Chapter 4There’s a stabbing waiting for Vince at the station.
“Triple homicide,” Caron says, words half-drowned in her tea.
“I can see that.” Vince takes a swallow from his own mug. Feels his throat scald. Coughs, just a little. “Fuck.”
It’s only photos, the bodies long since carried off to Durand or one of his underlings. Brutal viewing, though. Three men, all pudgy in a way indicating desk jobs, all sporting a handful of stab wounds that stain their button-downs burgundy and ruin the light upholstery of the furniture.
Vince tilts his head, narrows his eyes at the photos. His fingers itch to move toward the cigarettes in his back pocket. “Weapon?”
“Unrecovered.” Caron mimics his pose, only a little mocking.
Vince frowns. “Grouping doesn’t suggest they were moved about after—” He ges
