"My point exactly," McGuire said.
"Yeah, maybe you're right," I said. "Could be that whoever killed Milo just hates ghouls for some reason, and that's why he gave them special attention. Although I figure all the mutilation was post-mortem, which means it wasn't torture."
"Post-mortem?" McGuire said. "How do you know that? The ME's report hasn't come out yet."
"They weren't restrained," I said. "Nobody who's still alive is going to just lie still while you disembowel him, let alone cut his dick off."
McGuire thought about that for a second. "Could be that your perp is extremely strong. Or maybe he had help, to hold the vics down while he cut on them."
"There's something else to consider, too," I said. "Blood splatter."
McGuire frowned at me. "What about it?"
"There wasn't any," I said. "Or none to speak of, anyway. You cut somebody like that while his heart's still beating, blood's gonna spray all over the place. It'd be on everything. Plus, the vic is sure to struggle, which would increase the mess." I spread my hands. "I saw the room, boss. No mess."
"Sounds like you've proved your new theory," McGuire said. "But that doesn't make the big conspiracy true. You can't horrify people with this stuff if they don't know about it."
"They'd know about it if they read it in the fuckin' papers," Karl said. We both stared at him.
"Papers?" I said. "What fucking papers?"
"Remember, Stan? I told you the other night. I got a call from this dude at the Times-Tribune, asking if I knew anything about snuff films."
"You didn't say anything to me about this," McGuire said.
"I didn't figure there was anything to say, boss. I told him snuff films were a myth, and not to bother me with that bullshit again." Karl shrugged. "End of story. Or that's what I thought at the time."
"What was his name again?" I asked. "The reporter."
"Mitchell Hansen," Karl said.
"That's right, I remember now," I said. "He left a message with Louise last week for me to call him – I just tossed it. Haven't heard from him since."
"Well, now." McGuire took a sip of coffee and put the cup down carefully. "I got a call the other night from a so-called journalist, asking me to comment about snuff films. I told him my comment was to stop wasting my time with fairy tales." He looked at Karl, then at me. "He said his name was Tod Solin, and that he worked for the People's Voice."
We left McGuire's office more puzzled than when we had gone in – and that was saying something. If the local media had the snuff film story, how much did they have? Who had leaked it to them? And even if they figured out what was going on, how could they turn it into a news story without grossing out all their readers? Maybe that was the whole point of this – to make people sick to their stomachs and eager for payback against somebody, anybody.
As we reached our desks, I asked Karl, "Did you talk to that detective in Chicago about those knife wounds?"
"I haven't had the chance to track her down yet, but I'll do it now – as long as McGuire doesn't send us on another call."
"Didn't get the chance? Our shift's half over – what've you been doing all this time?"
"Well, uh…" If vampires could blush, I'm pretty sure Karl would have been.
"Karl – come on, this is me, remember? I don't give a shit if you were buggering a goat on the front steps of City Hall."
Karl shook his head. "That's not fair, Stan – it wasn't a goat, and, besides, we're just good friends. Anyway, those weren't the front steps. There's two side entrances, you know."
"You crack me up, Karl. Now cut the crap. What have you been up to?"
He wouldn't look at me. "Watching your house."
"Watching my – what the fuck for?"
"To make sure nobody came back and set any more traps for you while you weren't home. I figured one attempt on your life is enough for one night, even for a tough bastard like you."
"But how did you–"
"I was here when the OIT call came in. And once I found out the officer in trouble was you, I figured I'd better get over to your place, pronto."
"McGuire OKed that?"
"I didn't bother to ask."
"Jesus, Karl, you took–"
"Just let me finish, all right? When I got there, a couple of black-and-whites had already arrived. I could see that you were OK, and that a bunch of goblins weren't. I didn't figure you noticed me."
"No, I didn't."
"So, after a while," Karl said, "they take you away in a black-and-white, and Forensics does their thing, than a couple of ambulances cart off the dead goblins, then – nothing."
"What do you mean, 'nothing'?"
"I mean no cops stayed around to secure your house. Whoever sent those gobs could've come back and planted a fucking cobra under your welcome mat, and the first thing the department would know about it would be when somebody found your body. So I stayed in the yard and watched. Nothing happened, by the way."
"Shit, man, I–"
"I'm not done," Karl said. "McGuire finally got hold of the patrol commander, who agreed to send a couple of guys over to your place. When they got there, McGuire called me on my cell and said to get my ass back here. So here I am – with my ass intact, in case you didn't notice. Doesn't look like McGuire's too pissed at me, either. Maybe because he'd have done the same thing, if he'd thought of it."
"Can I talk now?" I asked.
"OK, as long as you don't make any fucking speeches."
"No speeches. Just – thank you."
He looked at me for a few seconds. "You're welcome."
"So, are you gonna try to find that Chicago chick now?"
"I'm on the case, Ace."