The second floor landing was quiet, filled with the sort of tension that remained after someone had struggled to live. Xander had seen many dead bodies, from anatomy and physical anthropology classes in school to his employment with the FBI. Death didn't scare him; it was when he saw how the death occurred that terror began to take hold.
The flashes of light from Oz's camera caused him to pause, adjusting to the darker floor. The walls were lined with family portraits, except a smear of blood two feet from the ground. It was near the doorway that led to the second bedroom. Making sure his gloves were on securely, Xander stepped into the smaller room and flipped the light switch on. The room was decked out in blues and reds. A large poster of NASCAR's number twenty-four was posed above the bed.
Eyes darting around the room, Xander allowed his mind to absorb the racecar obsession the occupant had. Stepping forward, Xander gently pushed the comforter and sheet away from one side of the bed. There was a drop of blood on the pillow, as well as on the floor at Xander's feet. Xander took a step back as Oz entered the room.
"The bed, as well as underneath it." Xander said, before turning around and heading back to the hall.
He followed the steps that he knew Angelus had made, imagining the boy the killer had struggled with. The streak of blood on the wall indicated the boy had tried to grab a hold of the doorway. Angelus was obviously stronger.
He moved past the door leading to the hall bathroom, where Xander glanced inside briefly, before stepping into the master bedroom. Immediately, he forced his eyes shut. The dark, dried color of blood burned inside his eyelids. Taking a deep breath, Xander allowed the scent of copper to attack his nose. Behind him, Oz made a soft noise of shock, but remained silent.
When Xander reopened his eyes, the sight before him had not changed. The room seemed to be coated in blood, though it was only along the wall and bed. The telltale symbol of bright angelic wings spread out along the wall above the queen size bed. Angelus had removed pictures from the wall before beginning his masterpiece. Xander stepped further into the room, noticing that there were bloodstains in the corner of the room, just as before. As usual, Angelus had propped the child up in the corner.
"Where do you want me to start?" Oz asked.
"That end." Xander said, gesturing at the corner that the boy had died. He turned toward the opposite side of the room, where the closet door stood open. Inside he found five business suits hanging from one side of the closet. Next to them were a few sets of jeans, plain shirts, and quite a few things with NASCAR memorabilia. Xander could picture the father and son attending races, their voices going hoarse as they cheered for their favorite drivers.
The father seemed to like number nineteen. Xander wondered if the two teased one another over their horrible taste in drivers, laughing as each boasted over the greatness of their own. The room, and closet, had a sports fanatic feel to it as well as a family touch. The father was good to his son, Xander could tell merely by standing there.
Reaching up with a gloved hand, Xander inspected the items on the top shelf. There were no books or signs of high school items. Xander frowned and turned to look at the room. His eyes immediately hit the dresser, which stood across from the bed. On top was a watch with a black leather band, a picture of the son during a hockey game, and few notes with phone numbers. Xander picked up the small pieces of paper up, checking to see if he recognized the area code, before sliding them into a plastic bag.
Behind him, Oz made a sound of shock. Xander ignored him and bent down to his knees in order to pry open the bottom drawer. When he was in college, Xander had never bothered to buy a bookshelf. Books were for geeks, or so his father had told him. So, he had stacked all of his reading material into the last drawer of his dresser. It made for a good shelf, though it usually got him strange looks.
Just as he had suspected the drawer was ridiculously heavy. Inside he found quite a few hardback books, a Bible, and a large binder. He reached inside and pulled the binder free. Bracing it against the opened drawer, he carefully looked inside. It was a photo album, with images of a young woman and the currently deceased man. Portraits of the son, from the age of an infant to barely a few months ago, filled its pages. Xander kept turning until he found what he wanted. What looked like a page from a yearbook took up an entire sheet within the album, as though a devious young teenager had torn it from its original source.
Xander briefly imagined Angelus' latest kill, his personality becoming more and more clear. He was playful, with a naughty streak. He had broken rules when he was younger.
According to the page, the head of Michael Randolph had been cut out. Xander stared at the white spot, hoping it would give him some sign as to what he should now be looking for. Shaking his head, Xander pulled out a large bag from one of his pockets and deposited the photo album inside.
"Xander." Oz called over as Xander pushed the bottom drawer closed.
"Yes?" Xander placed the wrapped album on top of the dresser before walking over to Oz's position. The blood painted wings rose above him like some grotesque symbol out of a medieval painting. Oz was staring a one of the wings, which had been made with extra care.
"There's a hair." Oz said, softly. It was as though he were afraid that, by talking, his statement wouldn't be true. Xander pushed down the hope rising in his chest and took a closer look. Just as Oz had claimed, a single dark-brown hair was stuck to the wall. It could have been human or simply the hair of the brush, but Xander would be happy with either.
"We need tweezers." Xander announced, before turning on his heal and leaving the room. Oz remained in the bedroom, where blood coated the bed sheet and corner of the room. Xander took a deep breath, thankful that he could no longer smell the copper of blood, before rushing downstairs and to his car to get the tool needed to extract the hair without damaging the dried blood.
Less than two hours later, Xander Harris found himself stepping into a small room with Faith at his side. The place was sterile, was a steel table in the middle and pure white cabinets along one wall. Xander stared at the white sheet covering the table, taking in the large lumps that created the outline of Mr. Randolph. Faith shifted from foot to foot.
"I sent that specimen to Hair and Fiber." Faith informed him, more for something to say than anything. He had already known what she did with the hair, but he had been nervous his first time inspecting a body so he didn't say anything. "Latent Fingerprints should be contacting us soon on the album."
"It's okay, I know." Xander sent her a slight smile. Faith scowled. He knew she hated being weak and the fear evident in her eyes was probably pissing her off.
"Are we ready?" A young man asked as he entered the room. Short blonde hair highlighted in the fluorescent lighting as Andrew Wells bounced over to one of the cabinets to pull out a few sets of gloves and a small jar. Andrew, as far as Xander was concerned, loved his job a little too much.
The jar was passed around as each of them smeared the substance on their noses to keep the smell of the corpse and chemicals from affecting them. White latex gloves were slipped on before Andrew walked over and pulled the white sheet back, revealing the graying body of Mr. Randolph. Xander managed to not advert his eyes and noticed that Faith had to turn away to control her breathing.
"Time of death was around two in the morning." Andrew informed Xander as he stepped forward. A large wound had begun to turn purple along the edges. Xander leaned a little closer, taking in the precise nature of the cut. "I'd suspect he used a specialty knife, probably one of those hunting ones. Do you see the end, where he pulled the knife out? It's a little ragged, so the knife didn't have a smooth blade."
"Right." Xander nodded. His mind stored this away as he continued to inspect the body. "Did you clean him?"
"Huh?" Andrew looked up from his clipboard, a small frown playing at his lips. "There really wasn't any need. Barely any traces of blood, except for what he bled long after his death, which wasn't much."
"Was it the wounds or the blood loss that killed him?" Xander asked.
"Well, the last two parents I was brought had died in different ways. Ms. Colby was blood loss; the last guy was a heart attack due to the extreme stress and fear of the moment... This guy? Well, he had severe internal bleeding, which I suspect led to heart failure." Andrew replied. "Of course the other morgue guys want to run more tests. Honestly, I feel like Han Solo around here--"
"Trust me, you are no Han Solo." Xander interrupted.
"Xander?" Faith cut in before Andrew could reply. Faith looked up from where she had been inspecting Mr. Randolph's feet. "I think you should look at this."
Xander ignored Andrew's confused questioning and moved toward her. She gently pried the large toe on the left foot away from the others. On the inside of his toes was a small cut mark. Xander shared a look with Faith, before leaning down with narrowed eyes. "Andrew? What made this?"
"That could be anything. Jonathon put down here that it was a blister." Andrew informed him.
"That's not a blister." Xander shook his head. "This was intentional."
"Is it an X?" Faith asked.
"I don't think so." Xander started to frown. "Faith, get pictures of this and blow them up. Andrew? I want you to get me the records on the last victims, specifically the feet and hands. We must have missed something in them. Fuck, I can't believe this." Xander scowled. "Why didn't we see it sooner?"
"Maybe he only did it to this guy?" Faith suggested as she pulled the camera from its case.
"Time to bring in little Jacob?" Andrew asked, eyes darting between them. Xander paused, before nodding. Yes, it was time to see the son's body.
hr
Xander stared at the large photograph propped against his wall. He was waiting for a phone call from Hair and Fiber. The photo album had been without fingerprints, but Xander was hoping he could have some luck with the strand of hair found on the wall. Before him was the image of the small cut found on the inside of Mr. Randolph's large toe. Next to it was an identical wound on the back of the boy's heal, which had been mistaken as a blister.
On the desk were the two autopsy reports on the Colby and Hurley families. Similar wounds had been found on them, classified in each report as minor abrasions and blisters from sports. Xander knew it was a long shot to claim they were all related, but he was willing to accept it for the time being. Whatever it took to get Xander closer to each victim, well, it simply brought him closer to Angelus.
Xander took a step closer to the picture. It really did look like an X, as Faith had assumed. But it was ragged and the inflammation the wound had caused made it difficult to tell. Two jagged lines, crossed over one another... It almost looked like a--
"Xander?" A voice cut into his train of thought, sending whatever revelation he had been about to make out the window. Giles stood at the doorway, holding a plain manila envelope and a rolled up newspaper before him. "Hair and Fiber spent most of the day searching it down, but they were able to identify the sample."
"And?" Xander asked, accepting the envelope. He emptied the contents out, revealing a few printouts of paintbrushes and their brands. "I've never heard of this brand before."
"Exclusive company." Giles summarized. "It actually only sells its products to university art departments and private art schools."
"You're kidding." Xander felt a bubble of hope rising, but ignored it. The thought was too good to be true. Giles gave him a tired smile. "You're not joking."
"We've already sent a notice out to all colleges in California and should have a student list plus majors within the hour." Giles informed him. "Do you think we need to do anything else?"
"Hey, you're the boss here." Xander chuckled nervously.
"But it is your case."
"Yeah, okay..." Xander glanced back at the photos on the wall. "Angel wings."
"Pardon?" Giles asked, looking up from where he had been staring at the newspaper cover. Xander managed to keep a hold on his curiosity.
"His symbol. We need to find a student whose art centered around angels... Or possibly had wings in them, maybe even birds." Xander frowned at the photo, taking a slight step toward it. Shaking his head, he turned back to Giles. "What's with the newspaper?"
"You're not going to be happy about this." Giles admitted, hesitating before handing the paper over. It fell open in his hands, revealing the paper's title. Xander rolled his eyes. A tabloid, the worst source for information in the world. "Second column."
Xander's eyes slide down until his own name seemed to leap out at him. An image of himself walking out the very building he had visited that morning stared up at him, which explained the flash of light he had seen. The article, written by a Cordelia Chase, went on to explain his illicit affair with the very madman that he had imprisoned. Xander groaned, throwing the paper onto his desk. "Where do they get this crap?"
"One can only imagine." Giles shrugged. "I wouldn't take it too seriously, Xander."
"Right." Xander rubbed at the side of his face. "Let's just hope Bradshaw doesn't get a copy of this. I can only imagine what sort of reaction he would have."
"I would suspect that he would find it rather amusing, actually." Giles didn't look very amused himself about this prospect. Xander sighed and turned back to the images lining his wall. "You don't plan on visiting him again, do you?"
"No." Xander replied, his eyes narrowing. He titled his head in concentration. "I don't plan on ever seeing William Bradshaw again, I promise you... My God."
"What?"
"It's a cross." Xander stated. "I've seen this before. It's a signature, not a symbol."
"You think he's some religious freak, then?" Giles asked, uncharacteristically coarse in his language. Xander wondered, briefly, if he was sleeping properly.
"No..." Xander shook his head. "Narrow your search even further. We're looking for someone with the either a first or last name that starts with an L." Giles sent him a blank look, peering over the top of his glasses and reminded Xander of one of his old teachers in college. "What can a cross be? Either it's religious, an X, or two L's connected at the corners. He's not the religious type, trust me, and both of the markings are perfectly vertical, not angles like an X would be. It's an L. His name starts with an L."