One of the other tenants on the third floor had called nine-one-one after hearing the screams. After looking through the peephole and seeing the hysterical woman in the hall with blood all over her hands, he turned the deadbolt and dutifully informed the police.

Dana raised her head and looked out the open door of the ambulance. The flashing red and blue lights from the emergency vehicles distorted her vision. She caught a glimpse of the yellow tape strung around the front of the building. A crowd had gathered just outside the tape, and she could see the bright lights from a news van lighting up the street as the cameraman tried to zoom in on the ambulance. A large shadow suddenly blocked her view and she struggled to focus on the man that stood at the door.

"Dana Collier?" a deep masculine voice inquired. Dana nodded slowly, the sedatives taking a solid hold over her body. Her eyes fluttered shut and she struggled with trying to open them as she heard another voice saying that any questions would have to wait. Gentle hands on her shoulders as she was laid back on the gurney. She could hear the door being closed and the engine started, then the van pulled away. Thankfully without the sirens, she thought as she drifted into unconsciousness.

Detective Jacob Allen watched as the ambulance pulled away. He was vaguely familiar with the name of Dana Collier; she worked with the Multnomah County Sheriff's Department as a crime scene photographer. Most of the city officers had at least seen her work; she was one of the most thorough and careful photographers in the entire metro area. Tonight they would be using someone else, he hoped that whoever it would be would show the care and respect that Collier deserved.

He turned and walked up stairs, looking carefully at each step. Gum wrappers and bits of torn leaves littered the corners of both the stairs and the landings at each floor. Allen looked at the walls on either side as well; there were old scuffed marks and faint graffiti that appeared to have been painted over. At the third floor, he walked carefully, searching the worn carpet for any stains or spots. It didn't appear that there was anything fresh, other than the bits of damp leaves that clung to the bottoms of shoes. There were approximately thirty tenants in the building, twelve on this floor alone. That didn't include visitors, guests or deliveries.

The door to Dana's apartment stood wide open, an officer stationed outside nodded him in. A tripod stood in the corner of the living room, the man next to it writing down notes in a spiral notebook. Allen wondered if it belonged to Dana. A bright flash from his peripheral vision made him turn down the hallway toward the bedroom where they had found the body. He looked into the room, his mind automatically categorizing and filing nearly every detail.

The body of Rachel Weiss was on her bed, in a seated position with her back up against the wall. Her arms were pinned to the wall with knives stabbed through, between the tibia and fibula approximately halfway between the wrist and elbow. Her head hung down, the pale blonde hair matted with darkening blood. Her legs were spread apart, if it had been designed to shock whoever found the body, the plan failed. Her entire torso was butchered so violently that it was difficult to tell where exactly her body ended. In his mind, Detective Allen made a quick reference to very bloody hamburger.

He looked at the floor, noting the red streaky drag marks that led from the bathroom door to the bed. The bedroom side of the door had several crimson splatters as well as what looked like knife gouges in it. At the bottom of the door was a large puddle of thickening blood; it had flowed underneath the door for Dana to slip on.

The rest of the room appeared undisturbed, he didn't see anything knocked to the floor or broken. The assailant must have surprised and subdued her immediately. There was a pile of clothing on the floor at the foot of the bed; Allen resisted an urge to get a closer look. He stepped back to the living room and saw a short, balding, thin man carrying a large camera bag. Davis Beck, the photographer he was more familiar with. Beck was capable and competent. Allen waved him over and told him to get started in the bedroom; pointing out certain things he wanted exceptional care taken with. He left the bedroom, and watched as the technicians measured and sketched the rest of the apartment, taking notes and collecting samples. Everything seemed under control up here, and he turned to step out the door. He was walking quickly toward the stairwell, when a bit of something white caught his eye. He started to reach down to where the frame of the door met the floor at the top of the stair. He saw the small folded piece of paper, and called back to the officer by the door. He was handed a plastic baggie, which he carefully turned inside out to pick up the note. He stood back up and handed it to the officer, telling him to turn it over to the technicians.

Downstairs, the officers were interviewing the other tenants of the building. Most of the answers were the same, nobody heard anything, or saw anyone unusual hanging around. The apartment building was close to several businesses, there were any number of cars and people walking past at all hours of the day and night. He saw a woman with a little girl about seven years old, who kept tugging at her hand, trying to get the woman's attention. He walked toward them as the woman hushed the girl, trying to answer the officer's questions.

"Excuse me ma'am, I'm Detective Allen. Is this your daughter?" he smiled down at the little girl, who had suddenly turned shy and tried to hide her face behind the woman.

"Yes," the woman answered, "my daughter Michelle." The girl peeked out around her mother's legs and looked up at him. "I'd like to know what she's trying to tell you," Allen knelt down on the wet grass, so that he was less intimidating. "Did you see something?" he asked gently.

The child looked down at the ground, sticking her thumb in her mouth. Her mother crouched down as well, and pulled her hand away. "Honey, did you see something? These men really need to know."

"He looked like Santa Claus, except not so much of a beard like he has." The girl spoke so softly it was hard to hear what she said. Allen winked at her and stood up. To the officer, he said, "Find out what she saw, what he was wearing, everything." He turned away to see several news vans parked just outside the yellow crime scene tape, filming the reporters. A dark colored car pulled up and Donna Owens, the police spokesperson climbed out. Allen headed over to her to brief her quickly so that they could give something to the news crews that were hovering like vultures.

"What do we have?" she asked. "One white female, twenty five to thirty years old, identification pending. Found by her roommate. The roommate was taken over to Emmanuel to be treated for shock. I think that's all you should give them for now, but just to let you know the roommate is Dana Collier." Donna's eyes widened at this news.

"Oh my god. It was Rachel, wasn't it?" She paled as her hand flew up to her mouth. Allen nodded. That was the name that the neighbor had reported the woman was screaming over and over. "I'm going to need a minute. Christ." Donna glanced over toward the reporters, hoping that none of them had caught her reaction. She walked back to her car and sat down, breathing deeply to compose herself. Flipping the sun visor down, she checked her reflection in the mirror. After a few minutes, she stepped out of the car and walked briskly toward the reporters.

The detective walked back toward the building. He had a long night ahead of him.