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</div>Eric Brannigan tapped the pocket of his coat for the familiar feel of the pack of Camels and Zippo lighter that typically rested there. All he found was the lighter and a pack of nicotine gum. He then remembered that he had quit three weeks prior. It would have been a futile gesture anyway. The pouring rain would have doused the cancer stick before the first drag. He popped a piece of the gum and settled in to investigating the crime scene.<br/><br/><br/>A tarp had been set up over the body to keep the rain from washing away any more of the evidence that may still remain. The strong aroma of bleach around the immediate vicinity of the body told him that the tarp may have been just as futile of a gesture as trying to light the Camel. It had been raining damn near daily for the past three weeks. The killers, or killers as the popular theory was, were smart about when to dump the bodies. Fuckers had enough sense to watch the weather.<br/><br/><br/>The popular theory was that the victims were leftovers from the human trafficking case that they had been working on. Eric had been working the case with his partner for months and then the bodies started showing up. Naturally due to the popular consensus of the culprit, the case of the bodies ended up on their desks too. They knew exactly who the culprit was behind the trafficking but building a case against him had produced literally no results. Enzo Marconi may have been the slimiest of slime but he was not stupid. He covered his tracks well. If they did get close, he had plenty of fodder in his employ that were more than willing to do a few years. Take one for the team as they say. It’s not like they probably had a choice.<br/><br/><br/>He glanced over towards his partner. She was a good cop. He would like to think that he may have played some miniscule part in that. He had definitely played a part in them being partners. Good partners were hard to come by and he wouldn’t risk her being stuck with one of the many fucktards that carried the title detective, or he being stuck with another one. He had dealt with his fair share. He could tell by the expression on her face that she was thinking the same thing as him, this was pointless. They would still do it by the numbers but knowing they would likely get the same results as the last two.<br/><br/><br/>The victims had been raped repeatedly. Not only did the assailant or assailants  probably use a condom, the victims were given a bleach douche.There were multiple lacerations of various depth and length as if they were cut to hear them scream. Their wrists and ankles had extensive abrasions indicating they had been bound. After all of this, their heads had been bashed in with a blunt object. It is believed to have taken place post mortem as if in a fit of rage.<br/><br/><br/>Between the bleach and the rain, the bodies had been wiped clean of any DNA other than that of the victim. He picked a bad time to quit smoking and now he was getting hungry even after seeing this shit. He’d been doing this job too long.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#08610e">“Looks like the same M.O. as the others. Not gonna find shit again and nobody will have seen anything but we’ll do it by the numbers. Might as well get it over with and grab a hoagie. The fucker will slip up eventually. They all do.”</span>