Cameron couldn’t stop the small grin that threatened to morph into a fit of amused chuckles. It was far from being at his partner. Unless you actively dealt with cases having to do with the local crime family, not many knew a whole lot about them. The news made every minor underboss seem like a boogyman when in truth they're little more than insecure boys waving a gun around to compensate for a micro dick. “D’loy wasn’t that big of a player, but you got to be desperate or a little stupid to put a hit on him.” He said, straightening himself from where he had been leaning his hip against the side of his own desk. “Don’t get me wrong, he was a waste of skin. Had to bring that fat bastard in on more than a few drug trafficking and assault charges when I was a uni.” He said with a shrug. “Though he was still the big guy in towns dumbass nephew.”  He concluded with a sigh. He only hoped that D’loy had finally ticked off his mother’s brother enough that the old man was just going to let it go. At the least not start some sort of war. Part of him really, really hoped it was some bastard kid of his that put a hit on him or someone else in that family. The chaos that followed that would at least be contained. It’ll be too much to hope that it was McCall that called the hit, wouldn’t it?<br/><br/><br/>Though…Has D’loy finally gotten ballsey enough to start up a business without his uncle’s say so? The prick was ambitious, cocky and wort of all an opportunist in the worst way. Thinking about it, it wouldn’t be too far out of his character to get himself tangled up in something outside his comfort zone he had been placed in as glorified bookie and muscle<br/><br/><br/>Cam nodded to him, the tension to his shoulders loosening a little bit at his suggestion of going down to the morgue. Someone willing to get to work, and quick. That he could appreciate, and as stupid as it sounded even to him. It relaxed him a little. If nothing else this new partner of his might be able to keep up with the workaholic. “Good idea, I’m sure Samuel  has finished up by now.” He said already moving towards the door that leads into the inner halls again. “The profile?” He asked, a little surprised he asked to hear his theories so soon. Maybe he was just used to Joe. He used to get on him all the time that he didn’t need to get into their headspace when he can just follow the clues…but profiling? Getting in the perpetrators head? It was fun, exciting almost the more he knew. The more he could trace their thoughts, their motivations, what makes them tick. Like running your finger over an old scar that littered a lovers skin. Something almost intimate, yet filled with morbid curiosity you knew better then to ponder out loud.<br/><br/><br/>It also helped to prove that his double major wasn’t for naught.<br/><br/><br/>“Oh, uh…sure?” To say Cam sounded a little hesitant would have been kind. Self-conscious would have been a little more on the nose. A small crack in that happy go lucky mask of humor and ease. He really needed to up his dosage today. “I mean it’s nothing set in stone yet. Work in progress really! I wouldn’t feel right calling it official or anything until I’ve actually walked the scene and got a good look at the body myself.” He wanted to feel it. To put himself in their shoes and try to grasp at the moment with all the eagerness of a child on Christmas day. Though this he tried to temper. Kinda creepy kid, as Joe would say. He supposed it might be a little creepy. At least he was aware enough to know better than to talk that sort of shop over coffee. He thought he did well enough to not show the excitement at the idea. It might have helped in his favor that he had already turned his back on Evans. Sliding a pocket journal off the top of his desk as he went. The black leather worn at the edges. The dye worn away in places where it was clear fingers have spent much time pressed, rubbing into the thick skin. The whole thing kept close from simply falling open from its spiral binding was a thin bit of cord wrapped around a golden colored peg that sat out from the front. Well, it wasn’t like anyone would have read his notebook if he left it there anyhow. No one in the station has fallen to that temptation so far. Though it would be a pain in the ass to explain the sketches.<br/><br/><br/>“Let’s get a good look a D’loy and I’ll see what I can put together.” He muttered, his thumb rubbing once, then twice, and once more for good measure over the binding before pulling his hand out of his pocket. This probably wasn’t the best day to be trying to ween himself off the pills.<br/><br/><br/><br/>Cam lead the way to the morgue. It was as straight forward as he had explained to him earlier, down the hall, down the side stairs, and go down two floors. You’d know you were close when you wished you wore a thicker shirt. The fake wood of the stairwell was almost obnoxious how bright and cheerful the contractors had tried to make the whole place seem. The more cynical side of the brunet half expected to see doylies hanging on the wall when they reached the bottom floor. Though the side that knew the man on the other side? Well doylies might have been a little much for him.<br/><br/><br/>Detective Murphy gave a jaunty little shave and a haircut rap of his knuckles against the doorframe.<br/><br/><br/>“Come in.” a voice a deep, rumbling bass that almost vibrated in one’s chest to just hear it rumbled from the man inside. Cam pushed the door open, holding it for his partner before letting it swing itself shut. A man of average high leaned over an exposed midsection waxy and dull with the pallor of death. Nimble, almost delicate fingers grabbed the edge of harden putty, gently tugging the grey substance free of a deep wound in the barrel chest. Bright blue surgical gloves a contrast to the whites of his scrub top and broad black rubber apron. Magnifying spectacle perched on the end of his nose. He carefully placing the mold on a trey holding similar. The white at his temples peaked out from underneath the scrub cap. The tanned man’s lips pulled down into what the dark-haired man has come to associate as the older man’s resting bitch face. Stark, stone grey eyes snapped up to look over the two men who had entered his work space, looking over them with a critical eye. “You, pull your hair back.” He said, his tone matching the color of his eyes as his gaze fell on Evans. “There are extra ties on the desk.” He added before looking back down at his latest guest. Marcus D’loy. The long seam he had cut down the center. He was going to wait until tomorrow when he had exhausted every way he could examine him. As he was about to pull the last mold from a puncture wound did his eyes snap up to glare at Murphy, staring at him a moment longer as if waiting.<br/><br/><br/>“Right, sorry doc, I should have called you to let you know we were coming down.” Though his tone was far from truly apologetic as the man’s hawk like gaze that matched his hooked nose. His gaze followed as he moved over to the chair by the desk off to the far corner closest to the door. Pulling his jacket off and dropping it on the back before rolling his own sleeves up. He knew the routine. Hell, the man didn’t let him out of the tie or scrub cap rule until he volunteered to give up his DNA for his own system in case of contamination. He was pretty adamite of keeping everyone on staff registered. He grabbed a pair of gloves from the box sitting on the table, pulling them on as he made his way over to the body on the metal table. The chill of the room causing the goosebumps to roll down his arms. The tight muscles pulling against the bunched fabric. “This is Detective Evans. He’s my new partner.” He introduced, not taking his eyes off the body of a man he could hardly recognize. If it wasn’t for the gecko tattoo on the side of his neck he would question if it really was the man who slugged him once upon a time. It was a great first day.<br/><br/><br/>“Lin.” Was the doctor’s simple introduction as he nodded to the tall blond, before he pulled the last mold free. Walking away from the body to the small specimen table covered in five molds from the cleanest wounds. His critical eye trying to decipher what sort of weapon, if not weapons, were used. If nothing else they would have a mold to compare to any tests they did in the future.<br/><br/><br/>“You find anything?”<br/><br/><br/>“You have eyes don’t you?” Was the simple, biting almost, response the stoic man gave, not even looking to the younger man.<br/><br/><br/>His eyes trace the wounds. He trying to count them all. There were many, more then would have been necessary to kill him. That he was sure of. The easy smile he often kept plastered on his face fell off as he bit the inside of his cheek in thought. A blue gloved finger tracing the edge of a cut on his arm. The perfect place to dig a thumb in and press if it was h-….If he was the unsub. It became clear quickly this wasn’t a quick and efficient assignation. Whoever did this wanted to cause D’loy pain, and a lot of it. Though had he wanted something, information? Or was it fulfilling a need? A want? The edges were precis. Steady. It was by no means the Unsubs first time.<br/><br/><br/>He pulled out his notebook, opening it as he pulled the pen clipped to the side to scribble those observations down under the notes he had so far. “Definitely not their first, and I doubt it’s going to be their last.” He observed out loud, only looking up from the leather-bound notebook to look at D’loy again. Ignoring the flutter in his stomach. It was nerves. That was all that feeling was. At least that was his story and he was more than happy to stick with it. “Male most likely given the angle and depth. Good upper body strength, but might have had height on him if he didn’t have D’loy down before he started his work.” He got an agreeable grunt from the older man at that on. “Their developmental reach of empathy is subpar given how the body was found and the level of torture done. He wasn’t covered so no sign of regret. I wouldn’t be comfortable calling the Unsub a sociopath. It’s possible for someone to do this but hold empathy and compassion for others in different aspects of their life. I won’t speculate more on that until I see other examples. Can’t speculate ones ability to develop attachments from a single case.” This was Camren’s area. His joy so to speak. He loved to pick apart what went on inside. He loved the abnormal. It was a rush all it’s own he doubt any drug could give him as he dipped his toe into the churning pool that was likely this persons mind. “Capery was way fucking off calling this a crime of passion.”  He tacked on, glancing at Evan’s to see if he was listening or not, noticing to his own chagrin he had launched into voicing his speculations on the profile with little to no problem. He was making all the best first impressions today he bet.<br/><br/><br/>“You can see it too right?” He asked before looking back down at D’loy. “This guys is too centered. Even handed in the whole act it seems. This one this careful has to take pride in what he does. Professional maybe? No one is this clean their first time, nor this assured to spend this much time on someone. That much time in a victim’s home before killing them if the guy we found in the pantry is anything to go by. it wasn’t pretty much either their life’s passion or their job.” He waving a hand at D’loy.” So, unless this fat prick got the attention of a very bored serial killer who just moved into town. Someone had to have called out a hit and paid a shit ton.” A spark lit behind his eyes that wasn’t wholly academic as he weaved the bits and pieces together. “The Unsub is smart, very smart. He came in when D’loy would usually be alone, bypassed all the cameras and security and got the jump on D’loy. Hell, he didn’t trip a single alarm” It was then he caught the excitement in his tone, the all most fanboyish enthusiasm that crept in as he spoke of murder. Dr. Lin cleared his throat loudly as if to remind him of such. Or maybe he was just being self-conscious. This is why a lot of people didn’t like sitting with in high school. “Though…that’s speculation. I won’t know more until I have more info….” He muttered, clearing his throat as he stopped absently sketching one of the deeper wounds in his notebook, shoving it in his pants pocket.