An Artist in Arizona Bay

Beyond bustling backstreets further    
bound to the brick, two carcasses    
rest. I know of their faces but not    
of their names. Two Arteries slashed    
those being, carotid and femoral.  
   
Caroline and Frank    
   
They rest, pressed against sinister    
brick, a deceptive stench to    
the nostril will mislead, slightly pleasant    
perfumes and aftershave distinctively    
please the policemen. That is, until    
   
they step closer, beyond the candles    
the altar,    
the holy trinity.    
Crucified lifeless carcasses of Corpses    
bled dry    
bathed clean and displayed.    
   
There they rest, Caroline and Frank,    
they were murdered here too.    
‘Not unlike the other victims’ Sergeant    
Dahan noted, never failing to release a bone.    
   
Forensics arrive, accompanying their    
always-first-on-the-scene lone representative,    
their Champion    
their Blood-brother Brian Griffith    
the specialized blood-spatter-pattern analyst, a story-teller..    
a linguist, come to interpret an ancient dialect    
   
Murder.    
   
‘...too deliberate in motion, too cerebral    
 for the passion of the Art, a murderously precise brush.    
No hesitation, not an error... None at all, without wasted motion’  
Brian Griffith stated,  
nostalgic.    
   
Meticulous    
   
Marcus Dahan shuddered;    
the third set,    
the third Caroline and Frank.