"No."

The denial was downright hostile, and the FIB guys crouched over the body looked up, eyes wide.

Tom turned and walked away. Pulse pounding, I took a step after him. "I don't deal with demons!" I said loudly, not caring what the FIB thought.

The young man retrieved a long coat hanging over a tombstone, draping it over his arm. "And you got that demon to testify how? That mark on your wrist is from what? "

I took a breath, then let it out. What could I say?

Looking justified, he walked off, leaving me surrounded by FIB personnel trying not to meet my eyes. Damn it, I thought, my jaw clenched and my stomach churning. I was used to fear and mistrust from humans, but from my own kind? Mood sour, I hitched up my shoulder bag, Tom had a cell phone pressed to his ear. He'd get a ride. Why had I even bothered?

Jenks cleared his throat, and I started, having forgotten he had been sitting on my shoulder the entire time. "Don't worry about it, Rache," he said in a small voice. "He was just scared."

"Thanks," I said. While I appreciated the thought, somehow it didn't make me feel much better. Tom hadn't looked scared. He had looked hostile.

From across the way, Glenn finished giving instructions to a young officer. Clapping him on the shoulder, he headed in my direction, the gleam back in his eyes and his posture holding a repressed excitement. "Ready to take a look?" he said, his thick hands rubbing together.

I glanced at the dead Were, nose wrinkling. "What about the footies?" I said dryly, remembering the last time I was at one of his precious crime scenes.

He shook his head, eyes on the body. "They fouled the site," he said, his disgust at the I.S.'s techniques clear. "Apart from throwing up on the victim, you can't make it any worse."

"Gee, thanks," I said, jumping when his hand hit my shoulder companionably. I smiled at him so he knew it wasn't unwelcome, just surprising, and he squinted.

"Don't let it get to you," the FIB detective said softly, his dark expressive eyes going to the witch's distant silhouette among the tombstones. "We know you're a good woman."

"Thanks," I said, exhaling to let the hurt go. What do I care what one witch thinks anyway? Even if he is cute?

From my ear Jenks snickered. "Awwww, you two are so sweet, I could fart fairy balls."

Tossing my hair to make him fly away, I turned my attention downward. The men at the body had finished their preliminary look and moved off, loudly discussing how long the corpse had been here. It couldn't have been more than since morning; the smell wasn't bad, and there was no tissue damage from decay or flies yet. And yesterday had been hot.

My thoughts flashed back to a gutted deer carcass I'd found in the woods this spring, and, steadying myself, I crouched beside Glenn. I was glad that my nose wasn't as sensitive as Jenks's. The pixy looked positively green. After letting him hover uncertainly for a moment, I swung my hair out of the way in invitation, and he immediately landed on my shoulder. His warm hands gripped my ear, and he took dramatic breath after noisy breath, complaining about the reek of alcohol that my perfume used to carry the orange scent. Glenn glanced at us as if wondering what the hell we were on about. I turned my attention downward.

Mrs. Sarong's personal aide made a very powerful wolf, and to think that the person in fur before me had committed suicide was ludicrous. He had the silky black hair most Weres did, his lips pulled back to show teeth whiter than a show dog's, now stained with his own blood. That his bowels had released somewhere else was proof to me that the body had been dumped. A bad feeling rose as Denon's words echoed in my memory. The I.S. was covering something up, and with me helping the FIB, it was coming out. Someone wasn't going to be happy about that.

Maybe I should just walk away.

"He didn't die here," I said softly, settling in more firmly where I crouched.

"I agree." Glenn shifted uncomfortably. "He was identified from an ear tattoo, and it's only been about twelve hours that he's not been accounted for. The first victim had been missing for twice that."

Damn, I thought, feeling a chill. Someone was getting serious.

Glenn picked up a foreleg and rubbed a thumb against the hair. "This has been cleaned."

Jenks flitted down, his tiny feet hovering just above the dull nails, almost as long as he was tall. "It smells like alcohol," he said, hands on his hips as he slowly rose. "I'd bet my back acres that he had medical tape on him like that secretary."

My eyes met Glenn's, and he set the Were's foot down. Without finding the tape, this speculation didn't mean squat. From the blood on his teeth, it looked likely that the leg wound he'd bled himself out from was self-inflicted, but now I wondered if "looked" was the key word. It had been given more succinctly than in Mrs. Sarong's secretary's case, as if someone were gaining experience. Blood matted his hindquarters and soaked the ground. It was probably Were blood, but I doubted the blood on his fur and the blood on the ground was from the same person.

"Jenks, any needle marks?" I questioned, and his wings hummed to life. He hovered over the ruined leg for a moment, then landed on Glenn's offered hand.

"I can't say. There's too much hair. I can go with you to the morgue if you want," he offered to Glenn, and the man grunted an affirmative.

Okay, it's only a matter of time before the two crimes are linked. "Think it's worth flossing his teeth?" I asked, remembering the medical tape in the woman's teeth.

It was Glenn's turn to shake his head. "No, I'm guessing the body was cleaned before it was dumped." A heavy sigh came from him, and he stood. Jenks took flight to land on the tombstone behind the Were. I tried to memorize the name on it, wondering if it might be important. Crap, I wasn't a detective. How would I know what was important or not?

"Proving he's been moved isn't a problem," Glenn said from above me. "It's tying this one to Mr. Ray's secretary that's the problem. Maybe after we get him turned back, he might have pressure or needle marks."

I rose as well, noticing that whoever had dumped the body had taken the time to press the Were's paws into the grass to get them dirty, but it was obviously surface dirt. His nails were as clean as if he'd been working at a desk the last twelve hours. Or strapped to a medical gurney.

"At the very least, you can get a proper necropsy," I offered. "The body has been moved. The I.S. has to admit that murder is a possibility. You'll find a link to Mr. Ray's secretary."

"And it might give the I.S. time to fabricate whatever evidence they want," Glenn said bitterly, pulling a pack of wipes out from a breast pocket and handing me one.

I hadn't touched the body, but I took it since Glenn obviously felt I should. "He'll have needle marks. Someone killed him. I mean, how do you tear yourself up enough to kill yourself but leave your feet clean and smelling of alcohol? "

Glenn's eyes were on the Were. "I have to prove it, Rachel."

I shrugged, wanting to get home and shower before my meeting with Mr. Ray. Prove it, shmove it. That wasn't my job. Just point me at someone to bring in and I'm there. "If we can find out who is doing it, we'll have a better idea how to find the proof," I said, but I wouldn't meet his eyes. I had a bad feeling the why they'd been killed was sitting in my freezer, and the who was a short list of Cincy's finest: Piscary, Trent, Mr. Ray, and Mrs. Sarong. I think I could cross Newt off the list. She wouldn't bother to cover anything up.

"Do you need me anymore?" I said, handing the used wipe back to him.

Glenn's eyes had lost their sparkle and were tired again. "No. Thank you."