this crime scene. It was the man she'd come here for, too.
On the approach, she noted the black motorcycle parked on the fringe of the forest. It was his; she'd seen it at HQ before. Matter of fact, she'd watched him from her window as he mounted the thing, kick-started it, and tore off. He wore his helmet - most of the time.
She knew that a lot of women at the station house pulled the same stare thing, but then again, there was a lot to look at. Between his heavy shoulders and his tight hips, he was built like a boxer, but his face was more pretty-boy than pugilist - or would have been had it not been for his stare. Those cold, intelligent dark blues of his took that J.Crew - model bone structure into all-man territory. And then some.
Stopping in front of him, the first thing she noticed was the blood on his black turtleneck. Spots of it here and there, not big smudges or soaked-in patches.
No scratches on his face. Or his neck.
Clothes and hat were in good condition - nothing out of kilter, torn, or abraded. Two mud circles were on the knees of his black pants. Gun was holstered. Unclear whether he had other weapons on him.
He didn't say anything. No "I didn't do it" or "Let me explain ..."
His eyes just locked on her and ... that was it.
Ditching the pleasantries, she said, "The sergeant called me in."
"I figured."
"Are you injured?"
"No."
"Mind if I ask you some questions?"
"G'head."
God, he was in such control of himself. "What brought you out here tonight?"
"I knew Kroner was going to come back. He had to. With his collection impounded, he had nothing left of his work, so this is a holy site to him."
"And what happened after you got here?"
"I waited. He came ... and then ..." Veck hesitated, his brows going tight as a knot before one hand came up and rubbed his temple. "Shit ..."
"Detective?"
"I can't remember." He looked her square in the eye again. "I can't remember anything after he showed up, and that's the God's honest. One minute he was coming through the woods, and the next? There was blood everywhere."
"May I see your hands, Detective?" When he held them out, they were rock steady ... and unmarked with cuts or abrasions. No blood on the palms, the fingertips, the nails. "Did you assess the victim or intervene with him in some way prior to or after calling nine-one-one?"
"I took my leather jacket off and put it to his neck. It wasn't going to help, but I did it anyway."
"Are you carrying any weapons other than your gun?"
"My knife. It's on my - "
She put her hand on his arm to stop his reaching around. "Let me take a look."
Nodding, he pivoted on his boot heel. In the light from the ambulance, the nasty-looking blade holstered at the small of his back was a laceration waiting to happen.
"May I remove this weapon, Detective?"
"Have at it."
Taking a set of vinyl gloves out of her backpack, she snapped them on and went for the dagger. As she tugged to loosen the snap, his body didn't shift at all. She might as well have been disarming a statue.
The knife was clean and dry as a whistle.
Lifting it up to her nose, she inhaled. No scent of astringent as if he'd scrubbed it in a hurry.
As he looked over his shoulder, the torsion in his body made his shoulders seem huge, and for no good reason, she realized she was eye-to-eye with his pecs. At five-foot-six, she was of average height, but next to him she felt like she'd shrunk to miniature.
"I'm going to confiscate this, if you don't mind?" She was going to take his gun as well, but given the injuries ... the blade was what she really wanted from him.
"Not at all."
As she took a plastic bag out of her sack, she said, "What do you think happened here."
"Someone ripped him apart, and I think it was me."
That stopped her, but not because she thought it was an admission of any kind - she just didn't expect anyone under these circumstances to be so honest.
At that moment, an unmarked pulled into the parking lot along with two squad cars. "Your partner's arrived," she said. "But the sergeant wants me to lead the investigation to avoid any possible conflicts of interest."
"Not a problem."
"Will you consent to my taking samples from under your nails?"