Eleven

Leah received the call around 11:00 pm. From Sam, of all people—Snapping of her sleep-induced daze, she did a double-take, making sure she wasn't imaging the name flashing on her work pone's screen. She stared at the device as it continued to ring.

She picked up on the last ring.

Multiple-homicide, he told her. Murder-Two with a slight possibility of Murder-One. The crime scene was inside the former Union Stock Yards, located on the Southside. An area technically outside Leah's and Jacob's jurisdiction. They focused on downtown and its surrounding areas.

She thanked Sam for the heads up but decided that the case wasn't her problem. That was until following her conversation with Sam, Jacob called—Be ready in twenty, he said. They were wanted at the Union Stock Yards crime scene.

And now, Sam's problem officially became Leah's problem.

After the call ended, Leah jumped out of her bed. She let out a string of curses as she quickly dressed, annoyed at the ill-timing of the phone calls and the sudden abdominal pain caused by her equally ill-timed time of the month.

Twenty minutes later, Leah met her partner on the street outside of her apartment. "How had is it?" she asked in lieu of a greeting before popping a couple of Advil's into her mouth. She swallowed the pills and entered the car.

"Sam doesn't call people," Jacob said. He took a long sip of his Red Bull and added, "Not for this."

Leah shook her head as she buckled her seatbelt. "No, he does not," she said. She tapped the glove compartment a couple of times. "Let's get this show on the road."

Jacob gave a nod and quickly drove off.

"He better not be busting our balls," Jacob said, getting out of the car. He slammed the door shut and stretched out his arms. "It's too late for BS," he added, trying to stifle a yawn.

Leah was sure this wasn't "BS", but she could see where her partner was coming. Sam had made it seem that the pair was entering yet another Chicago Dahlia crime scene, full of chaos—this was different, quiet with fewer people and vehicles. There were no bustling crowds of EMTs, cops, and CSIs. No media was present. No onlookers were around. A handful of police officers were securing the perimeter while another handful was hanging around the building, one even with a cigarette in his hand.

"Reserve your judgment until we see the place," Leah advised, making her way towards the building along the cobblestone walkway, greeting everyone she passed. In the distance was one of two surviving structures from the glory days of the stockyards; the one was the stone entrance gate—She wondered why the building was still up; from what she could see, it didn't have landmark value.

"I should've kept my ass at home," Jacob grumbled behind her.

Leah scoffed at her partner's complaints and entered the slaughterhouse through the former entrance for the butchers, leading into a small yard. The area wasn't well lit, and there was debris everywhere: old papers, rotten wooden slabs, rusted metal robs, and tools.

To her left were the shed and a couple of offices. To her left was what was left of the manure cage, stables, and mechanic rooms. Straight ahead of her was a wide hallway that stretched to the other side of the building; one side, space for alive animals and the other, for their carcass.

Only when she passed the inspector's office did Leah noticed she was walking along a thin, long trail of blood. She stopped, facing Jacob with an inquisitive look on her face. The blood wasn't fresh, and it wasn't decades old.

Jacob lowered to the ground, studying the trail before standing up. He held his nose to the air and deeply breathed in, face contorting as if hit with something putrid. "Fuck," he said.

"What?"

"The smell."

Leah raised an eyebrow before trying the air for herself. It hit her, fast and hard. The smell of meat, blood, and manure was too strong to handle, an odd occurrence for a decades-defunct slaughterhouse. She held her inner wrist to her nose as she advanced.

The action was primarily concentrated in an open space to the extreme right that once held more yards and stables. The entire area was dark save for the few illuminated by makeshift lamps. EMTs were gathering their supplies, indicating that no survivors were found. Numerous cops and CSIs are roaming around with flashlights in search of anything useful.

Where were the bodies?

She was about to ask her partner that very question until she caught sight of Officer Embry Call, a cop she could've sworn was assigned to a narcotics unit. He was currently speaking to an investigator, standing over a pool of blood—they must be near.

"Surprised the media isn't here," Leah instead remarked, rubbed her jacket-clad arms. It was the middle of the night, and the temperature had dropped down into the twenties.

"Thank the Lord for that."

Leah nodded. She walked further into the building, finding more traces of blood, but no body, and after a few seconds, Sam's profile came into view. He was speaking to Dr. Eric Yorkie while hovering what seemed to be a blood corpse—well, there it was. A body. And here he was, Sam Uley.

Leah averted her gaze.

She didn't want to deal with him. But what else was she going to do? Not her job and demand yet another transfer? No, that would only create more problems and add to the belief that she always made everything personal. Personal? She had to snort to that. Well, If Sam had only stock to his vows, then—

Leah shook her head. No, there was no time for this. Taking a deep breath, she faced her husband again. She greeted with a short wave. They had to keep her problems outside of the crime scene.

Sam returned the wave.

"Thank you for coming out here, especially at this time," Sam said when he met the detectives. He then motioned for the newcomers to follow him into a doorless office, away from all of the commotion. "I don't do this very often," he continued tapping his right pants pocket. He was searching for a cigarette, Leah figured. He must be stressed out of his mind. "But I felt like I had no choice."

Jacob gave a stiff nod while Leah, only partially listening to her husband, searched around noticeably partner. A man rumored to spend more time counting down the days until retirement than actual police work—she didn't know how Sam deal with the man.

"Where's Porter?" Leah asked.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh and pointed behind him.

Leah didn't see her husband's partner, only Officer Embry Call snooping around with a notepad and a flashlight. "You're kidding."

"He's just an officer," Jacob said, trying to hold back his laughter. Not necessarily about Embry, Leah concluded, because Jacob saw him as a little brother, but because of Sam's luck. First, a seasoned detective as a partner, and now just an officer. "Who the hell did you piss off?"

"No one," Sam sharply replied, quickly glancing at Leah. "It had nothing to do with me and everything to do with that moron."

"Why are we here?" Leah asked. "Why aren't you taking his case for yourself and… Embry? I have a strong feeling that this one is going to be a major homicide case."

"Because I try not to be selfish," Sam said, pointedly avoiding his wife's sharp gaze. "I want this case, but then I realized after some snooping around that there may be a connection with the Dahlia case."

"Go on," Jacob said, now fully interested. "What you got so far?"

"Three bodies, literally slaughtered in a fucking slaughterhouse."

"How fitting," Leah mumbled.

"I'll show you them soon," Sam promised. "But we also found some ultra-violets, and I called some folks in Paul's unit, and they said that this place right here, Cullen's territory. Wasn't your girl working for them?"

Jacob and Leah shared a look.

"We have reason to believe so," Leah said, eyeing her husband. "So, the victims may be associated with the Cullen's?"

"Maybe," Sam said, jerking his head towards another yard. "Come on. I'll show you the damage."

The sight of Victim Number One was hard to digest.

Leah grimaced as she studied the body, or what was left of it. He, she assumed he was a male, had large disorganized gashes all over his body; his clothes were torn. Blood was everywhere, and the victim's face was destroyed beyond recognition—This hadn't been a straightforward killing.

Just like the Dahlia's.

"White mile, about six-foot-four," Jacob observed. "Looked like he hit the gym, and judging from the lack of wrinkled skin, couldn't be that old."

There was much else Jacob could describe.

"He's not the only one," Sam said. He stood up and motioned for the detectives to follow him. About fifteen feet away laid the body of Victim Number Two, a young woman, killed in the same gruesome fashion as Victim Number One. Except for this time, the woman's face was relatively intact.

She was currently being inspected by Eric.

Leah moved to get a better look at the victim. Caucasian female. Long, wavy brown hair. Amber eyes. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a pink hoodie. Goodness, she couldn't have been more than sixteen, she concluded in sadness. Upon further inspection, the detective noticed a pair of sharp, long fangs inside the victim's open mouth. Vampire—She looked up at Jacob.

Jacob looked down at the victim and loudly cleared his throat before giving his partner a nod.

The victim was a vampire.

Sam turned to the coroner. "Got anything new for us, Doctor?"

Eric didn't say anything as he removed a small pink wallet from the victim's pocket with his gloved hand. He reached up to hand the object to the detective. "ID," he then said. "Presumably."

Sam soon pulled out an ID card. "Bree Tanner. Aged 16. From Schaumberg," he read in a forlorn voice before returning the card to the wallet. He handed it over to Leah. "A kid."

Leah sifted through the wallet's contents, eventually pulling out a worn photograph. She froze, catching the attention of the other detectives. Swallowing, Leah gave the picture to her partner, who, after one look, cursed.

Standing next to Bree, in that photograph, was the detectives' newest informant, Riley Biers.

Sam didn't notice the exchange between Jacob and Leah. Instead, he asked Eric for the cause of death and then added, "And in laymen's terms this time. Not all of us attended medical school.

"Exsanguination," Eric said, shifting his focus to the victim's face and neck. "Literally bled to death. Only wounds were these slashes…" he trailed with a puzzled expression on his face.

"From a knife?" Leah asked.

Eric shook his head. "No, this was done by something bigger," he said. "Maybe a machete? Or… these people were shredded. Like someone had run a rake down their bodies…" He looked up at the detective. "What do you guys think?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're the medical examiner."

"Oh, I have a strong feeling about how this all went done, but I'm not sure people would want to hear or accept it—This may be the Children of the Moon."

Jacob's and Sam's faces contorted in horror while Leah looked from one man to the next, entirely in the dark. "Who?" she questioned. "The Children of the Moon? As in actual children?"

Eric shook his head.

"Werewolves," Jacob told his partner, expression still grave. "The ones horror stories talked about." He looked at the medical examiner and asked, "How do you know about the Children of the Moon?"

"I'm into the supernatural genre," Eric said with a half-shrug, and then asked, "So, do you want us to take the bodies to our place and rule them as inconclusive for obvious reasons, or…?"

Leah and Jacob waited for Sam to respond; after all, this was his case. "You know about that?" he asked Eric, surprised. "About the inconclusive ruling?"

"Of course, I do," Eric said with pride. "I work with Bella all the time, and despite what she likes to think, she can't hold secrets for anything." He let out a light chuckle, and then asked, "So, how about it?"

Victim Number Three was a cross between Number One and Number Two.

While Eric remained with Victim Number Two, the detective proceeded to check out the last-known victim. A large, white male whose body was found towards the back of the open space.

Pulling on a pair of gloves, Leah opened the walling handing out of the victim's coat pocket. She pulled out a Driver's License. "Vincent Marino," she read. "Born on Christmas 1974. From Cicero, Illinois?" She looked up at the other detectives. "Ring a bell?"

Sam shook his head.

"He was an arms dealer," Jacob said. "And a real piece of work. He was supposed to be convicted on numerous federal charges, but his lawyer was a fucking genius. Vince ended up serving only five years, all on state charges."

"You sure that's him?" Leah asked.

"Oh, I'll never forget his face. I was the who arrested him," Jacob said, bending next to the body. He shook his head. "First case as a detective." He snorted. "Funny how life works…"

"Human?" Sam asked.

"Unfortunately." Jacob ran across the top of his head and rose to his feet. "But there won't be an uproar for him. Not like the Dahlia. He was a thug, a lifelong tone. No one will care."

Leah disagreed. Just because Vince hadn't been a law-abiding citizen didn't mean he wasn't important to someone. What about his family? His friends?

She pulled out another photograph, showing a little boy. He couldn't be no more than three, sitting on the shoulders of what she could assume as the recently-deceased—She turned over the picture. Dated July 2017.

With a sigh, Leah returned the photograph and placed the wallet inside an evidence bag.

Sam crossed his arms. "This whole place is a damn cesspool," he grumbled.

"Never thought I'd be at a crime scene worse than the Dahlia's, but here I am," Leah remarked, and then asked, "What the hell's going on? I know this is Chicago. I know we have a high murder rate, but this is crazy."

"A war," Sam said. "They're starting another goddamn war."

"Like St. Patrick's?" Jacob asked.

"Something tells me it's going to be worse," Sam said, pointedly not looking at his wife. "We already have several bodies lined up. Known bodies. And in such a short amount of time?" He shook his head. "Yeah, it's a war."

"Between whom?" Leah asked though she had a feeling she already knew the answer. "And why now?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't—Hey, did you hear about Paul's taskforce?"

"You heard about Paul's taskforce?"

"Initiative, you mean."

"Same difference," Sam told Jacob, brushing off the comment with a wave. "So, you've heard…" he slowly rubbing his chin as he received an affirmative. "He asked you to join?"

"The both of us," Leah said. "Any you?"

Sam nodded, and then suggested, "Let's look around more, shall we?"

Jacob stepped aside. "After you."

"So, what happened to your actual partner?" Leah wondered as she and Sam walked around the crime scene, gathering evidence. Jacob was left currently working with Embry and Eric. "Another disappearing act?"

Sam shook his head. "Apparently, he gets off his supply…" he replied, being his usual evasive self. Leah supposed he didn't want to talk about Porter and his drama; it was understandable. "Embry's going to be with me for quite some time."

"That bad, huh?"

"That bad," Sam confirmed with a nod. Silence fell between the spouses until Sam spoke up a couple of minutes later. He stopped in his tracks and faced his wife, expression apologetic. He let out a sigh. "Leah, I'm really sorry about everything."

Leah's eyes widened. The comment had caught her so off guard, she almost tripped on a rusted a blade haphazardly laying on the ground. Not knowing what to say, she stared at her husband, and then when she found her voice, she whispered, "Me, too."

Silence once again fell between the spouses. After spending the next few minutes roaming around, the pair stopped in front of a pile of burnt furniture. Leah didn't see any significance the debris, but Sam was staring at it intently. Maybe he had a plan, Leah thought. Maybe he—

She swallowed when a realization came into her mind. This was the first time in weeks that both she and Sam stood side by side without getting into a fight. For a moment, Leah forgot what it was like to have a normal conversation with the man.

Leah looked at up her husband. She had so many questions for him now that they were civil. "Why didn't you call the cops?" she quietly asked, flashing back to the incidents from weeks ago.

Sam cleared his throat. "On who?"

Leah gave her husband a knowing look. He was playing dumb. "On me," she said, checking her surroundings for any eavesdroppers. Thankfully, everyone else was too busy working at a crime scene. "You had every right to."

Sam didn't say anything as he bent to the ground to examine the rubble, full of nothing but burnt cloth and wood. New burnt. He stood back up and said, voice detached, "Gotta see if that was like that before or after the killings…" he trailed off and looked down at his wife. "It would've been fair to you," he muttered. "I fucked up. I know I fucked up."

Leah averted her gaze. "I wanted to kill you," she said before turning her attention to the debris. "I wanted to kill you. Probably would've if I didn't consider the consequences."

"I'm glad you didn't."

Leah slightly frowned, crossing her arms. "I don't know if I am…" she admitted, and it was then she realized this was the most honest conversation she had with her husband in months.

Sam let out a heavy sigh. "I deserve that."

"Yes, you do," Leah said. At least, Sam wasn't bullshitting with her right now; that was progress. "Are you coming to the wedding?" she asked. "It's only a few days away."

"It would be best to stay behind. Anyway, I was only invited as your plus one."

"Good," Leah said. She dug her hands into the pockets of her wool coats and let out a deep breath. It was now or not, she decided. Who knew when the next chance would arise? Who knew when she would see or heard from her husband again? In-person? She cleared her throat. "I want a divorce."

It was short and sweet without any room for ambiguity, said quick enough before Leah could second-guess her decision.

Sam sharply turned to Leah, expression stunned. It felt like years had passed before he said a word, "Why?"

"Why not?"

"Leah—"

"It's for the best," Leah stressed. She wanted to speak her mind before she talked herself out of divorce. "I know that, and deep inside, you know that, too. This isn't going to work, not going to last, so why bother?"

Sam wanted to argue, but instead, he told his wife with his gaze still locked on the rubble, "We have to wait."

Leah blinked. "What is there to wait for?"

"Wait until the end of the year," Sam said, stealing his wife a glance. "Just wait, and I'll give you your damn divorce."

Leah brought a hand to her chest. "My divorce?"

Sam wasn't being fair. This wasn't only her divorce; it was theirs. But Leah decided not to put up a fight about wording. "We have no reason to wait," she said instead. "Separation for six months, that's what we need to get a divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences."

"Just wait another three months. It's not a long time."

"Why?"

"Just… please. And I won't contest a damn thing."

That was a plea. Sam had wanted to mask the desperation in his voice, but that was definitely a plea.

"What is there to contest? You've made your decision, and now, I've made mine."

"I didn't make a decision—"

"You did three years ago," Leah told her husband, giving him one last pointed look before walking away.

After all, she had work to do.

Leah had met Officer Embry Call a couple of years back. They weren't exactly friends, due to their limited interactions, but they didn't have any issues with each other. Leah liked Embry enough; he a good guy and a good cop.

"Is your brother still thinking about joining the force?" Embry asked as he and Leah were making their way back to the primary crime scene.

Leah sighed at Embry's question. "Yes."

She didn't understand how, in such a short time, Seth had been able to worm his way into the police department. Her brother consistently hung out with Jared, shared some beers with Embry, and occasionally played Madden with Jacob. Paul basically declared that Seth would join his unit the moment he graduated from the academy—Leah vowed to make sure that didn't happen.

"You don't sound too happy," Embry remarked before apologizing to a cop he had bumped into.

"Well, it's probably because we're standing in the middle of a crime scene," Leah said, and then, "I don't know... he wants to follow in my dad's footsteps—"

"And yours," Embry quickly added, flashing the detective a grin. He then asked, "You don't think he can handle the job?"

"It's not that," Leah maintained. Seth wasn't some weakling, but his heart could be too big for his own good. "He's just… Seth. He should be working in bakeries or with babies or some cute shit with like that. Not around us."

"I think he'll be fine," Embry said, quietly laughing. "He'll be fine."

"For your sake, he better."

"Wait, why are you threatening me?"

Leah brushed off the younger cop's comment, and then asked, "Since when did you become an unofficial detective?"

"Since two hours ago," Embry said. "Sam's partner's in some deep shit, so he's going to be out of commission for some time. The captain thought I should tag along. You know how it is… we're pretty stretched thin."

"How do you like it so far?" Leah asked.

"Well, I wish I didn't have to deal with this on my first unofficial day, but I guess it's all good. At least, Sam knows his stuff. I'm sure I can learn something from him…." Embry trailed off. His expression was apologetic. "Sorry."

Leah crossed his eyes and gave the younger cop a sharp look. "Goodness, Embry, I'm not some child."

"I know. I just sorry—Sorry. I mean. Sorry," Embry sputtered, and then asked, "Isn't it weird working with him?"

Leah rolled her eyes. "I'm not working with him. Jacob's my partner."

"Ah, right," Embry mumbled before adding a nervous chuckle. Point."

"It's good that you're shadowing Sam, even given the circumstances," Leah said, giving the younger cop a genuine smile. "He's a terrific detective and is well-regarded."

"Yeah…" Embry's words stalled as he stopped in the middle of the hallway. He sharply faced the walls, raising his eyebrows in curiosity, but he didn't add anything.

"Any updates on the Denali case?"

Embry glanced at the detective and groaned, "Official or unofficial?"

"The latter."

"Tanya took the bodies."

Leah frowned. It seemed that Tanya was a suspect of numerous crimes. "You sure?"

Embry nodded. "I did some snooping around and picked her scent—" He stopped and let out a series of dry coughs. He then sped up his stride. "I found evidence she was there."

Leah caught the slip-up but chose not to comment on it. "What did Sam say?" she asked.

"We couldn't confirm anything without hard evidence… which we still don't have."

"Any ideas why Tanya would need to steal Sasha and Vasili? Isn't she immediate family? She could've just claimed them at the morgue."

"Maybe she didn't want to be bothered with all of the drama since they are, you know, vampires?"

"Bella knows about them."

"But the public doesn't, and it's probably wise that it's kept that way," Embry said, adding, "Autopsies are public documents."

"I know."

"Well, that's probably why Tanya took the bodies. That's probably why Bella's new vampire-friend wanted to stop the autopsy."

Leah brought her eyebrows together. "But Jessica was a human."

"Who died from a vampire bite."

"Can't Bella just claim that it is was poison?"

"Technically, she could," Embry said with a shrug. "I mean, it is poison, but you know people are gonna ask questions about the type, the origin, and all that shit…"

Leah nodded. Yeah, that might become a problem. "Ah, right."

"Got a suspect on the Dahlia case?"

Leah grimaced. "Yeah, but the prime one's dead."

"Holy shit, that sucks."

Leah let out a sigh. "No shit, not that I'm going to tell the captain that. This is a high-profile case. We can't give up now."

"Yeah, I get it. Just don't be surprised if the feds come knocking," Embry said. "Word on the street is that they're eyes these strings of murders. Hard."

Not surprising. "Thanks for the heads up."

"Don't mention it." Embry placed a flat hand on the wall in front of him, lifting an eyebrow as he rubbed plaster in circles. He balled a hand into a fist and knocking along the structure. Hollow. He checked out another area, about a couple of feet away, and knocked again. Solid. "There's behind this," he announced before calling out to the closest cop to him. "Hey, Martin, let's open up this wall!"

Leah wished Embry hadn't discovered anything.

The selfish, cowardly side of her wished he wasn't so damn inquisitive. Who thought about checking the walls anyway? As far as everyone had been concerned, all attention should be directed to the front, open room. Where the bodies of Victims One through Three had been discovered.

Not this.

Leah made every effort not to vomit onto the stone floor as she leaned her hand against the wall, trying to balance her stance. She looked around; everyone was in the same horrified state as her. Some even decided to rush out of the area, out of the slaughterhouse; sub-zero temperatures, be damned—Leah couldn't blame them. If she weren't so dedicated to not collapsing on the dirtied floor, she would have followed them.

Maybe this was all a horrible dream.

It had all started with Embry ordering the removal of a portion of the hallway wall, leading into the slaughter bays. No one had thought much of it, until they sit it: two rows of bodies, lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, all wrapped in clear plastic bags with a cord tied around the necks. Some with blood spatter; some without.

All presumably dead.

How did he know?

Ah, there it was—The nausea was making a comeback.

"Fuck me," Sam groaned as he observed the row of bodies. "Fuck me."

"All dead," Leah told her husband, though perhaps not needed. None of the victims could still be alive. There was too much blood, and based on the way the bags were tied around the victims, they would've eventually suffocated.

"Thirteen!" Embry called out to his partner, stumbling back into the hallway. He stopped a few feet from his partner. "That's how much I counted."

"Alright."

Leah had to give credit when credit was due. Sam was taking in the scene pretty well. He ordered Embry to compose himself and directed a ground of CSIs and cops into the area. Once done, he turned his wife, who was still leaning against the wall. Face twisted in concern, Sam took a step forward. "You alright?" he slowly asked.

Leah swallowed a couple of times and nodded. She could do this, she told herself. She was a goddamn seasoned detective, for heaven's sake. she could handle a little gore—She stood up tall. "I'm fine," she insisted, straightening her up jacket.

Sam gave his wife a one-over, clearly not convinced by the other's detectives words. He challenged her, though. "Get your partner over here," he told her.

Leah nodded.

With her hand glued to her mouth, Leah quickly maneuvered through the growing crowd of law enforcement and CSI's. She caught sight of Embry pacing around at the north side of the hallway. "This is Officer Embry Call," she overheard him say into the phone. "I'm reporting a 310..."

He was requesting for the hazmat team.

Leah found her partner about a minute later, still standing next to Eric as they both examined the body of Victim Number Two, the young girl named Bree. The coroner soon stood up, took out his camera, and taking his necessary photos. Both men seemed oblivious until they noticed numerous people frantically running towards the direction of the slaughter bays frantically. They soon caught sight of Leah, rushing towards them with a grim look on her face.

Jacob's eyes widened. "Leah…?"

"You both need to come with me," Leah demanded. "Now."

"How many?"

"Thirteen—All deceased."

"All found behind these walls?"

"Embry somehow suspected it."

Jacob dragged a hand down his face. "Well, there goes my night," he mumbled, and then in a clearer voice, "Actually, this explains a lot. Do you remember that smell from earlier? All of these bodies would do it." Jacob took a step aside to let another cop pass through. "The plastic helped masked the smell," he added, wrinkling his nose. "But not enough."

Eric eventually arrived with a couple of EMTs in tow. He acknowledged the detectives with a nod before checking out the newest crime scene. He was just as horrified as everyone else. "Holy—I need a better job."

"Oh, come on, Doctor," Jacob called out with a teasing grin. He was trying to lighten the mood. "Ain't this a coroner's wet-dream?" He chuckled when said-coroner gave him the finger. After his laughter died down, Jacob announced he was going to get more reinforcements. "Give me five," he told Leah and Eric.

When Jacob left, Eric turned to Leah. "Hey, Detective, ever seen Sicario?"

Leah glanced at the medical examiner before turning his focus on one of the victims: a young man, Asian with short black hair and wide, blood-shot eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"The movie, Sicario… I highly recommend it, and the sequel's not too bad, too. Anyway, during the beginning scene, a bunch of agents was searching through a drug house and discovered bodies trapped within its walls. Just like the ones here." He gestured the corpses around them. "Exactly like them, actually…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "I don't think I'll ever see that movie. Not ever this."

"Do you think…?"

Eric slowly turned to the detective and raised an eyebrow, seemingly taken aback by the remark. "No..." he trailed off with a gulp. "I mean, from what I hear, those gangs usually aren't in the drug business. Apparently, it's too messy—Isn't that ironic? I guess I can't blame them. Who wants to deal with the DEA on a consistent basis?"

"Who wants to deal with the FBI or the ATF?" Leah countered as she examined another body—a black man, face virtually unrecognizable, behind the blood spatter and the body bag.

"Touché—Do you think it's happening again? St. Patrick's?"

St. Patricks' Day Massacre. Chicago's St. Valentine's Day Massacre of the twenty-first century. Literally the second to worst day for her on the job (the first being had been the day she and her partner were held up at gunpoint for a good hour). People were still reeling from that day today.

"I sure hope not," Leah whispered. "I sure hope not."

Leah stayed with the coroner for the next twenty minutes, until Jacob pulled her aside to a corner on the left-wing of the slaughterhouse, next one of the hanging rooms, empty save for a few scrambling mice.

"This isn't our case," Jacob told his partner. "I mean, sure it may have a connection, but…"

Leah nodded. "We're not a gang squad."

Jacob shook his head and let out a deep breath. "I'm sending this case to Paul. He's going to blow a gasket, but this is under the man's jurisdiction."

"This looks like a gang hit," Leah argued.

"This is a gang hit involving ultra-violets, vampires, literal trolls and children of the moon," Jacob said. "This is Paul's case." He pulled out his work phone, quickly dialed a number, and held the device to his ear. "Yo, Paul— Fine. Captain Lahote." He rolled his eyes. "You may want to send some of your guys here. It's a 354a."

354a— That was a code Leah never wanted to hear. That was the code designated for manners that not even the most ambitious of cops could handle.

"Yes, I know you can't stand the feds, but unless you wanna deal with this shit all by yourself..." Jacob stopped, letting out an exasperated sigh as he allowed Paul to speak. "I know. Jesus, Paul. Just send some guys over and then ask them if they want to solve it themselves..." His eyes darted around the room. "Sixteen. Three on the ground. Mutilated up by most likely the C.O.M. The rest inside the walls… Yeah, you heard me right, inside the walls. Wrapped in plastic body bags with an ultra-violet lodged in their skull… Yes, that's why I'm telling you to come down here and make sure the media doesn't hear about this... Yeah, see you soon."

"ETA?" Leah asked after the call ended.

"Thirty minutes."