Bill looked around the basement area, stretching out and feeling with every sense he possessed. The markers on the floor told him a few things... He was glad that it wasn't body references... Though why weren't they? The blood on that keg... It was used as a weapon. Spatter from aspirated blood. The injuries to the man were severe. And considering he was a bear, that said something. To do something like that to a were-bear, you had to hit him hard, fast, to keep him from changing and ruining your day. He turned to look at Jason when he identified where the psycho had stood. Another piece of the puzzle.
"Hrm..." The noise rumbled from Bill's chest, as he put together what he was seeing. Working narcotics, he'd seen his share of bad cases... You crossed the wrong street in DC, you crossed into a war zone. He was quiet, when another cop came down. He didn't want to say too much... start talking magic and rituals, and you might find yourself taking some unexpected leave... At least, that was what he had always thought. Jason immediately identified what Bill was there to do. Well, two weres in the same room, likely to raise some suspicions. Near as he could tell, the guy was human. No weird animal scents on him, and no tickle at the back of his mind that spoke of any more interaction with the supernatural than anyone else. Good. Kept things simple.
"I'll explain what I'm doing as simple as possible... What I do... It's old Native American Magic. It was going out of practice by the time my Great-Great-Grandfather was learning it to try and cure a curse... Didn't work. I've got a Circle in my back yard I keep purified and ready. Most mornings, I just do a little ritual to make sure the spirits and I keep on friendly terms. Sometimes, though, they tell me things. Like this morning. They told me about what was coming here. Just not in clear enough language that I could get here to do anything about it. Now, if I have some things to give to the fire, so the spirits can focus on it... I might get something more useful. Pointed. Visions. Scents. That type of thing. Nothing admissible in court, and nothing concrete. But something that might point us in the direction we need to go in order to keep this psycho from killing someone next time."
He moved to the spot Jason had identified. "He stood here. Waited. Injured the woman to draw the man. He planned his next move here. Stood, waited, plotted. Prepared to do violence. Something here. Even if it's just a piece of the floor... might carry enough of an imprint for the spirits to latch onto... Look." He got out his small flashlight and shone it. "He crouched here. There's a handprint in this box... like he used it to steady himself. And footprints in the dust behind it. He wore gloves... so no fingerprints..." With his other hand, he withdrew a large folding pocketknife. A practiced flip of his wrist combined with a small nudge of the thumb-stud on the back of the blade, and the blade sprung free, locking into place. He used the tip to nose the box open... "Empty... Now... up to you. You want to let forensics go over this with a fine-toothed comb, maybe find some DNA from saliva or something... Which I doubt, because you said he also wore a mask. It's possible, though... But this is a spot where he spent a lot of time, comparatively, getting ready to do something violent. That's gotta leave a mark."