Dan nodded numbly as he followed Kevin, sparing the chainsaw one last glance and grimace; coffee sounded good, a breather sounded better. "Who the hell knows what this guy is thinking anymore?" Dan mumbled, mulling over Kevin's theories as he rubbed a hand over his jaw. He was definitely deciding that he really liked that organized part of organized crime, though criminal intelligence definitely seemed to fit their perp. Every time he blinked his eyes, he saw red; light through his eyelids, blood.
Still, he offered his own guess. "Imposing a fantasy on someone the fantasy seems to fit? That chainsaw was hanging pretty low; wanna bet Giordano gets back to us with a height around five feet even? Small. Rumpelstiltskin." He shook his head. "But why this guy? There are plenty of short guys in the city; we know the perp doesn't care whether his targets are easily missed or not. Hell, he seems to want them found. For whose benefit, I wonder?"
He was thinking in circles, tired and disgusted. The pattern, the pattern, why couldn't he see it?