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STRUTTING DOWN THE CONCRETE SIDEWALK, Saniyah's Christian Louboutin black high heel pumps clicked steadily, matching the pace of her walk.
"So, what do we got?" She asked, crouching in front of a dead body, pulling on black nylon gloves, careful of her acrylic nails.
"Black male, aged 19, gunshot wound in his back, a possible robbery. No finger prints and no DNA whatsoever." Another detective, Justin, read off of a paper, where he'd just finished taking notes on.
"Damn. A baby, huh?" She mumbled, turning his head, seeing his eyes still wide in shock.
"Birthday just passed too. Dante Wells, lives in Buckhead with his mom and two sisters, local drug dealer. Might've been shot by his connect or maybe just a random kid who wanted a come up." He told her, and she hummed in response, looking over the body.
"No, I don't think so." She said, turning the body over so that he laid on his back.
"What do you see?" He asked, crouching next to her. The two had frequented a few cases together, and she was always the one to make hidden discoveries.
"You think he was shot in his back, but he wasn't. The bullet wound is rigged, do you see it? Looks like a .40 shell. But it looks as if it exploded. I'd have to get an official M.E. report to be sure," She held a frown on her face, still scanning the body.
"Your point?" He chuckled, and she did as well.
"He was shot from the front, it exited through his back. The way his body is positioned, he didn't fall like this. Someone-the killer-moved the body to be this way." She muttered, moving out of the way as forensic photographers took pictures for the case file.
"The fucking Reaper." She cursed, becoming agitated as she stood upright.
"How can you be sure?" He frowned, raising one of his eyebrows.
"No DNA, no fingerprints, moving the body. This is his signature, his clean one. Damnit." She placed her palm on her forehead, sighing.
This was his fifth body this month. Every time she came close to capturing him, he slipped out of her hands like putty.
"Rose, I think you should see this." A photographer called, and she walked over, looking at the ground a few feet away from the body.
She looked to see 'R+S' circled in a heart, made out of blood splatter. She didn't even understand how that was possible.
"Fucking bloody hell." She rolled her eyes, walking over to the coroners van.
"Mitch, I need every single thing analyzed, everything. Look for any signs of literally anything. He doesn't leave clues, but this murder was a quick one, it wasn't planned. He might've made a mistake. Find it." She told the medical examiner, talking with her hands.
"I'll get right on it." Mitch gave her a firm handshake, and she returned it, watching as he walked off, his team following him.
"You done for the day?" Justin caught up with her once she started the walk towards her car.
