Volgin frowned down at the body.

A young man, tortured and violated.

And recently dead, from the smell of it. Recently dead flesh smelled different than the the flesh of a rotting corpse when charred, Volgin knew.

He had to think about it for a few moments, remembering where he'd been and what he'd done over the past couple of days.

"Well, I didn't kill him," he finally said, shrugging.

He looked back at Ocelot. "Did you?"