Homicide detective Lily, Lilith Andersen eased out of the police cruiser, checking other vehicles in the parking lot. Grey skies and drizzled threatened, but Vancouver wasn’t experiencing a downpour– yet. A pair of loitering paramedics next to an EMT van struck her as superfluous. Yellow tape blocked off one of the arboretum paths. Standing sentry duty, a uniformed constable watched as Lily approached. He inclined his head. She gave him a polite nod.

“It’s bad Ma’am,” he said, looking sombre as he lifted the tape.

“It’s never good,” she said, ducking under the tape. After taking a glance around, she sniffed the air, then followed the path through shrubs.

Decked out in white jump-suits under transparent rain slickers, forensic investigators were tucking away sample bags, packing equipment and closing up cases when she arrived. Her boss, Detective Inspector Robert Dylan, two uniform constables, the coroner’s team and a photographer were crowding about the scene. Lily clamped down her exasperation. She pushed her way through, shouldering into a gap, looking down at the mutilated, naked body. Perhaps sixteen, possibly twenty, the young woman had one arm wrapped around a bloody teddy bear. Both of her arms showed needle tracks. A face locked in the rigor of horror looked ten years older than it should. Lily took in the cuts to her groin, abdomen and throat dispassionately. Countless times, she had witnessed death, and this particular form of murder three times in the past six months.

“Damn,” she thought, wondering how much the scene had been disturbed by others. “More than half a dozen male scents here.” She wrinkled nostrils, sniffing, sorting details. Vancouver morning air was typically damp, laced with the stink of passing diesel buses and the masking pall of light smog. Rush-hour traffic was a muted rumble, mostly absorbed by hedges, trees and spring gardens.

Lily stepped in closer, sorting out the recent presence of a woman and dog. She ignored hard looks from a couple of the men. One of the forensic specialists almost spoke, but a gesture from Detective Inspector Robert Dylan quelled any protest. Lily crouched down by the corpse, senses reaching, sifting the evidence.

“Who phoned it in?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Woman,” Dylan said. “Walking her shitty pooh, or whatever. Called 911 and kept screaming. Finally gabbled out her location.”

Bag in hand, one of the forensic technicians moved to pick up the teddy bear. Lily grasped his forearm, stopping him. She bent forward, leaning in close, pretending to examine the stuffed toy. Covertly inhaling, she identified blood, the lingering smell of fear, and the distinctive scent of a man’s sperm. Already imprinted on her uncanny mind, the familiar stink of a murdering rapist was clear. She released the technician, straightened and turned to her watchful boss.

“Same perp,” she said quietly.

“Son of a bitch,” Dylan said with a low growl, hazel eyes shifting from Lily to the woman’s face. “This makes three now. Thought I was pissed when the second victim turned up looking like this.”

She gave a solemn nod. “Teddy Bear Murderer. He must enjoy news reports. Looks like she was a junkie. Likely a hooker.”

Inspector Dylan shot her a dark look. “That shouldn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t,” she replied, giving a slight shrug. “There is that media shit who subtly makes it look like the prick is doing society a good turn. Cleaning up the streets. Pisses me off too. Even if we catch him, he likely just gets free room and board for a couple of years, then some incompetent, equally fucked up shrink certifies that he’s been cured and lets him go.”

A couple of the forensic team heard and chuckled, nodding their approbation.

We can always hope that one of his victims packs a gun,” Dylan said, turning away. “I suppose you want to work on this one too?”

“Very much,” Lily told him, following him out of the park. “Once she’s identified, if that’s possible, we can start poking around her home turf for leads.”

“You that certain it isn’t a copy-cat?”

Lily shook her head, tossing long, carmine red curls. “Nope. Identical cuts. Bear always wrapped in the left arm. Victim raped, then mutilated in exactly the same way. He uses a box cutter. Crazy fuck!”

“How can you be sure he raped her?” Dylan said, brows crinkling.

Lily stopped, giving him a look with arched brows and a pearly but grim smile. “Isn’t white froth mixed with vaginal blood a clue? Besides, I smelled his cum all over her.”

“That’s right, you have that terrific nose.”

She grinned. “Are you referring to shape or bloodhound talent?”

“Both,” he said, smiling back. “Except for the Durante nose, you have beautiful, delicate bone structure. Sure as heck don’t look like a cop. You should have gone in for modelling.”

“You know damn well my nose precludes that career choice,” she answered sharply, but without heat, adding, “filthy male chauvinist.” she said pleasantly, smirking. “Though, a little more flattery might get you a coffee.”

“Starbucks?” he shot back.

Lily sighed. “Sure. Then I can add this case to my load.

A little before quitting time, Lily was reading the rap sheet on one Janice ‘Flower’ McPhearson, age seventeen. “Christ, weren’t computers supposed to give us a paper-free environment?” she complained, flipping pages. Even though prostitution laws had been struck down by the Canadian supreme court, the teenager was still listed as a prostitute, and written up for numerous other offences. Only seventeen, the girl had been a runaway, a heroin addict, convicted several times for theft under a thousand dollars, shoplifting, receiving stolen property, solicitation (even if not a crime), trafficking and assault. She had served several months in detention on two occasions.

“A lost soul,” Lily said quietly, slowly shaking her head, reading some of the girl’s history. “Hit Vancouver at the age of thirteen. Claimed her stepfather molested and raped her. The RCMP didn’t believe her. Left Kamloops, hitch-hiked to Vancouver, was picked up by a pimp, and went downhill from there. Fuck!” She leafed through the file, noting the family name, and the last known address of her stepfather. “Maybe I should pay him a visit? Only a few hour’s drive from Vancouver.” Lilith’ Andersen smiled. “Well, Mister Teddy Bear, you first. Now that I know where Janice lived, and where she usually worked, I’ll investigate ... and wait for a month. I hope he maintains the same pattern.”

Slowly dropping stained undergarments into a Laundromat washer, the young woman looked slutty, her clothing skanky. She remained hunched over, looking furtive. The neighbourhood was one to be avoided, buildings shabby, inhabitants the scum of Vancouver’s skid row. The front door opened. A large, slightly shrubby looking man paused at the entrance, eyes darting around the interior. Carrying a cloth bag of laundry, he shuffled inside. Flipping open a washer next to the woman, he gave her a sidelong look.

“What? You interested?” she said in a coarse, smoky voice. “Blow? Or maybe you want a quick fuck in the corner?”

He didn’t answer. She finished putting garments into the washer, added a soluble detergent pod and closed the lid. Inserting two loonies, she started the wash.