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“Her bare thighs had been carved open, from the hip to the knee, and Tom inadvertently thought of the hot dogs his mother used to make when he was a kid, splitting them almost in half along their lengths to stuff them with cheese.“That’s seven,” Tom said. “And this isn’t Kendal?”“She had the bedroom facing the street,” Ledesma said into the can.“Can you check her face to make sure?”“Is it… all there?”The Snipper had cut the cheeks and nose off the girl one bedroom over.“Mostly,” Tom said. “What ...color are Kendal’s eyes?”“Brown,” Ledesma said, turning to look. “Oh—fuck—he cut out her eyes—”More retching. Tom knew this couldn’t be Kendal. He turned to leave.“I can’t tell if it’s her,” Ledesma said, catching his breath.“It’s not. This girl’s eyes are blue.”“Her eyes are gone, man!”“They’re not gone,” Tom said. “They’re on the dresser.”Tom left the bedroom, walking through the throng of cops and techies, walking to the front door, tugging off the blood-soaked paper crime scene booties he’d put on over his shoes, dropping them into the garbage can with five other pairs, and stepping outside where he stared up at the sun until his head began to throb.“What now?”MoreLess
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