God, did he look as old as some days made him feel? What was with the 'sir' thing? Most newbies referred to him as Mr. Brennan until they were told explicitly to use his first name, or some variation of that name. None really felt right in doing that until they had known him for about a year, though. Glancing toward Lawrence as he relayed the information to him and Cedric, he glanced at the house. It was nice, a sturdy brick thing with a two car garage and a well-kept yard. More than well-kept. Either the man or the daughter had to be really into gardening. What caught Iago's attention was the mention of a pattern carved into the victim's back. That was rather new. He nodded when Lawrence fell silent, walking up the path and to the door, stepping in and looking around very carefully. The inside was cool, lit with a couple table lamps, and looked otherwise clean. "Doesn't look like a struggle happened..." Iago noted, looking past the men and women already in the house. "Unless everything was put back where it was... or the victim was immediately threatened with a weapon and too intimidated to fight back... A lot of possibilities..." They were running through his mind. A struggle that was cleaned up before the killer left. A gun or knife to the man's throat as he was ordered to the basement. Maybe the man even knew the killer, or had been expecting him. Maybe he'd been knocked out, but that was something for the coroner to figure out, and he didn't seem to have arrived yet.

Lawrence stepped in with Cedric and Iago turned to face them both. "Where's the daughter?"

"She was hysterical. We took her to the precinct to calm down and hopefully help us with something. So far we just haven't found anything. The basement's over that way, down the hall." He pointed left, and Iago looked to Cedric, giving him a 'come on' look and starting forward.

The staircase was brightly lit, and it was silent downstairs. All the lights were on, and before he got halfway down Iago smelt a disgusting combination of odors, mostly blood, followed by bodily fluids, no doubt expelled during the terror of being murdered or after the muscles loosened in death. The middle-aged man had been cut down from where he'd been hanging against the far wall. It was a finished basement, complete with white carpeting and a television in the corner of the room. Blood was splattered all over, clothes that had been cut and ripped littered about. The victim, Rodger, was face-down so Iago and Cedric could easily see the carving in his back. He paused to take his shoes off so he avoided tracking anything too close, and in socks, Iago made sure to avoid the puddles of blood and crept close to the body. "Pentagram." He said, pointing. It was intricate, however, not quickly slashed into the skin.

"The guy was alive when he was carved into." Iago observed. "A lot of lividity around the cuts. There's... smaller cuts inside the pentagram. It looks like a dragon head...?" It was definitely intricate. The killer had taken his sweet time, as if he weren't in a hurry. As if he felt he were better than everyone else.