Everywhere blood!  Sticky, stinking, inescapable blood.

The ancient bathroom was tiny.  The cops could not avoid stepping in blood, touching it.

Blood silently dripped from the low-slung ceiling, the arched mirror.  It overflowed the sink’s shallow basin, seeped down its wooden base, and pooled on the linoleum floor.

It was spray-spattered across the seat of the unflushed toilet and the toiletries which stood across its lid.

Gore smeared a bare wall adjacent to the sink.  Two bloody handprints blotched its surface.

In addition to the pooling blood, the floor had two long bloody streaks leading to the narrow tub with claw feet where the body had been dumped.

The naked dead man lay face upwards in a lake of blood.  Blood streamed from several slashes across his neck and half-submerged chest.  His blue eyes were open, staring without seeing.

He’d been there awhile as the stench was overwhelming like rotting meat.  Since the small room had no windows, there was no way to expel the rank air.

A metallic taste invaded each investigator’s mouth and lingered long after the bathroom door was sealed, the crime scene vacated.

But horrific homicide was commonplace these days in Las Vegas.  As a member of the VCTF  (Violent Crime Task Force), I knew there would soon be more.