PART ONE

Chapter Thirteen

"For a case as high profile as the Chicago Dahlia's, you'd think we'd have more information by now."

Leah couldn't agree more with Jacob.

It was the first week in April, a little over two and a half months since the inception of the Chicago Dahlia case, and the detectives found themselves at a standstill. Apart from a handful of leads (and Riley's cooperation), the detectives barely had anything to justify an arrest, let alone an indictment.

The biggest issue was rather obvious: the number one suspect in the Dahlia Murder was no longer of this world. Demetri Yuryevich Karlov, a coveted member of the Volturi, was executed by an unknown assailant from an unknown organization (No, Leah, remember: it was a suicide). And the other person of interest, if one could call her that, could not be reached for she was currently out of the country; a country that didn't have an extradition treaty with the United States.

Not that Leah and Jacob had much to justify Esme's extradition in the first place.

And Edward Anthony Masen? Assistant State Attorney Jenks was still working on that mess with limited results.

The whole thing was downright infuriating.

Jessica Ashley Stanley deserved justice. Her murder didn't deserve to run cold due to a technicality such as the demise of the main suspect. Others had to have been involved. Others besides Demetri –

Demetri. What was his motive for delivering that fatal bite in the first place? Why did he leave Jessica in such a manner? What was the message and for whom? According to Officer Jared Cameron (Leah's new point of contact for Unit Five aka "Unit that shall not Be Named" aka "The Voldemort Unit" while Paul was fuming away, butting heads with his supervisors and the feds), no one had mentioned Jessica. Not the Cullens, not the Denalis, and certainly not Victoria's crew.

As far as Unit Five was concerned, Jessica was only known as a naive college student, who had associated herself with the wrong crowd and paid the ultimate price; a conclusion that didn't make any sense to Leah. If Jessica were so insignificant, then Edward "Eddie Cullen" Anthony Masen would've never sought Bella's cooperation.

Jessica Stanley had to be important to someone.

Leah grumbled under her breath as she reviewed the Dahlia casefiles and reports for the umpteenth time. She was missing something that was most likely so obvious, most likely right under her nose, but her mind wouldn't let her find it.

Something had to give, damn it.

Leah received the call on a late Wednesday night.

Despite wanting nothing more than to roll back over and return to her much-needed slumber, despite that it was a little after 11:00pm and it was Sam, of all people, on the other line, Leah ended up taking the call before its last ring.

Multiple homicides, that was what Sam told her, voice uncharacteristically full of distress. Murder-Two, possibly Murder-One. Probable Murder-Suicide.

Damn, she thought, bumping the back of her head against the headboard as her husband provided the details. Sam was currently inside the remains of the Union Stock Yards, which meant he was on the south side; an area outside of Leah's and Jacob's jurisdiction.

With a groggy voice, Leah thanked Sam for the heads up on what was sure to be one hell of a homicide investigation but ultimately decided that the case wasn't her problem. She promised to follow up with Sam in the morning and ended the call. She was going back to bed, she decided as she grabbed her comforter – That was until Jacob called less than a minute later.

Be ready in ten, he told her.

From the sound of it, Jacob was already on the road.

Their presence was requested at the Union Stock Years, which meant Detective Sam Uley's problem was now Detectives Leah Uley and Jacob Black's problem.

Damn it.

Leah shut her eyes, briefly lamenting her decision to become a detective. She then kicked away the warm covers and jumped out of her bed. She grumbled out a string of expletives as she quickly dressed, annoyed at the ill-timing of the phone calls and the sudden abdominal pain courtesy of her equally ill-timed time visit by Aunt Flo.

Exactly ten minutes later, Leah met Jacob on the street outside of her apartment. Her only saving grace was that it wasn't that cold; ideal, considering she only had time to throw on a T-shirt, some sweats, and a thin jean jacket.

"How bad is it?" she asked sometime later before popping a coupe of painkillers into her mouth, swallowing them dry. "And be honest."

Jacob, who looked like he had woken only a few moments before Leah, heaved a sigh. "Sam doesn't like reaching out to other units," he said, reaching for his Red Bull. "Not so soon. He just arrived at the scene."

Leach buckled her seatbelt. "No, he does not." Detectives could be quite protective of their investigations. "So, let's get this show on the road and hope we'll return home at a reasonable time."

Jacob gave a nod and drove off.

"I hope for your husband's sake that he's not pulling our tails," Jacob grumbled as he exited the car, slamming the door shut behind him. He stretched out his arms while Leah emerged from the passenger side. "It's too late for a false alarm."

Leah surveyed the area. It was quiet, and it was dark. No bustling crowds of EMTs, cops, and CSIs. No media presence. No onlookers. There were a couple of police officers securing the perimeter while a handful hung around the building; one was even holding a lit cigarette.

At first glance, the crime scene didn't look like much.

"Not a night person?"

"Not a visiting-a-crime-scene-in-the-dead-of-night kind of person, especially when, nothing's likely gonna come out of it."

"Multiple homicide doesn't sound like 'nothing.'"

"You know what I mean."

"Reserve your judgment until we see the place," Leah advised, making her way toward the building along the cobblestone walkway. She greeted everyone she passed by. In the distance were two surviving structures of the stockyards: a dilapidated slaughterhouse with a stone entrance gate.

"I knew I should've stayed home," Jacob muttered behind her.

You and me both, Leah thought as she entered the slaughterhouse through the former butcher's entrance, leading into a small yard. The area wasn't well-lit, and debris was everywhere: old papers, rotten wooden slabs, dilapidated fencing, and rusted metal rods with equally rusted tools and nails.

To her left stood a shed and a couple of abandoned offices. To her right were the remains of a manure cage, some stables, and mechanic rooms. Straight ahead was a wide corridor that stretched to the other side of the building; on its left was space formerly for live animals and on the right, for their carcasses.

Only when Leah passed the Inspector's Office did she realize she was walking along a thin, long trail of dried blood. She stopped, turning to Jacob. The blood wasn't fresh, but it wasn't days old.

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

"What?"

"You caught that?"

Leah tested the air for herself. One sniff, then it hit her. Fast and hard. The unfortunate mix of rotten meat, blood, and manure. Holding her inner wrist to her traumatized nose, Leah advanced further.

The crime scene was primarily concentrated in an open space that once held the overflow yards and stables. Save for a small area illuminated by makeshift lamps, the entire area was rather dark. EMTs were gathering their supplies, indicating that no survivors were to be found. Numerous cops and CSIs are roaming around with flashlights in search of anything useful.

Sam had mentioned numerous bodies, so where were they?

Leah was about to ask Jacob that very question when she turned to see Officer Embry Call, speaking to another cop; both men were standing over a large pool of blood.

So, the bodies couldn't have been that far away.

"Surprised the media isn't here," Leah quietly remarked to Jacob, rubbing her jacket-clad arms. It was the middle of the night, and the temperature had seemingly dropped ten degrees in a span of minutes.

"Be extremely grateful for that."

With a nod, Leah walked further into the building, finding even more traces of blood, but no bodies. About a minute later, she finally caught sight of her husband. He was speaking to Dr. Yorkie; both men were hovering over what seemed to be a bloodied corpse – Well, there it was: a body.

And there he was.

Sam.

Leah immediately averted her gaze.

She didn't want to deal with him, but what other option did she have? Not do her job and force yet another transfer? No, doing so would only create more problems and bolster the claim she liked to make everything so goddamn personal.

Personal? She had to laugh. Well, If Sam had only stuck to his vows, then she wouldn't have to –

Leah shook her head. No, there was not the time to get personal. Taking a deep breath, she faced her husband again. She greeted him with a short wave. They had to keep her problems outside of the crime scene.

Sam returned the wave.

"Thank you for coming," Sam began, looking and sounding utterly drained. "This isn't something I do very often." He motioned the newcomers to follow him through a doorless entrance and into an abandoned office with only one wall upright. He assumed his position against a rusted file cabinet. "But I didn't think I had any other choice."

Jacob gave a stiff nod while Leah, who was only partially listening to her husband, looked over her shoulder in search of Sam's noticeably absent partner; a man rumored to spend more time counting down the days until his next vacation rather than doing actual police work.

"Where's Porter?" Leah wondered. In place of an answer, Sam placed a hand over his forehead and a thumb behind him. Leah couldn't find Porter, only Officer Call, who was snooping around with a flashlight. It took her a second to understand what was happening. "You're kidding," she said.

"A patrol officer?" Jacob asked, barely containing his laughter. Not necessarily because of Embry and his abilities, Leah concluded, because Jacob saw him as a little brother, but because of Sam's luck. Instead of having a seasoned detective for a partner, he was now stuck with an officer. "Whose shitlist are you on?"

"No one's," Sam grunted out. He glanced at his wife before clearing his throat. "It had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with that incompetent moron."

As entertaining as hearing about Porter's latest shenanigans was, Leah did not come all the way from the north side to engage in gossip. "Why are we here?" she demanded, hands on her hips. "Why aren't you keeping this case to yourself? I have a strong feeling this is about to be a major one."

"Because I try not to be selfish," Sam said, then as if realizing what he had just said, he looked away, shielding himself from his wife's sharp gaze. "Of course, I want this case for myself, but after some snooping around, I realize there may be a connection to the Dahlia case… and that's why you're here."

"Go on," Jacob insisted. "What do you have so far?"

"Three bodies, slaughtered in a damn slaughterhouse."

"How fitting," Leah mumbled.

She asked her husband for the victims.

"I'll show them soon," Sam promised, "but the main reason why I called you was because we found some UVs lying around. I called some folks from Paul's unit, and they said this area belonged to the Cullens. Olympic territory." He knitted his eyebrows together. "Wasn't the Dahlia working for them? Or with them?"

Jacob and Leah shared a look before Leah replied quite tentatively, "We have reasons to believe that…" She took a step forward. "So, the victims may be associated with the Olympic?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Sam said, noncommitting. He peeked behind him before jerking his head towards an area in the distance. "Come on, I'll show you the carnage."

The sight of Victim Number One was hard to digest.

Leah grimaced as she studied the body, or what remained of it. He (she assumed the victim was a male) had large, disorganized gashes all over his body; his clothes were torn. Blood was everywhere, and the victim's face was wrecked beyond recognition – This wasn't a straightforward killing.

"White male, about five-foot-ten," Jacob observed; all three detectives were kneeling around the body. "Looked like he hit the gym, and judging from the lack of wrinkled skin, couldn't be that old."

There wasn't much else Jacob could describe.

"He's not the only one," Sam said, standing up. He motioned for the detectives to follow his lead. About fifteen feet away was 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. "Number Two."

Victim Number Two was currently being inspected by Dr. Eric Yorkie.

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, this was a teenager, Leah realized with sadness. Upon further inspection, the detective noticed a pair of sharp, long fangs inside the victim's opened mouth.

Vampire fangs.

She looked up at her partner.

Jacob looked down at the victim with a deep frown. He then ran a hand down his face, confirming Leah's suspicions with a nod.

Victim Number Two was a vampire.

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

Eric removed a small pink wallet from the victim's front jean pocket with his gloved hand. Reaching up, he handed it to the detective. "ID," he said. "Presumably."

Sam opened the wallet and 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 goddamn kid."

Leah searched through the wallet's contents, stopping when she came across a worn photograph. She froze, immediately catching the attention of the other detectives. Swallowing, Leah gave the picture to her partner, who, after one look, muttered a rather colorful curse.

In that photograph, standing next to presumably Bree, was the detectives' confidential informant: the one and only Riley Biers.

The world was truly small.

Sam wasn't paying much attention to the exchange between Leah and Jacob; instead, he asked Eric for the cause of death, reminding the young doctor that, "And I want in laymen's terms this time. Not all of us attended med school."

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

"From a knife?" Leah asked.

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

Sam crossed his arms. "You're the medical professional."

"Oh, I have a strong feeling about how this all went down, but I'm not sure people would want to hear it," Eric said. "I think this may be the work of 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, his expression and voice grave. "The ones from horror stories." He then turned to Eric. "How do you know about the Children of the Moon?"

"I know a thing or two about supernatural lore," Eric said with a half-shrug. "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?" Sam 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's not that good at keeping secrets." He let out a light chuckle. "So, how about it?"

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

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

After putting on gloves, Leah dug into the victim's front jean pocket and retrieved the wallet. She pulled out a Driver's License. "Vincenzo Marino," she read. "Born on Christmas '74. From Oak Park." She looked up at the other detectives. "Ring a bell?"

Sam shook his head.

"Vin the Tin," Jacob said. "He was an arms dealer and a real piece of work. He was supposed to have been convicted on numerous charges, but his lawyer was a goddamn. Vin ended up serving only five years."

"You sure that's him?"

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

"Human?" Sam asked.

"Unfortunately." Jacob ran a hand across the top of his head, then 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 strongly disagreed with that assessment. 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?

Without making a comment, Leah pulled out another photograph, showing a little boy, sitting on the shoulders of what she could assume belonged to the recently deceased – She turned over the picture. Dated July 2017.

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

"This whole place is a goddamn cesspool," Sam grumbled.

"Never thought I'd be at a crime scene worse than the Dahlia's, but here I am," Leah remarked. She sharply turned to her husband. "What the hell's going on? I know this is Chicago. I know the murder rate has ensured our job security, but this is crazy."

"A war," Sam answered with a forlorn sigh; he looked like he had aged ten years overnight. "They're starting another goddamn war."

Leah had never had Sam utter so many "goddamns" in such a short amount of time.

"Between whom?" Leah wondered although she had a sinking feeling she already knew the answer. "And why?"

Sam lifted both shoulders. "I don't – " He stopped. "Hey, did you both hear about Paul's task force?"

Jacob raised a challenging eyebrow. "Have you?"

Sam didn't respond to Jacob's question. "He asked you to join?"

"He mentioned it to the both of us," Leah said. "How about you?"

Sam gave an affirmative, then almost immediately changed the subject, "Let's look around more, shall we?"

Jacob stepped aside. "After you."

"What happened with Porter this time?" Leah asked Sam while they walked around the crime scene in search of more evidence. Jacob was working with Embry and Eric. "Another disappearing act?"

"Apparently, he gets high off someone else's confiscated supply," Sam hesitantly replied. Leah supposed he didn't want to talk about Porter and his drama; that was understandable. "Call's going to be with me for quite some time."

"That bad, huh?"

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 turned to his wife, expression apologetic and full of regret – It was rather jarring. "Leah, I'm really sorry about everything."

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

She was only apologizing for the gun incident.

Silence once again fell between the spouses. After spending the next few minutes roaming around, the pair stopped before a pile of burnt furniture. Leah didn't see anything significant about the debris, but Sam was staring down at it intently. Maybe he had a plan, Leah thought. Maybe he –

She drew in a breath when a realization came to her mind. This was the first time in weeks that she and Sam stood side by side without getting into a fight.

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

Sam cleared his throat. "On whom?"

Leah gave her husband a side-eye, not impressed with his "let's-pay-dumb" ruse. "On me," she said, checking her surroundings for eavesdroppers. Thankfully, everyone else was too focused on the crime scene. "You had every right to."

Sam remained tight-lipped he kneeled on the ground to examine the rubble, full of nothing but burnt cloth and wood. Newly 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 messed up. I know I messed up."

Leah averted her gaze. "I wanted to kill you," she quietly admitted, turning her attention to the debris. "Thought about pulling the trigger. For a brief manic moment, but I did. Probably would've if I didn't consider the consequences."

"I'm glad you didn't."

Leah slightly frowned. "I don't know if I am."

This was the most honest conversation she had with her husband in months.

Sam heaved a heavy sigh. "I deserve that."

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

This upcoming Saturday.

He appeared to have forgotten about the wedding, not that Leah could blame him. She would've too forgotten about the wedding if she had to deal with an enraged wife and a delusional soon-to-be-baby mama, a disintegrating marriage, and two major cases with no end in sight.

Sam looked away for a moment, then turned back to his wife. "It would be best if I stay behind," he said. Smart man. "Anyway, I barely know the soon-to-be happy couple. I was only going to attend as your plus-one."

Leah dug her hands into her coat pocket and gave a curt nod. Good, that was one less thing she had to worry about. "Good," she said, trying her best not to sound too relieved; she didn't want to give her husband that power. "Good."

Another bout of silence fell upon the estranged couple as they both aimlessly looked around; neither seemed too focused on the actual investigation.

Leah audibly swallowed when, by chance, she stole a peek at Sam's hand. Ono his ring finger, it was still there. The wedding ring. She tried not to laugh at the absurdity of it all, and – Damn it. This was it, wasn't it? The moment she was waiting for. It was now or never.

She had to get this over with. Who knew when the next chance would arise? Who knew when she would see or hear from her husband again? In-person?

"I want a divorce."

Sam sharply turned to Leah; expression completely taken aback, body stiff as if enduring rigor mortis. But then he started to fidget; his hands shook; his mouth opened, then closed, and then opened again. Was it really that surprising? Sam, though known for making a series of very questionable decisions, was not a fool. He should've seen this all coming.

It felt like years had passed before Sam could formulate words; one word, rather, "Why?"

Leah briefly shut her eyes. "Why not?" she challenged and before Sam could protest, "It's for the best." She was glad she was doing this now, despite the less-than-ideal location; she feared that if she pushed back this necessary conversation another day, she'd manage to talk herself out it. "I know that, and deep inside, you do, too. This isn't gonna work out. Not gonna last, especially with everything going on. So, why bother?"

She could not believe she was discussing an impending divorce in the middle of a crime scene.

Sam wanted to put up a fight; Leah could see the defiance in his eyes. "We have to wait," he eventually decided.

It wasn't a "no," but it certainly wasn't what Leah wanted to hear.

"What's there to wait for?"

Sam deeply inhaled, lifting both shoulders, dropping them as he exhaled as if he were in the middle of an ill-timed meditation. Right when Leah intended to speak, Sam finally responded, "Wait until the end of the year." He wasn't begging, but damn if he weren't close to. "Just wait, and I'll give you your divorce."

Leah pressed a hand against her chest. "My divorce?"

He had some nerve. This wasn't only her divorce; it was theirs. He had been the one sleeping around – No, she wasn't going to start another argument; she had been doing so well. "We have no reason to wait," she said. "Separation for six months, that's all we need to get a divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences."

Sam took a step towards his wife. "Just wait another three months."

Leah took a step back. "Why?"

"Just… please, and I won't contest a thing."

Leah was taken aback by the thinly veiled desperation in her husband's voice. This was not like him, but she refused to relent, "What is there to contest?" she challenged. "You've made your decision, and now I've made mine."

"I didn't make a – "

"Yes, you did," Leah sharply reminded him; she was not in the mood to continue watching Sam cosplay as a complete fool; he knew what was happening. "You did three years ago," and with one last pointed look, she walked away, not even bothering to stay for a response.

After all, she had work to do.

"Is your brother still thinking about joining the dark side?"

Leah honestly did not want to think about Seth as a cop while rummaging through a musty, abandoned slaughterhouse that currently housed the bodies of three murder victims.

She was walking alongside Officer Embry Call, a man she had the pleasure of being acquainted with during the last few months. He was a funny guy, a little on the shy side around those he didn't know, and good enough at his job to work on detective matters. And Seth seemed to like him, which did say a lot about Embry's character.

Oh, Seth.

Once again, Leah still didn't understand how in such a short amount of time, Seth had been able to worm his way into the police department's good graces. Her brother was consistently hanging out with Jared, shared some beers with Embry, and occasionally played Madden with Jacob. Plus, Paul had essentially declared that Seth would be joining his unit the moment he graduated from the Academy – which was not going to happen, not under Leah's watch.

"You don't sound too thrilled about the prospect," Embry remarked before apologizing to a cop he had almost bumped into. He gave a sheepish smile and carried on his way.

"We are in the middle of a crime scene," Leah snarked. She stepped over a long slab of discarded concrete. "I don't know… He wants to follow in our dad's footsteps and become – "

"And yours," Embry interjected, flashing the detective a grin. "You don't think he can handle it?"

"It's not that," Leah maintained. Seth wasn't some weakling, and he wasn't incompetent. It was just that he had a heart that was too big for his own good. "He should be working in bakeries or with babies. Something cute. Not this godforsaken job."

"To be fair, I'd think having someone with a softer side would do the force some good. I wouldn't worry about Seth." Embry said, reducing his wide grin to a small, reassuring smile. " I think he'll do just fine… Yeah, he'll be fine."

"For your sake, he better be."

"Wait, are you threatening me?"

Leah waved away the younger cop's concern.

"So, when did you become an unofficial detective?"

Embry sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "This afternoon. Porter got himself into some serious trouble, so he's gonna be out of commission for a bit. The bosses thought I should tag along and get some experience… We're pretty stretched thin."

"How do you like it so far?"

"To be honest, the lieutenant needs a personality, and I wish I didn't have to deal with a grisly crime scene on my first official day, but I guess it's going well. Sam knows his stuff. I'm sure I'd be able to learn a thing or two from him…" Embry trailed off with a grin, which almost immediately slipped away. "Sorry, I didn't – "

Leah pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. "I don't work with him. Jacob's my partner, not Sam," she reminded the younger cop. "You don't have to apologize about a thing. It's good that you're paired up with him. He's a terrific detective and well-regarded. You'll learn a lot from him."

Relief washed over Embry's face.

"Um, well, yeah." He gave a thumbs up, probably not knowing how else to properly respond. He continued down the corridor, stopping halfway. Without saying a word, he turned he faced the wall, covered with chipped dirty-white paint. He cocked his head and rubbed his chin, muttering unintelligible words under his breath.

"Any updates on the Denali case?"

Embry turned his head to Leah. "Official or unofficial?"

"The most likely truth."

"Tanya took the bodies. Presumably."

Leah raised an eyebrow. "Presumably? You're sure about that?"

"Like I said: presumably," which meant Embry had a strong feeling but didn't have concrete, admissible-under-the-court-of-law evidence. "I did some snooping around and I picked up her scent – " He stopped with a short cough, shooting Leah a wary glance before quickening his stride.

Leah caught the slip-up but chose not to comment on it. For all that she knew, she had probably misheard the man.

"What did Sam say?"

Embry began to slow down. "We couldn't confirm squat without anything tangible," he said, looking over his shoulder to roll his eyes, "which we don't have. At all."

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

"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 wise that it's kept that way."

"I know."

"I wonder if that's the reason why Tanya presumably took the bodies? That also can explain why Bella's new vampire friend wanted to stop the autopsy."

Leah tilted her head. "But Jessica was human."

"Her killer wasn't."

"Can't Bella claim that the bite was poisonous?"

"Technically, she could," Embry said. "But you know people are gonna ask questions about the type, the origin, and all that."

Yeah, that might become a problem.

"Ah, right."

"And the suspect for the Dahlia case?"

"The prime's no longer with us."

Embry cringed. "Damn, that sucks."

"But we can't give up now. It's too hot of a case. Too high-profile."

"I get it. Just don't be surprised if the feds come knocking. Word on the street is that they're looking into the strings of murders."

As fully expected.

"Thanks for the heads up."

"Don't mention it."

Embry then took a step forward, placing both hands flat against the wall before him. His face twisted in curiosity as he rubbed circles into the drywall. He then balled a hand into a fist and made a series of knocks along the structure. Hollow. He inspected another area a couple of feet away. He knocked again. Solid.

"I think there's something behind this," he deduced, and before Leah could question him, he called out to the closest cop around, "Yo, Kaminski! Do me a favor, will ya? Help me open up this wall!"

Leaning forward with her hand against the undisturbed portion of the drywall, Leah used all her might to maintain her balance. She tried to calm her heart rate as she tried everything in her power not to vomit onto the cracked concrete floor below.

She looked to her left.

She looked to her right.

People were rushing around Leah, those who were in the same horrified state as she, those who couldn't take the sight anymore, and thus, sought refuge outside. There was no judgment; if Leah weren't so concentrated on not collapsing onto the worn flooring – if her legs cared to move – she would've followed them right out into the safe, open field.

Most of the old walls that lined up both sides hallway, leading into the slaughter bays, were removed, just as Embry had ordered. No one had thought much about it, the task was rather easy, until they had realized what they had done. Until they realized what was in front of them: along each side of the hallway was a row of bodies. Tightly packed shoulder-to-shoulder. All wrapped in clear plastic with a cord tied around their necks and blood pooling at their confined feet.

All presumably dead.

Leah dropped her head, letting out a grunt.

Ah, there it was.

The nausea, it was making a furious comeback.

"Fuck me," Sam groaned as he observed the bodies displayed around him. "Fuck me hard."

"All dead," Leah informed her husband, though her assessment was rather obvious. There was almost no chance that any of the victims could still be alive. There was too much blood and, based on the way the bags and ropes were tied around the victims, not enough air. If they hadn't died instantly from their wounds, they would've eventually been finished off by suffocation.

"Thirteen!" Embry called out to his temporary partner as he stumbled back into the hallway, stopping only a couple of feet away from the detectives. "That's how much I counted."

Sam gave a curt nod. "Alright."

Leah had to give credit when credit was due; Sam was taking in the grisly scene rather well. After ordering Embry to compose himself, he directed a group of CSIs and cops into the area. Once done, he turned his attention to his wife, who was still slumped against the wall. With an expression full of genuine concern, he approached her.

"You're alright?"

Leah cleared her throat a few times, then gave a nod. She could do this, she told herself. She was a veteran detective. She had endured the Dahlia crime scene, for goodness' sake. She could handle this. Just a little more gore than she was used to. She took a deep breath, then stood up tall. "I'm fine," she insisted, straightening her jacket.

She was good to go.

Sam gave his wife a once-over, clearly not convinced by her words. He didn't challenge Leah, though. "Get Black over here," he said to her instead, "and Dr. Yorkie."

Leah did as she was told.

With the back of her hand glued under her nose, 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. "We got a 310..."

He was calling for the hazmat team.

Leah would find Jacob sometime later. He was still standing next to Eric as they both continued their examination of Victim Number Two: the youngest one, Bree. Both men seemed oblivious to the situation until they noticed numerous people frantically running in the direction of the slaughter bay.

Both men had a look of absolute bewilderment which only increased when they noticed Leah rushing towards them. Before they could utter a word, Leah removed her hand; the stench was still lingering.

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

"How many?"

"Thirteen."

"Shit."

"All deceased."

"All found within the walls?"

"Embry had his suspicions." Leah swallowed. "Unfortunately, they were proven to be correct."

"Well, there goes my night," Jacob grumbled, and then in a clearer voice, "Actually, this explains a lot. Remember that smell from earlier? I'm guessing it was from the bodies. With all that moisture..." He took a step aside, allowing another cop to pass by him. "The plastic helped mask the smell," he added, "but not entirely."

"Maybe a tear?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Eric would eventually arrive with a couple of EMTs in tow. After, acknowledging the detectives with a short nod, he proceeded to check out the newest crime scene. He was just as horrified as everyone else. "I need a better job." He opened his tool bag. "I could've gone into pediatrics like I promised my parents, but no, I wanted to be different. What on Earth was I thinking deciding to work with the dead?"

"Oh, come on, Doctor," Jacob teased, trying to lighten the mood; this time, he wasn't successful. "Shouldn't this be a medical examiner's wet dream?" He deservedly received the finger from Eric. After a few more jabs tossed around between the two men, Jacob announced he was going to get more reinforcements. "Will be back in five."

It was quiet between the detective and the medical examiner until Eric spoke up, carefully running a gloved finger across the plastic-covered forehead of an unfortunate victim, almost in awe. "Have you ever seen Sicario?" he asked, pulling back his hand.

Leah gave a sideways glance. She then shifted her focus onto one of other the victims: A young man. East Asian descent with short black hair with wide, blood-shot eyes. Pained eyes.

It took Leah a moment to register that she had been asked a question.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The movie, Sicario. Highly recommend it, and there's a sequel coming in June. Anyway, the opening scene featured a bunch of agents, searching through a drug den; they discovered bodies trapped within its walls. Just like the ones right here." He gestured to the corpses around them. "Exactly like them, actually…" He grimaced. "I don't think I'll ever watch that movie again." He shook his head. "No, ma'am."

Leah scrutinized the victim directly before her. There was something about his stare. Although his eyes were hollow, no longer showing any signs of life, they still managed to portray so much… Fear? No, pure terror.

She had to look away.

"Do you think it was the work of the cartels?"

Eric gulped. "No." He gulped once more. "I mean, from what I hear, these kinds of gangs, the supernatural ones, usually aren't in the drug business. Apparently, it's too messy because of the human element. 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 feds in general?" Leah argued as she turned to another victim: a black man, face virtually unrecognizable, behind the blood spatter and the body bag. Despite the chaos, she could pick out the bullet wound. In the middle of the forehead, a little to the left. From the looks of it, the exit wound. He had been killed execution-style. Perhaps after getting his face smashed in.

"Touché." Eric gave a quiet snicker; genuine or not was up for debate. He quickly looked between Leah and the row of the bodies. "Do you think it's happening again?" His voice was meek. "Another St. Patrick's?"

Dr. Yorkie might have been new to the life of a Cook Country medical examiner, but he knew about St. Patrick's. He had heard about it from the news, just like the rest of the general public. Not all the details for some were kept under wraps for obvious reasons, but enough to know the horror of it.

St. Patrick's Day Massacre. Chicago's St. Valentine's Day Massacre of the Twenty-First Century. The second to worst day on the job (the first being when she and a former partner were held up at gunpoint back in 2017 for a good two hours after getting kidnapped). An event people were still reeling from to this day.

"I sure hope not," Leah whispered. The memories from that horrid day and its equally horrid aftermath flooded her mind. She quickly shook away the unwelcoming flashbacks. "I sure hope not."

The detective would spend the next twenty minutes by Dr. Yorkie's side, trying to piece whatever-the-hell was happening while waiting for Jacob's reinforcements. When they eventually arrived, she left the newly arrived assistance with a grateful Eric, then proceeded to follow Jacob to the left wing of the slaughterhouse, in an area next to one of the hanging rooms. They were by themselves, save for a few scrambling mice.

"Thirteen," Leah told Jacob. "Plus, three."

"Sixteen."

"Unfortunately."

Letting out a harsh breath, Jacob looked behind him to where the rest of the crew stood. "I'm sending this case over to Paul," he decided. "He's gonna blow a gasket, but everything we've seen unfortunately falls within Unit Five's jurisdiction."

"This looks like a gang hit," Leah argued. "Supernatural or not, a gang hit is a gang hit."

"This hit involves ultra-violets, vampires, literal trolls, and Children of the Moon." Jacob pulled out his work phone, quickly dialed a number, and held the device to his ear. "Yo, Paul… Fine. Captain Lahote. You may want to send some of your guys here. It's a 354a."

354a.

The code no one wanted to hear.

"… Yes, I know you don't want to involve the feds, but unless you wanna deal with this all by yourself – " Jacob gave an exasperated sigh as he allowed Paul to speak. "I know… You know what? Send a couple of your guys over, and then ask them if they want to handle..." His eyes darted around the open area. "Sixteen. Three on the ground; those were most likely the work of the C.O.M. The rest were found inside the walls… Yeah, you heard me right. Inside the walls. Wrapped in plastic body bags with a UV lodged in their skulls… Yes, why do you think I'm ... Yeah, see ya soon."

"ETA?" Leah asked after the call ended.

"Thirty minutes. Forty-five, tops."