Sam had been hoisted into the back seat of the patrol car, hands still cuffed, pants bunched around his ankles, and deposited back at the college bookstore, which had been closed by then. He was uncuffed and left on the sidewalk, alone. It took hours for him to find the strength to pull up his pants, and half the night was lost making the slow, stumbling trek back home.
Where Corey had found him.
Will put in a call to forensics, ordering a thorough investigation of all squad cars. Sam had showered before Corey got him to the hospital—a common mistake most victims of assault made; the basic human desire for cleansing the body usually managed to erase all physical evidence of an attack—but surely there would be semen and blood in the back seat of one of the vehicles. Then he could trace down the driver, either through police records or DNA, though Will already thought he knew who he’d find.