Calleigh hated when the first call-out of the day was gruesome – especially when she'd had a big breakfast that morning. It was Tuesday, her and Eric's customary big-greasy-diner-breakfast day. She'd gorged herself on cheesy eggs and bacon and toast and two cups of coffee, watching him yawn into his own cup and shovel in food. So she was already feeling a touch nauseous when she got the call – there was a second victim.

Eric hadn't gotten the call out -- and hadn't finished eating -- so she relented against his offer to treat her this time, and dragged her food-stuffed self to her car. Now she was on the way to the scene, hoping it hadn't been as gruesome as the last, but not feeling optimistic. The problem wasn't the blood – it was the lack thereof. The first girl had been young, pretty. Dark hair, dark eyes. And she'd been carved to bits. Oh, her face had been fine. A bit bruised, but fine. Her body, though… She'd been stabbed and sliced, mostly shallow cuts. A slow bleed. A long, drawn-out, painful death.

And then, the sadistic bastard had carved detailed, ornate angel's wings into the poor girl's back. It was the only calling card he'd left – there had been absolutely nothing else on the body that could lead them to a suspect. The media had had a field day with the whole thing; Erica Sikes -- in her usual melodramatic fashion -- dubbed the killer "the angel of death," which made Calleigh want to hit her with something heavy. More than usual, anyway.

And now there was another body. Another girl. Same MO. With a sigh, and a quick wish that she would not lose her breakfast over the body, she parked her Hummer outside the Java Jungle Coffee Bungalow and grabbed her kit.

Ryan was waiting for her on the other side of the tape. "Good morning, sunshine."

She made a face. "If you want to call it that..." She fell into step with him on their way to the victim. "What've we got?"

"Claire Vincent," Ryan looked down at his notepad. "She works here—the owner said she's the closer on weekdays, works morning shift on the weekends."

"Did anyone report her missing?"

"Nope. Owner says she was closing up like usual when he left last night. He said he didn't expect to see her until Wednesday—today's her usual day off."

"Any family in the area?"

"We're checking on a boyfriend, Jason Guthridge. No word on her parents yet."

Calleigh watched as a breeze blew a chunk of the girl's dark hair into her face. Like before, the body was mutilated but the face had been left untouched. "Pretty girl," she murmured before turning her attention back to Ryan. "So is she our second victim?"

"Looks like it," he shook his head. "We're still waiting on Tara for an official cause of death but..." he motioned for Calleigh to follow him around the body and motioned to her bare back, "I'd say we're dealing with the same guy."

Calleigh gave a hard swallow. Just as before, the killer had carved an intricate set of wings into the soft flesh of the girl's back. This time, however, he'd left them something else. "Azrael," she read softly the word he'd carved beneath the wings. "Isn't that the name—"

"Of the angel of death," Ryan finished with a nod. "Guess he saw the Erica Sikes report."

"Yeah," Calleigh looked away, giving another hard swallow in hopes of calming her gag reflex. "Who didn't?"

"Think this is his way of agreeing with her?"

Her eyes scanned the gathering crowd. "I don't know—maybe." She turned back to him with a shrug. "Who called it in?"

Ryan pointed to the back of a man talking to Tripp and consulted his notes. "David Oxley—he found her while he was making his morning deliveries."

She tilted her head to the side, watching as David Oxley rocked from one foot to the other, glancing at the body occasionally over his shoulder. "Did anybody else see anything?"

"I was waiting for you," he gave her a quick smile. "You talk to him," he motioned again to Oxley. "I'll start with what's left of the morning rush."

With a sigh and another glance at the girl's mutilated body, Calleigh headed over to where Tripp was talking to the closest thing to a witness they had so far. He didn't look overly suspicious at first glance – average height, average build, dark hair. When he turned to glance at the body again – why did he keep doing that? – she noticed that he wasn't unattractive. In fact, under other circumstances, he might have been considered ruggedly good-looking. If you squinted. As it was, he was the person to call in the latter of two gruesome murders, and with absolutely no leads on the first case, anyone calling in the second was an immediate person of interest in her book.

"Hi Frank," Calleigh greeted as she sidled up next to the men.

"Mornin' Calleigh," he sighed, tilting his head toward the other man, who was now staring at Calleigh intently. "This is David Oxley. He called it in. Stay with him for a minute; I'm gonna go help Wolfe and grab an officer to escort Mr. Oxley here. We're going to need to take him in to the station for processing. "

"Processing? Why?"

"He touched the body," Frank sighed, shaking his head and stalking away. Tampering with a scene never failed to piss off a good detective – or a good CSI for that matter.

"You touched the body?" she asked Oxley, taking the opportunity to study him up close. He was too calm, she noticed. Most people who had just discovered a dead body were edgy, thrown. Even more so when they were told they had to be taken in for processing. He had an energy to him, but it wasn't quite nervous enough.

"I had to know if it was her. I recognized the tattoo on her wrist."

"You knew the victim?" And the points against him just kept adding up…

"Yeah, I knew Claire." He turned and glanced at the girl again, then flicked his gaze back to Calleigh. "Well, not knew her knew her. She used to work mornings during the week, and I stop in every day during my rounds. She always knew your drink, you know? Didn't even have to order after the first couple weeks; you walked up to the counter and Claire called it out, took your money. She was a good girl, it's a shame this had to happen to her."

Odd phrasing. And her eggs were still not sitting well. Next time she'd skip the heavy breakfast and opt for a couple of pancakes. "It's a shame when it happens to anyone, Mr. Oxley. And it never has to."

He met her eyes then, and for a second her looked genuinely hurt. Crap. She was assigning guilt when there was probably just… weird delivery guy. "I just meant-"

"No, I'm sorry. Cases like this are always hard." It was a half-assed excuse, but an excuse nonetheless. "I'm sorry for your loss." He nodded faintly in acknowledgement, then tilted his head slightly and studied her.

"You alright, miss? You look a little pale."

Did she? Maybe it was more than the eggs making her queasy. She couldn't afford to be sick now, not in the middle of a case this big. "I'm fine. Big breakfast."

"Makes you sick to look at her." It was more of a deduction than a question, and Calleigh officially had the creeps. There was something in the way he'd said it, something in his eyes. Something was off. "I know what you mean, I almost chucked in the bushes after I turned her."

Sure you did. "Mr. Oxley, most people would run screaming from a dead body. You touched her. Why?"

"I told you, I wanted to know for sure if it was Claire."

"It didn't bother you? Touching a corpse?"

"My uncle raised pigs. Used to slaughter them on the farm; I stayed with him for a while and was expected to help out. I guess I just… lost my aversion to dead things, you know?"

"No, not really."

"We all end up there some time, Calleigh. It is Calleigh, right?"

"CSI Duquesne," Calleigh corrected, not liking the casual use of her name by someone she didn't know. Especially someone who made her warning bells ring like crazy. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the officer approaching them. Thank God. "Mr. Oxley, Officer Reynolds is going to take you down to the station for processing. If you touched her, there may be evidence on you."

Oxley nodded calmly, and moved to follow the officer. At the last second, he turned back. "I hope you feel better."

And then he was gone, headed off to the patrol car, leaving Calleigh with an uneasy feeling in her gut to go along with the vague nausea she was still fighting. She raked her hair away from her face and turned back to the storefront just as Ryan emerged. He was headed toward her with a to-go cup clutched in each hand. Her eyes narrowed. "You got coffee?"

"Free coffee," he specified, holding one out to her.

"You were supposed to be getting statements."

"And I got them," he assured her with a wild elbow motion to his jacket pocket. "They're right here. But I also got free coffee for 'all the trouble'."

Calleigh continued to glare. "And this poor girl's mutilated body does nothing to diminish your appetite?"

Ryan looked hurt. "I got mine without whipped cream. I'm already feeling queasy." He held it out again. "C'mon...I got your favorite."

She sighed and took it from him. "Fine. But only because it's free."

"Atta girl," he said and gave her a smile as Tara's van pulled up.