“I hope you didn’t eat breakfast yet, Lou!” my partner Pat shouted as I pulled up in my car. He’s an early riser and I haven’t beaten him to a sunrise scene yet.

Lou. As in Louise. Crime scene investigator. No, nothing like those beautiful people on television with their magic machines and 48 minute conundrums. I’m one of the cops they call when there’s a mess and a mystery.

“Ugh,” I said as I got my first look at the scene. The broken windshield, dented hood, blood everywhere, and oh yeah, the body. Twisted. Broken. Even under the tarp I could see that. I looked up at the balconies. “A jumper?”

“Maybe,” Pat said.

“They don’t typically rush us out for a solo job,” I mused. “There must be more than this.”

“Oh there is. Folks report yelling from his apartment. Nights mostly. Quiet last night though. Here’s the kicker, check out the head.”

I bent over and pulled back the tarp. Someone had cut off the ears.

I looked back up, Pat was staring up at the building.

“You hear that?” he asked.

“Hear what?”