"Deep shit, John. Deep. Shit. That's what you're in," said Fred. He leaned over his desk towards John, who cowered a bit behind the paperwork and scattered pictures on the maroon-brown wooded desk. "You took the body from the scene... you didn't get a good look at the attacker... what the hell do you think I have high blood pressure and all that shit... what the hell John?"
"Sir, I was only thinking about the other victim, the survivor, because the man was very violent and sure to come back after he got some help or something. I was trying to-"
"JOHN!" Fred yelled so loud that John's ears started ringing. He went totally quiet and almost shrunk in humiliation, much like what a dog does when it does something wrong. Fred saw this, and his old heart felt for the guy; still fresh from the boat and unable to have the strength for real crime work, but still one of the best people for any job.
"Mr. McClelan... I'm so sorry... I'll just... go, I guess..."
"No, John, sit. I just lost my temper, is all. Now, I know that you were trying to save the girl, and that's why you aren't fired right now- you were trying to save the girl's life."
"Thank you, sir," John sighed in relief, sinking a bit from the stress lifting off of him. Fred almost smiled. But not quite.
"But now, you're permanently on the case, so here's what we've found out: the guy you were almost attacked by was her pimp- his name was Santiago Andrades."
John looked up from the papers with the man's face on it, his eyes becoming bright. "The Andrades family. The huge line of ne'er do wells?"
"That's them. He recently decided to be a pimp instead of drug dealing- more risk to him, but more money. He had a mound of cases set against him for second degree murder, double homicide..." Fred took a look at the paper and scoffed. "Incest and murder, same case... you know."
"Yeah, I know," said John quietly.
"Also, it looks like when they had him in jail once, after the double homicide(which he got off from- his father bribes the judges, of course) they gave him a test with Rorshach and other things to try and see what was the matter with this guy- seems that with every other image on the Rorshach it was something explicitly sexual, including children pornography, or something violent- two bazookas, a knife with a head above it, that sort of thing."
"Your typical run-of-the-mill psychopath."
"Sure thing. Not like it matters anymore."
John felt his stomach drop. "What do you mean...?"
Fred was silent for a moment and then cleared his throat. "Santiago was found dead in his apartment today. Pictures from the scene," he cleared his throat again and handed John a folder. "Be careful, it's a bit disturbing."
John took the folder gingerly and opened it, closing his eyes almost instantly after seeing the contents. "What happened?"
"He was found in his bed, totally naked- no blood left in his body. We're thinking some kind of sadist killed him and drained his blood, but we can't find the incission quite yet."
John gathered himself and then looked at the pictures again. Santiago was completely white, contrasting greatly with the smooth tan of his skin before. His eyes were open but had no expression, and his mouth was open in a shocked "o"; he must have either been surprised or saw something that gave him that expression before he offed.
"Oh, right- the doc says that he died during intercourse."
Oh. That's it.