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He grinned. “Only if you can catch me.”

I shook my head, took a shallow breath, and stepped over that last bit of doorway.

54

THE BLOOD CLOSED up around the plastic bootie, not quite to the top of it, not quite rolling over onto my shoe, but close. Even through the plastic, through my shoe, I could feel that the blood was cool. Not cold, but cool. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or not. I didn’t think I should have been able to feel the blood through the bootie and my shoe. But it felt like I could. Sometimes my imagination is not an asset at a crime scene.

I slid my foot forward, one hand still on the door frame. I wasn’t sure that the plastic booties would be slippery in this much liquid on a tile floor, but I so didn’t want to find out the hard way. There were two things I didn’t want to do in this room. One, was fall on my ass in the pool of blood, two, was put my hand in the bathtub. I had to do the second, but I would be damned if I did the first.

I eased my feet forward, slowly, cautiously, and kept my fingers on the doorjamb as long as possible. Actually the room wasn’t that large, and it wasn’t that big a reach between the door and the tub. I got a death grip on the edge of the tub with my glove-covered hands, and when I had both my feet planted as steady as I could get them, I looked down at the water.

It was like some kind of red soup. I knew it was mostly water, but the color . . . I kept thinking of the cups you use to dye Easter eggs. It looked like a great big cup for dyeing Easter eggs, and just like sometimes happened if you didn’t get the mix right, it wasn’t exactly red, or pink, but both. I concentrated on the thought of Easter eggs, the smell of vinegar, and better times than this.

The water seemed to swirl, heavier than it was. Probably illusion, but I suddenly had this image of something floating right below the surface. Something that would pop up and try to grab me. I knew it wasn’t true. I knew it was just too many horror movies, but my pulse was in my throat, my heart thudding.

I glanced back at Zerbrowski. “You guys don’t have any rookies to do this?”

“How do you think we got the first piece out?” he asked.

“That would explain the uniform that was throwing his guts up in the bushes as I came through.”

“It’s his first week on the job.”

“You bastard.”

“Maybe, but no one else wanted to put their hand in there. When you’re finished looking, the techies are going to pump the water out and filter it for evidence. But you get to see it first. Tell me this wasn’t a lycanthrope kill, Anita, tell me, and I’ll tell the media. It’ll quiet down the witch hunt.”

“But not the hysteria, Zerbrowski. If this is a second killer, then we’ve got two of the worst psychos I’ve seen in St. Louis. I’d love to prove it’s not a shape-shifter, but if it’s not, then we’ve got other problems.”

He blinked at me. “You’d really be happier if it’s the same shape-shifter?”

“Traditionally two separate killers slaughter more people than just one.”

“You still think more like a cop than a monster expert, Anita.”

“Thanks.” I turned back to the tub, and suddenly I knew I was going to do it. I wasn’t fishing deeper than the gloves. Too fucking unhealthy, but if I could find a piece with the shorter gloves, I was going to do it.

The water was cold, even through the gloves. I reached down, the line of cold, bloody water creeping up my skin, and with my hand less than halfway in, I hit something solid.

I froze for a moment, took a shallow breath and ran my hand down along what I’d touched. It was soft and solid at the same time, meaty flesh. I came to bone, and it was enough to grip, and raise it free of the water. It was what was left of a woman’s arm. The bone showed pinkish white as the water streamed away from it. The end that had attached to the shoulder was crushed. There were man-made tools that would do that kind of damage, but I doubted anyone would have gone to the trouble.

I set the arm aside