tissue?
Unable to resist a wave of curiosity, Larry began to search carefully. In the trash can beside the toilet, there seemed to be bits of paper.
He lifted the trash can onto the counter and began examining each piece. Seven or eight were blood-soaked tissues. Three others had no blood but bore pale yellow dried stains—possibly sweat.
"Max, evidence bags."
Max glanced at Larry, pulled out a dozen evidence bags, and handed them over.
From outside, Jane peeked in, watching Larry sort through the trash.
"Find something?"
"Let's pray."
Even someone like Larry couldn't work miracles at a crime scene.
"The crime happened over a month ago, during the heat. In a small space with no air conditioning, people would've been sweating heavily."
As he spoke, Larry set aside the bloodied tissues. "The killer was splattered with blood on his face and body, so naturally he wiped himself down. Hopefully, we can pull the killer's DNA from these."
"The killer attacked the victim elsewhere, brought her here, and killed her slowly. We're pulling surveillance footage while hoping to find something more inside," Max said, sounding more composed now.
Larry stayed silent, bagged the tissues, and stood in the bathroom doorway, eyes narrowing as he looked at the floor prints.
This place was sealed tight—no mosquitoes or flies could get in. Otherwise, the scene would be even more horrific.
The front door showed no signs of forced entry, so it was clear the killer had followed the owner inside. The first blood traces started in the master bedroom.
"Manipulation… fear… I get it." Larry's assessment was dead-on.
Blood droplets and footprints extended gradually into the bathroom. Then diluted blood prints overlapped the original dark ones, leading back to the bedroom.
"The killer walked back and forth several times. What was he doing?"
"The drag marks are from pulling the victim by the ankles into the bathroom. If that counts as one trip, then carrying the victim's head was another."
What about the third trip? Was he packing body parts to take away?
Larry moved on to the kitchen. It was dusty, messy, and cluttered. Several takeout bags were piled in the trash.
The cupboards and counter held only a few condiments—no rice, noodles, or vegetables. In the fridge, a few rotting fruits and some instant dumplings.
There were two scrape marks on the wall next to the gas stove, shaped exactly like where cutting boards and kitchen knives had once hung.
The place was so discreet you wouldn't find it unless you were a regular customer.
Larry glanced out at the nearby pedestrian street from the window, then stepped out of the kitchen. A stocky man had just finished collecting information.
"Find out where Amber worked besides acting?"
Jane nodded quickly. "I just got a call. She worked at a massage parlor not far from here."
"Judging by the scene, the killer's a regular client of Amber's. We'll need to start canvassing outside."
"Come with me and take a look," Larry said, leaving Max at the scene with Jack. "When you head back to HQ for the lab work, tell them to handle the evidence carefully."
"Once you're done here, return to the department."
Larry followed Jane down the stairs. Just as they were about to get into the car, his phone rang.
"Chief, we're on the east side of the pedestrian street. There's a massage parlor here. They say they knew Victim B!"
"Stay put. I'm coming right over!"
Four investigators brought the landlady to verify the photo and identity of one of the victims.
…
Ten minutes later, Jane and Larry arrived at the massage parlor.
The officers who'd arrived earlier had already taken the informant into a back room.
Jane pointed to a photo of Victim B. "Don't be afraid. I just need to ask you a few questions. Do you know this person?"
"Yes. Her name's Anna." From Amber's home, they had recovered many items linked to another young woman—someone her aunt said was not family.
One in particular was a photo of two girls in suggestive poses. The other girl looked exactly like the woman seen in the surveillance footage.
"When did she disappear?" The massage parlor owner flipped through the call log, recalling the young woman.
"Two days before the Fourth of July holiday. Around 5 p.m., and she still hadn't shown up. My husband told me to call her, but the call never went through."
"How old is she?"
"Twenty-three."
"Do you know where she lives? We need to contact her family."
The massage parlor owner nodded, hesitated, then leaned in to whisper, "Ask my husband—he has her records."
"She was from Texas, but she had family here in the city. I don't know if she still lives near that building with the shop downstairs."
Larry stopped Jane before she could wrap up the questioning. "Do Amber and Anna have any regular clients?"
The woman hesitated under Larry's steady gaze, then said, "A few. Mostly small business owners from the nearby shops."
"Which ones?"
She shook her head. "I never asked. After all, they're regulars—asking too much might look like I'm trying to interfere."
Jane nodded in understanding. "I get it. But I hope you realize neither Amber nor Anna are the first victims. If one of your clients is involved, you'd better be prepared, right?"
Those words clearly frightened the owner. She grabbed a pen and paper and, within minutes, handed over a list of names, surnames, and exact shop locations.
"That's all I know. Is this a serial case?"
Larry let out a faint sigh—people always seemed drawn to that idea. "Yes. A serial case. The killer is very selective and only targets women who offer special services."
"Do we know who the next victim will be?"
"Maybe someone who works here."