taking a sip and smiling. It tasted like cinnamon and ginger.
The silent women around the fire began to chatter among themselves.
“You showed trust,” Hoppy told him. “They like that.”
Finn continued to sip his tea until all that was left in the cup was a soggy mixture of brown and red leaves.
Hoppy asked for the cup back. She studied the leaves with great care.
“What are you doing?” Finn asked.
“Your future is in the leaves,” Hoppy replied. “No cup is ever the same.”
“What do they say?”
“They show more trouble ahead, but also peace. Your life has had great happiness and also terrible sadness. You never seem to find the middle ground.”
“Does anyone?” Finn asked.
“A few.”
Finn looked up at the moon, brighter now as the sun began to set.
“She’s dancing,” Hoppy said gently. “Dancing in the eyes of the moon.”
CHAPTER 22
“Explain this to me again.”
Julia sat across the desk from Dr. Barbara MacDougall, a warm cup of coffee helping fend off the chill from the adjoining lab where Paul, Tequila Shooter’s former fry cook, lay on a metal tray.
“It’s quite simple.” MacDougall sucked in a lungful of vapor from her electronic cigarette. “I found a bruise on the corpse’s back that appears to be a bite mark.”
“But there are no teeth marks?”
“There are no teeth marks visible .” MacDougall smiled. “But using trans-illumination we can take a picture of the cells under the bruise to outline them.”
“And this will help us find whoever killed him?”
“It’s possible,” MacDougall agreed. “Everyone’s bite is unique, like a fingerprint or DNA.”
“When will you have the results?”
“In a day or so. I have to ship the section to Seattle where their Forensic Ident Unit will do the tests. So if you have any suspects, get them to bite on something. Then I can match up the marks.”
“Was he raped?”
MacDougall shrugged. “I can’t tell for sure. On first examination it appeared he had been. There is some blood and bruising around the anus, but on closer inspection it looks more like a single, violent thrust. A quick in and out.”
“What would account for that?”
“The killer may have wanted to rape him, but then changed his mind. Or maybe he forgot to bring a condom and didn’t want to leave semen traces. Or he just wanted to humiliate the victim, but wasn’t really into the sex act itself.”
“Could he have used an object instead?” Julia interjected. “To make us think the cook was linked to the other rapes rather than Selene’s murder.”
MacDougall nodded. “It’s a possibility.”
Julia unclipped the nightstick from her belt and slid it across the desk.
MacDougall picked it up and stroked it across her palm. “Handy little toy,” she smirked.
“Could one similar to it have caused the damage on the body?” Julia asked.
“I’ll need to do some measurements, but my initial reaction is yes. It’s got the right diameter and more than enough length. Do you think it was used?”
Julia shrugged. “I don’t know, but I don’t like to limit my options.”
“That’s the best way to be in this business,” MacDougall agreed. “People are a hell of a lot sicker than we give them credit for.”
CHAPTER 23
Dr. Barbara MacDougall kicked off her shoes as soon as she walked through the front door of her home, dropped her coat on the floor, and walked into the kitchen to pour herself a Rusty Nail — two fingers of Scotch with one of Drambuie over ice.
It was her father’s favorite drink.
He always bragged that it put hair on his chest, but then complained it did nothing for the bald palette of his head. Barbara enjoyed its sharp, sweet bite and her only complaint was that her fingers weren’t fatter.
After the second sip, the stress of the day’s autopsies began to flow away. By the third, they were a distant memory. It had always been Barbara’s good
The silent women around the fire began to chatter among themselves.
“You showed trust,” Hoppy told him. “They like that.”
Finn continued to sip his tea until all that was left in the cup was a soggy mixture of brown and red leaves.
Hoppy asked for the cup back. She studied the leaves with great care.
“What are you doing?” Finn asked.
“Your future is in the leaves,” Hoppy replied. “No cup is ever the same.”
“What do they say?”
“They show more trouble ahead, but also peace. Your life has had great happiness and also terrible sadness. You never seem to find the middle ground.”
“Does anyone?” Finn asked.
“A few.”
Finn looked up at the moon, brighter now as the sun began to set.
“She’s dancing,” Hoppy said gently. “Dancing in the eyes of the moon.”
CHAPTER 22
“Explain this to me again.”
Julia sat across the desk from Dr. Barbara MacDougall, a warm cup of coffee helping fend off the chill from the adjoining lab where Paul, Tequila Shooter’s former fry cook, lay on a metal tray.
“It’s quite simple.” MacDougall sucked in a lungful of vapor from her electronic cigarette. “I found a bruise on the corpse’s back that appears to be a bite mark.”
“But there are no teeth marks?”
“There are no teeth marks visible .” MacDougall smiled. “But using trans-illumination we can take a picture of the cells under the bruise to outline them.”
“And this will help us find whoever killed him?”
“It’s possible,” MacDougall agreed. “Everyone’s bite is unique, like a fingerprint or DNA.”
“When will you have the results?”
“In a day or so. I have to ship the section to Seattle where their Forensic Ident Unit will do the tests. So if you have any suspects, get them to bite on something. Then I can match up the marks.”
“Was he raped?”
MacDougall shrugged. “I can’t tell for sure. On first examination it appeared he had been. There is some blood and bruising around the anus, but on closer inspection it looks more like a single, violent thrust. A quick in and out.”
“What would account for that?”
“The killer may have wanted to rape him, but then changed his mind. Or maybe he forgot to bring a condom and didn’t want to leave semen traces. Or he just wanted to humiliate the victim, but wasn’t really into the sex act itself.”
“Could he have used an object instead?” Julia interjected. “To make us think the cook was linked to the other rapes rather than Selene’s murder.”
MacDougall nodded. “It’s a possibility.”
Julia unclipped the nightstick from her belt and slid it across the desk.
MacDougall picked it up and stroked it across her palm. “Handy little toy,” she smirked.
“Could one similar to it have caused the damage on the body?” Julia asked.
“I’ll need to do some measurements, but my initial reaction is yes. It’s got the right diameter and more than enough length. Do you think it was used?”
Julia shrugged. “I don’t know, but I don’t like to limit my options.”
“That’s the best way to be in this business,” MacDougall agreed. “People are a hell of a lot sicker than we give them credit for.”
CHAPTER 23
Dr. Barbara MacDougall kicked off her shoes as soon as she walked through the front door of her home, dropped her coat on the floor, and walked into the kitchen to pour herself a Rusty Nail — two fingers of Scotch with one of Drambuie over ice.
It was her father’s favorite drink.
He always bragged that it put hair on his chest, but then complained it did nothing for the bald palette of his head. Barbara enjoyed its sharp, sweet bite and her only complaint was that her fingers weren’t fatter.
After the second sip, the stress of the day’s autopsies began to flow away. By the third, they were a distant memory. It had always been Barbara’s good
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