Blood Lines

felt cool and dry. It always had, but with the night to give it animation it had never felt so… unalive. "All right, scratch that last idea." Not even as tired as she was could she sleep next to the body-to the absence of Henry-that the day had created. Scooping his discarded pants off the floor, she rummaged in the pockets for his keys.
    'I'm going home," she said, needing to hear herself just to offset his absolute stillness. "I'll get some sleep and be back before dark. Don't worry, I'll lock up on my way out. You'll be safe."
    The lamp by the bed switched off at the door. Vicki took one look back then extinguished the pale island of light, plunging the room into complete and utter darkness.
    She had her hand on the knob and had actually begun to turn it when a sudden realization stopped her cold. "How the hell do I get out of here?" Her fingers traced the rubber seals that edged the door, blocking any possible intrusion of light. Could she leave without destroying Henry? This is just great . The door boomed a hollow counterpoint to her thoughts as she beat her head gently against it. I stay to save him from suicide and end up committing murder .
    Go or stay?
    There'd be light spilling into the hall through the open door of his office and if she opened this door here… How direct did the sun have to be? How diffuse?
    We should have covered this earlier, Henry . She couldn't believe that neither of them had considered anything past sunrise. Of course, they'd both been dealing with other things.
    She couldn't risk it. The entrance door to the condo had been locked and the security chain fastened. He was as safe in here as he ever was. He just had company.
    Eyes closed-voluntary lack of sight seemed to help-she stumbled back to the bed and lay down on top of the covers as far from Henry's inert body as she could get.
    All her senses told her she was alone. Except she knew she wasn't. The entire room had become a coffin of sorts. She could feel the darkness pressing against her, becoming a six by three by one foot box, and tried not to think of Edgar Allan Poe and premature burials.
    'How did he die?"
    'His heart stopped." The assistant coroner peeled off his gloves. "Which, in fact, is what kills us all in the end. You want to know why he died, ask me after I've had him on the table for a couple of hours."
    'Thank you, Dr. Singh."
    He smiled, completely unaffected by the sarcasm. "I live to serve. Don't keep him too long." He paused on his way out the door and threw back, "Offhand, given the position, I'd say he was dead before he hit the floor."
    Waving an acknowledgment that he'd heard, Mike Celluci knelt by the body and frowned.
    His partner, Dave Graham, leaned over his shoulder and whistled through his teeth. "Someone's got quite the grip."
    Celluci grunted in agreement. Purple and green bruises circled the left wrist, brilliantly delineating the marks of four fingers and a thumb. The left arm lay stretching away from the body.
    'He got dropped when he died," Dave said quietly.
    'That'd be my guess. Check out the face."
    'No expression."
    'Right first time. No fear; no pain; no surprise; no nothing. No record of the last few minutes of life at all."
    'Drugs?"
    'Maybe. Nice jacket." Celluci got to his feet. "Wonder why it wasn't taken with the shoes."

    Stepping back out of the way, Dave shrugged. "Who the hell can tell these days? They took the cash but not the credit cards or ID. Even left him his transit pass."
    Carefully stepping around both the chalk lines and the bits of broken glass on the floor, the two men made their way over to the sink. Where the stainless steel had been previously scored, the acid poured into it had eaten into the metal.
    A vague ammonia smell still drifted up from the drain.
    'No sign of what he dumped…"
    Celluci snorted. "Or of who dumped it. Kevin!" The ident man looked up from his position at the side of the corpse. "I want prints lifted off the glass."
    'Off the glass?" Only the base and the section of the neck protected by the screw-on cap had survived in anything large enough to even be considered pieces. "Shall I cure the common cold while I 'm at it?"
    'Suit yourself, but I want those prints first. Harper!"
    The constable who'd been staring into the coffin started and jerked around. " Detective?"
    'Get someone in here to drain the trap… the curved pipe under the sink," he added when Harper looked blank. "There's water in it, maybe enough to dilute the acid and give us