Part III: The Impeccable Solve Rate of Dick and Bitch

(Click to read from the beginning of part I)

Refresher from last month:

“We found a knife. We found a knife. We found a knife!”

...

After a minute of silence, Dick peeked out of the bathroom.

I walked toward him. “Murder weapon would be tight!” I said, with an inflection in my voice, tilting my head and poking Dick right in the belly button.

Dick looked at me with a blank face, curved his mouth into a forced smile and gave me the double thumbs up.

I snorted and pushed past him into the bathroom as Dick puttered into the kitchen to start the coffee.

Part III

I had the perfect type of hungover. The kind when you’re shocked and grateful as all hell that you feel as fresh as you do, nausea riding your coattails, but not quite able to catch up. The kind where fresh air feels like a sigh of relief and every song is your favorite song. Add in that extra burst of energy knowing our murder weapon could be waiting patiently for us at the station and I felt unstoppable.

“What a day to be alive, Dicky!”

Dick wasn’t feeling as alive as I was, but perked up when I told him Jessie was bringing the knife by Emma’s.

“Could be worse.” He agreed and began shuffling through my apartment with a bit more spring, picking up his clothes, letting a few grunts and profanities slip out, and throwing blankets and pillows in search of his left shoe.

We swung the car into work about thirty minutes after hanging up with Jessie and, pleased by our own efficiency, crossed the street to grab a coffee, deciding we had a few minutes to spare before anyone would really be expecting us. I ordered our two, large black coffees and Emma’s latte. Dick kept quiet and kind of just followed me around in a hungover haze. Once ordered, we scooted over to the window to wait.

Dick rubbed his face, squinting out toward the bright street. “She could’ve done it.” He said without looking at me.

“I know.” I said.

“The more I think about it.”

“Yea, I know.”

“The angle of the knife.”

“The texts.”

“The timeline.”

“The twine.” I said, a jolt in my memory. “Same twine was tied around some of Steph’s hanging plants.”

Dick turned to me and looked me up and down for a moment before, “What on God’s great planet was wrong with yesterday?”

“What do you mean?” I said, suddenly serious, looking him in the eye.

“What’s your problem with yesterday?” He repeated, exasperated. “Yesterday wasn’t good enough to tell me about the twine? Today works better for you?”

I caught what he was getting at and rolled my eyes. “Figured you saw it.”

“No you didn't, you dipshit. You forgot.”

I did forget. “I didn’t fucking forget.”

Dick threw up his hands.

I threw mine up to match his. “I was too busy talking you out of your fucking noose - ‘stephanie sucks, she was fucking with me on purpose, harry potter bars blah blah -.” I took a high annoying voice to mimic Dick, which sounded nothing like Dick.

He rolled his eyes this time. “Ok.” He said, bringing his face right in front of mine, putting his arms on both my shoulders, and locking his eyes onto mine. “So our victim’s wife...” He was enunciating every word nice and slow, “...has the same twine in her kitchen that was tied around our dead guy’s ankle the night he was murdered. Does that sound about right to you, Bitch? Did I forget anything?”

“It was his kitchen too.” I said, more defensively than I intended.

“Yea, but he didn't tie around his own god damn ankle. Or maybe he did. Maybe he stabbed himself three times too.”

I shoved him out of my face. “Whatever, I figured you saw. Figured you were more observant than that.”

Dick just shook his head and turned around, “Where the fuck are our coffees? My head is cracking in half.”

“Emma’s latte’s taking forever.” I said, slapping him in the back of the head.

“Why.” He moaned, hunching forward. “Leave the head alone, you already pissed my brain off enough this morning.”

We grabbed our drinks and made our way back out the door and across the almost empty street.

Was it Saturday? Where was everyone?

There was residue and trash from the protests the night before, and scattered workers in bright neon vests stabbing at bits of paper sliding around in the breeze.

“So she really could’ve done it. Ya know, now that we know about the twine.”

I just shook my head, he’d let it go eventually. “There probably won’t be prints on the knife.”

“Maybe. But probably not.” Dick rubbed his face again.

“And we don’t have a motive.”

“Yet.” Dick said, dragging out the word as if buying himself some time to think. “We don’t know why.” He paused. “Unless you do know and are just waiting til tomorrow to tell me.”

We swung open the cold metal doors of Emma’s dungeon and bustled inside, stripping from our jackets and throwing them on the desk chair. The fluorescent lighting was immensely less comfortable for my pupils which had begun to burn. Jessie was hinged at the waste, his skinny, ninety degree body leaning over our victim, his face no more than six inches from Will’s pale dead face. We looked at Jessie, then confused, glanced over to Emma who shrugged. Dick moved towards her and held out the fancy latte.

Jessie finally jerked up straight.

“Hi guys!”

“Jess.” I said, as Dick and I both nodded.

“You look like hell.” Emma said, flicking her eyes between us.

“But I smell good.” Dick said, tilting his head and nudging Emma’s arm. She flicked her eyes to me.

“Late night.” I answered.

“Isn’t it always.” Emma turned and retrieved a long knife in a plastic evidence bag. “While you two shits were out being useless, Jessie found us our murder weapon.”

I snapped to attention. “So you’re sure?”

She smiled wide. “I’m sure.”

“Oh, beautiful.” Dick said, taking the bag and holding it up to the light.

“I mean unless,” Emma continued, “someone else dropped the exact same, and I mean exact same, knife into the river within the past, let’s say week to be conservative.”

“Yea,” I said, “We can probably act under the assumption that that didn’t happen.”

Emma nodded. “Right, and with how quickly steel will rust underwater, I’d say there’s really no way that knife has been in water for more than four or five days.”

“Brand?” I asked, squinting to try to make out any writing on the side of the handle.

“Wusthof. You heard of it?”

“Nah,” I said and Dick shook his head.

“Pretty expensive knife set. I looked it up. William-Sonoma sells them.”

That meant nothing to me. I looked at Dick who looked equally as blank.

“Whatever,” Emma said, “They’re expensive.”

“Wusthof.” Dick said again, testing the word or reciting it for memory.

“Could you get anything off it?” I asked.

“Actually, yea.” Emma said, “Will’s fingerprints were on the handle.”

“Which would happen if he’d tried to take the knife from his attacker.” Dick said.

Emma nodded and continued. “And two other fingerprints, but we ran them, they’re not in the system.”

I put a fat grin on my face and slowly turned to Dick.

“No,” He said, shaking his head hard. “You can go alone.”

“We have one car!” I said, whipping my arms up in faux exasperation.

“I’m not going back to that house. I’m not talking to her again.”

“I’d consider that a vehement obstruction of justice.” I was being annoying on purpose.

“I’m not obstructing shit. You can go. I’ll be here.” He sat down heavily in Emma’s chair.

“What are you guys talking about?” Emma asked, “And no, Dick, you’re not hanging out down here.”

I rolled my eyes. “We’ll just call her in.” I turned to Emma and Jessie, “Dick isn’t all that fond of our victim’s girlfriend.”

Emma started laughing, “I am very surprised that doesn’t happen more. Who do you like?.”

Dick swept his arms around the room, “I like you guys.”

Jessie looked up and said, “Aw, Dick. That’s very sweet.”

I snorted and ducked to tie my laceless shoe. Emma turned away, biting her fist.

Dick wagged his head like a wet dog. “Steph wasn’t missing a knife from her set anyway,” he said, grabbing my shirt and yanking me back to my feet.

“No.” I agreed. That, unlike the twine, we had talked about last night. On my meandering around Steph’s kitchen, I’d been sure to get a glimpse of the knife set just in case one of hers was missing and another mysteriously appeared at the bottom of the river.

“Alright!” Jessie said, clapping his hands and bouncing on his toes, “I have a lot to do!”

Emma was still chewing her fist and her eyes shone with absolute glee.

I mimicked his enthusiastic clap and Dick shoved me. “We should get going too.” I said.

Emma nodded, we thanked her and after giving Jessie a ten second head start we hiked back up the stairs out of the basement.

We made our way back into the squad room. It was warm and cozy in the office and I didn’t feel like going on a mad goose chase for suspects or fingerprints today.

We stopped at the coffee station to fill our cardboard cups, “Ok, how about this:” I said. “We call Steph.” Dick shook his head, “Right, fine, I call Steph and we have her come give prints. I’ll have her write out a list of people in Will’s life. His friends, any relatives in the area, coworkers. We contact them and have them all come in for prints too, no stone. We can grab a loose hand and have them do the annoying work. Dylan’s been sitting around looking bushy eyed. We can give it to him.”

Dick stared at me, “Bushy-tailed.”

“What?”

“Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

I looked at him with the flattest expression I could muster.

“What are bushy eyes?” Dick said. “Fucking gross.”

“You done?” I asked. He shrugged and moved to the side so I could pour my coffee. “And we gotta go see Kevin.”

“Yea, good.” He said after a second “You make those calls, I’m going to go get the evidence bags again. Fresh eyes. Then we can go see Kevin.”

Dicks eyes looked stale and rotten, far from fresh, but I nodded, “Bring it up here, I’d like to look at it too.”

I called Stephanie. She sounded indifferent and maybe slightly annoyed when I mentioned the murder weapon and the finger prints we found, but she agreed to come down to the station. Benson was way more enthusiastic, repeating over and over how he’d do everything in his power to help and how he felt guilty for the whole situation and wanted to make up for it. I didn’t even ask why he felt guilty, that could wait until we talked in person. Anyone who claims to feel guilty over the phone to a detective is rarely actually guilty. No one guilty uses the word guilty.

Kevin answered the phone on the first ring.

“Yes?”

“Hello, is this Kevin Major?”

“Yes, that’s me, yea.”

“I’m Detective McCallen. We’re calling in reference to the murder of Will Anderson.”

“Yes, yea, can you hold on a second?” There was a clambering on his end and the sound of a door closing. “Sorry, hi yes, I was expecting the call.”

“Right, well, then you must’ve also been prepared for a home visit.”

“Yea, sure. I mean, yes I’m around.”

“My partner and I would like to drop by in a little while if you’ve got some time to chat.”

“Yea, I’m free all day. Come by whenever’s convenient.”

“Great.” I said and hung up without giving Kevin any specifics. Let him sweat.

Dick had sat down at his desk and let the pile of evidence bags spill out onto the table in front of him. He laid them out so we could see each piece clearly. I stood over his shoulder. The knife. The twine. The phone. The neon shirt and bright orange running shorts - murder vic’s clothes. A copy of the fingerprints off the knife. Transcribed voicemails. The printed texts from that day. A list of phone calls. A stack of pictures from the crime scene, smoothed out so all were visible at once. A picture of each stab wound and a zoomed out picture of all three. Various pictures of footprints at the scene that may or may not be relevant. I felt a figure entirely too close peaking at our case and breathing in my ear. I spun around, and gave whoever it was a fake and playful, but still significantly aggressive punch to the gut.

It was Arthur. Whoops.

The chief doubled over, coughing. “Chief!” I said, grabbing his shoulder in an attempt to pull him up straight. “Thought you were one of the idiots peeking our case. Sorry chief, sorry. Arthur, that’s my bad. Shit.”

The chief was still bending over, but glared up at me holding his stomach. Had I caught his dick? Shit. Dick was leaning back in his chair laughing his goddamn ass off, holding his stomach like an intoxicated Santa. I could’ve kicked him in the balls. Dick gasped for breath. I made up my mind and kicked him in the balls. He spun away in his spindly chair, swearing.

Arthur caught his breath and stood up. The room was silent and the people too scared to look stared down at their desks, those daring enough to pay us attention, stared at Dick in disbelief who had picked up his laughing again, now just out of range of my loafer.

Chief stood up straight and whispered in a way where everyone in the room could hear. “Bitch. Beat me to my office or I swear I’ll beat your ass down the hall. Dick, shut the fuck up. You come too. Everyone else...” he paused bringing his voice back to normal. “Nevermind.”

Dick stood and we slumped off together. At one point I slid my hand into Dick’s hand to piss him off and he shoved me into the closest desk.

“Stop fucking around!” The chief turned and spat at us. I behaved after that.

The chief was pulled aside by a dude in uniform, and we continued to his office in silence. He took his sweet time meeting us in there, leaving us to get our last giggles out and enough time to actually build up some fear.

“He’s pissed.” I said.

“You punched him in the nuts.” Dick said.

I snorted, but the hilarity subsided quickly as the chief's office door swung open.

The chief barged in and, without glancing at us, slid behind his desk, plopped heavily into his chair and didn’t mention the last five minutes like a goddamn professional. “Who are you arresting for this murder?” He looked up at us, leaned back and took a sip of coffee.

“We’ve got people coming in for fingerprints today.” Dick said. “Girlfriends a maybe, few things could point to her and she’s acting a bit off, and we’re talking to the best friend today.”

The chief looked between us. To his credit, he knew he was smarter and more accomplished than Dick and me and he didn’t have to flaunt it. His confidence in his place was strong and he deserved to feel that way. He was the best chief this department has had in decades. And while Dick and I are the best detectives this department has had in decades, a chief makes a department successful, and as cocky as we were, even Dick and I agreed with that sentiment.

“Good. ” Arthur leaned forward. “The squad could use a solve on this one.”

Yea, highest profile murder the city’s seen in a long time. With everything going on in the city and country, the department needed a solid win. Generally Arthur didn’t get caught up in the politics of the job, but he did put a lot of stock in team morale.

“We get it.” I said.

“We need it soon. Not just a solve - confession would be good too.”

I swallowed that. Passion murders were more likely to lead to confessions. Emotions made people act in weird ways. But we weren’t sure that’s what this was yet.

“It’s the simplest solution, always is.” Chief said.

We nodded like school kids getting a lecture.

“Go show the city we’re worth something.”

“Yes sir.” Dick said, not at all sardonically.

“Thanks Arthur.” I said, “And sorry about before. Not my intention.”

He studied me. “Intentions don’t matter if your actions lead to punching someone in the low gut.” He emphasized low. So I did catch his balls. Yikes.

I smiled and nodded. “Yea, but ya gave me an excuse to kick Dick in the balls too.”

“You can’t hang around all your life waiting on excuses for things that need to get done.” Chief said. “Go get an arrest, or else I reserve the right to a free punch to the nuts.”

We all chuckled, Dick and I stood and walked away, a bit heavier than when we entered.

As we ducked out of the office, Dick scooped up the evidence to return downstairs and we trudged back out to the car to go chat with Kevin.

He lived in a nice neighborhood, high-rises and clean, white coffee shops, polished, quiet. Kevin met us in the lobby of his apartment and walked us up, waving at the doorman as he passed.

“New rules during Covid.” He explained. “They really don’t want people in and out unnecessarily. I doubt they would’ve questioned you guys, but it could’ve gotten annoying and it’s just as easy to come down.”

He was chatty.

We took the elevator up which opened to a long hallway with concrete floors and a line of bright red doors. Could’ve flown straight out of a Stephen King freak show, just more expensive and mildly trendy. We entered the apartment and as we did, a woman with brown hair and a quick smile met us in the doorway.

“Hi! Oh you must be the detectives. I’m actually heading to the station now. A young boy named Dylan called. They’re taking everyone’s fingerprints?” She asked it as a question, but instead of waiting for the answer, she just smiled again, adding a bit of sadness to her eyes.

“Yea, just standard procedure.” Dick mumbled, looking past her into the apartment. “We’ll grab Kevin’s a bit later. Just in case we find something with an anonymous print or two,” He omitted the tiny detail of the massive knife we had just examined. Probably smart. We want Kevin at ease.

“Very smart!” Caren said. “I’m sure that saves you a lot of time later on.”

“Exactly.” I said. “Well, be nice to Dylan. He’s our youngest justice-seeking enthusiast. Just out of training. You know how it goes.”

Caren giggled a little and struck a serious tone, “I’ll do my best to cooperate, detectives.”

We nodded and smiled.

“Bye Babe,” She said, leaning into Kevin.

He kissed her and smiled as she walked down the hall. He noticed us staring and smiled again, “The kitchen is probably most comfortable.”

Once Kevin and I were settled at the table - Dick took his turn pacing around nonchalantly, gathering any insight into Kevin and Caren’s life - I opened my pad and looked up at Kevin. His hands were folded on the table and he was leaning forward with a serious expression, lips pursed and eyes intent.

“This is all going to sound very accusatory.” I began, “But it’s standard questioning and we need it for our records.” I didn’t want him thinking he was a suspect.

“Well,” Kevin said, nodding, “I’m sure all my answers are all going to sound very guilty.”

Dick was walking behind Kevin’s back, but flicked his eyes to me. I didn’t share his look. I kept my face blank and expressionless, fixed on Kevin.

“Well, that happens sometimes.” I said. “Especially to people close to the victim.”

“Yea, that makes sense.” He said, shoulders sinking a little. He looked extremely sad, but he was relaxing.

A thought occurred to me. “Hey, I know this is going to be a challenging conversation. Will was your best friend.” Kevin was looking me right in the eye and I was matching his resolve. “It’s about noon and we could all probably use a drink...you have a couple beers you’re willing to part with?”

Kevin hopped up, “Thank god, really?” He moved to the fridge. “I’ve got some IPAs and a random pale.” He looked at me then Dick.

Dick turned and nodded, “I’ll take an IPA, thanks.”

“I’ll do the same.” I said. This was not strictly allowed but alcohol was a nice little crutch for a limp tongue. Solve by any means necessary. And needless to say, Dick and I had used this tactic before.

Kevin brought out three IPAs and, after clinking cans and taking a big sip each, we settled down again. Dick resumed his lurking.

“So, I guess,” I began, assuming a more casual line of questioning, leaning back, notepad seemingly forgotten on the table, “Why do you say your answers will make you sound guilty?”

Kevin nodded and swallowed his sip, “I was there, ya know? I was running alone that night. Right where, ya know, he was found. I always do. Will was supposed to meet me. I feel pretty guilty about that actually, I keep wondering if I’d been there a few seconds later. If I had stalled. If I hadn’t worn headphones. But I did what I did. Anyway, he texted saying he wasn’t going to be able to make it. He said he got stuck in the protests and was just going to head back to the brewery. I just know how guilty that sounds. That’s why I said that. No other reason. I was at the scene right before it happened.”

I was nodding. “I’m sorry you’re feeling so much guilt.”

“Yea.” He looked dreadfully sad for a moment then took another big sip of beer.

I nodded again “Why do you say before it happened? Could you have been running after it happened?”

“Well,” He slid his beer across the table from hand to hand. “I’ve been thinking all the possibilities through, basically non-stop since that night. Will texted me when he was caught in the protest which is always right around your station downtown. I was at the fountain by the waterfront when I got the text, that’s where we park. I started running pretty much immediately after he said he wasn’t coming. We always run north up the waterfront, over the steel bridge, back down the opposite path, past the museum and then back over the footbridge by the hospital and end at the fountain where we start. One little loop and we do it twice.”

I could picture their run, a very popular loop, about four and half miles, done twice as Kevin said made nine. They didn’t fuck around. But there was another bridge. A bridge that intersected that loop and would’ve created a shortcut. “Hawthorne.” I said, looking into his face.

He stared back, eyes wide and started nodding, “Exactly. If Will decided to try to meet me, he could have run across the Hawthorne bridge hoping to head me off.” Will stood up suddenly and began fishing around in some of his kitchen drawers. He pulled out a pencil and a scrap of paper and began sketching a loop on the blank page. The fountain, the steel bridge, the path, the Tillikum bridge, then the path back to the fountain. He labelled everything then carefully drew a dotted line where the Hawthorne bridge was located showing Will’s possible path across the river.

He paused for a moment and admired his work. Then, slowly he placed a small X signifying Will’s body.

After a second of silence, he slid the paper across the table. “I don’t really see why else he would’ve been over there. This is really all that makes sense.”

I looked down at the drawing. It was oddly specific. I could think of about five to ten additional scenarios that may have happened. Will could’ve missed Kevin all together and been running after Kevin had finished. He could’ve followed Kevins path around, not trying to catch up and was killed there. He could’ve decided to ditch his car and walk home, his and Stephanie's house was in that direction.

Dick hovered over the table for a moment, taking his own look at the drawing, then continued his pacing around the kitchen.

“Did you see anything suspicious that night? Or weird? Different?”

“Nothing.” He said quickly. “I’ve been trying to think back, but no, nothing weird at all.”

“What were you wearing that night?”

“Wearing? Um I’m not sure, it’d be in my dirty laundry still probably. Hold on, let me check.” Kevin got up and disappeared down his hall.

Dick watched him go then cautiously opened the dishwasher, peered around and shut it softly. He shuffled a few dishes around quietly in the sink. He stood up straight and threw me a wide-eyed look. He tilted his head and flicked his eyes to the counter next to the refrigerator. There was a coffee maker, a bowl of vegetables and a knife block. I looked back at Dick. He held up one finger and mouthed “missing.” A knife was missing. I squinted at the block, there was an unoccupied sliver, not where one of the six dinner knives belonged. I flicked my eyes to the sink. Dick shook his head and this time mouthed “Wusthof.”

A big Wusthof knife was missing from Kevin’s apartment. Dick slipped out his phone and took a picture of the knife set.

There was a clatter behind us and Kevin came around the corner carrying a pile of clothes with two shoes teetering on top.

“So,” he said, unloading his pile onto the table, oblivious to Dick and the knives. “I was wearing this shirt and -” He tossed a few things around, “these shorts. And these are my running shoes.” He held up a dirty pair of sneakers.

“How do you know that’s what you were wearing?” I asked, looking at the crinkled mess. There was a faint waft of something unpleasant drifting around my nose.

“I haven’t run since that night. Caren’s been nervous. A little jumpy. She prefers if I take a few days off running. Probably just as well.” He trailed off.

“Do you mind if we take this stuff down to the station? Your clothes, your shoes?”

He looked up confused but then shrugged, “Whatever you need.” And pushed the clothes and shoes towards me before scooping the piled back up.

As Kevin disappeared again, Dick slipped on some latex gloves, took three evidence bags out of his jacket pocket and carefully placed the clothes in one bag and the shoes in another. He picked up Kevin’s beer, emptied the remaining liquid in the sink and slipped the can into the third bag.

As I watched Dick work, I folded Kevin’s sketch and slipped it into my jacket pocket.

I looked at Dick. He gave me a single nod.

Kevin strolled back into the kitchen.

I stood up. “Hey Kevin, I think we’re done here for now, you’ve been a huge help. We’ll just need to grab your fingerprints at the station, preferably this afternoon. Can you come in now?”

We were back in the car before Dick said a word.

“His Wusthof is missing.”

“Yea.” I said. “I saw.”

“Doesn’t make sense at all.”

“The stab wounds are too low. And that twine.”

“The texts.” Dick said. “It makes no sense. Kevin didn’t even think Will was meeting up. He wouldn’t run with a fat knife tucked in his pants if Will wasn’t even going to be there. He’d put it back in the car.”

“The texts make no sense. Will says he won’t be able to meet Kevin, then decides to go try to meet him without texting Kevin…..then he ends up dead.”

“Something we’re missing.”

“And Kevin’s Wusthof is missing.”

“I’ve got nothing.”

“If Kevin did this, it makes no fucking sense.”

“And,” I added, “On that sketch he drew, Kevin put the X in the wrong place.”

“What was the X?” Dick asked, “I didn’t look close.”

“The X marking Will’s body. He put it in the wrong place. It was way further down by the Steel bridge, Kevin kind of just put it in the middle.”

“That could’ve been on purpose.” Dick said. “He could be trying to play dumb.’

“I guess.”

“We have enough reasonable doubt. We have no motive yet. We have plenty of time to get this right.”

“We do this slow and steady.” I added.

“Yea.” Dick nodded. “Slow and steady. We’ll get something.”

“No stone.” I said.

“No stone.”

Once we arrived back at the station, Dick ran straight downstairs to bring the new evidence to the forensics team and I retreated to my desk to finish my notes. There was a line for fingerprints. Steph had proved almost too helpful providing our young helper Dylan with an extensive list of Will’s acquaintances. After a few minutes, I poked my head down the hall. Kevin had arrived and taken a seat in the lobby. I grabbed a coffee and sidled up to him as casually as I could considering this man’s knife may have been found at the scene of our crime. “Long time no see, buddy.” I said and handed him a coffee.“You mind sticking around after you give your prints? I think Dick may have a question or two for you.”

“Whatever you need.” He said again and nodded down at the coffee. “Thanks.”

Dick returned to the squad room thirty minutes later. He plopped down at his desk and leaned forward. “Dude.” He whispered.

I raised my eyebrows, leaned forward and whispered back, “Don’t call me that.”

“Duuuuudeeeee.” He dragged it out with a stupid smile on his face, paused for effect, then slowly whispered, enunciating every word, “There’s fucking blood on his fucking shoes.”

I coughed. “Shut the fuck up.” I meant it to be a whisper but it came out as choked laughter. A few people turned around. I returned my voice to a whisper. “Will’s blood?”

“They’re running ‘em now. But they swabbed and found traces of blood.”

“Fucking hell.”

Dick nodded, still with that stupid smile plastered on.

“Makes no sense.” I said.

“No fucking sense.”

“The prints on the knife?”

“Not his. They ran his first for me, but they haven’t scanned in all the people we took today. Still could be any of them.”

We both looked at each other and shook out heads.

“Ok,” I said leaning back, “Let’s play a game. Let’s say Kevin did this. He brings a big knife running, planning to kill Will.”

Dick is already shaking his head.