Divine Evil

the slope, then turned back. “Sheriff, it's a damn mess, isn't it?”
    “Yeah. It's a goddamn mess.”
    Once he had the camera, Cam sent Bud back up on the roadside again, to wait for the coroner. Making his mind a blank, Cam began his grisly task. He noted the raw and sawed flesh on the wrists and ankles, the lack of bruises on the back and buttocks.
    Finished, he wished violently for a cigarette but only set the camera aside and picked up the can of spray paint he'd grabbed from the storeroom at his office. Crouched low, he pushed the sprayer, cursed when it only sputtered, then shook the can hard. He could hear the musical sound of the mixing beads jiggling inside.
    He'd always liked that sound, he realized. The competence of it, the anticipation of it. But it wasn't something he would look forward to any time soon. Again, he aimed the can at the ground and pushed the nozzle.
    He saw with grim amusement that he'd grabbed a can of canary yellow. Well, the lousy sonofabitch would get his death silhouette in a nice, cheerful color.
    He started at the feet, forcing himself not to cringe at the vulnerability of those bruised and broken toes.
    You had that foot planted on your ass more times than you can count, he reminded himself. But his hand shook a bit as he continued the paint stream beside the naked left leg.
    “Broke your fucking knees, didn't he?” Cam muttered. “I always hoped you'd die hard. Looks like I got my wish.”
    He gritted his teeth and continued. It wasn't until he stood again that he realized his jaw was aching. Very deliberately he capped the paint can, set it down, then took out a cigarette.
    He remembered the last time he had stood and looked at death. Then it had been someone he cared about, someone he'd laughed with, felt responsible for. Had grieved for.
    Cam closed his eyes, but only for a moment, because when he did, he could see the past all too clearly. Jake's body sprawled on that filthy stairway, the blood pumping out of him so fast they'd both known there hadn't been a chance. Not a chance in hell.
    My fault, he thought as the sweat pooled at the base of his spine. My fault.
    “Sheriff. Sheriff.” Bud had to give him a shake on the shoulder before Cam snapped back and looked at him. “Coroner's here.”
    Cam nodded, then picked up the paint can and the camera and handed them to Bud. Beside the deputy stoodthe county coroner, black bag in hand. He was a short, spare man with white, white skin and oddly Oriental eyes, dark, slightly slanted, and luxuriantly lashed. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed, the part so straight it might have been surveyed. He was wearing a trim beige suit and a somewhat cocky bow tie. He was fiftyish, soft-spoken and shy. He felt more at home with his cadavers than with their living counterparts.
    “Dr. Loomis. You made good time.”
    “Sheriff.” Loomis offered a pale, fine-boned hand. “Apparently you've had some trouble.”
    “Apparently.” Cam felt a ridiculous urge to chuckle at the understatement. “Some kids found the body about an hour ago. I've already taken pictures and outlined the body position, so you won't have to worry about disturbing the crime scene.”
    “Excellent.” Loomis looked down at the body. His only reaction was a pursing of lips. With businesslike motions he opened his case and took out a pair of thin surgical gloves.
    “You're not going to-” Bud took two steps back. “You're not going to do, like, an autopsy or anything right here?”
    “Don't worry.” Loomis gave a surprisingly rich chuckle. “We'll save that for later.”
    Cam took the camera back. They would need it. “Bud, go on up to the road. Make sure nobody stops and gawks.”
    “Yes, sir.” Relieved, Bud scrambled up the slope.
    “Your deputy's a nervous fellow.”
    “He's young. It's his first homicide.”
    “Of course, of course.” Loomis's mouth pursed again. “This paint is still a bit tacky.”
    “I'm sorry. I didn't have anything else handy.”
    “No trouble. I won't disturb it.”
    Loomis took out a small recorder, set it fussily on a rock. He spoke aloud, slowly and patiently, as he examined the body.
    “We'll need to turn him over,” Loomis said matter-of-factly.
    Wordlessly, Cam set the camera aside to help the doctor lift and turn the corpse. The battered body shifted in their hold, reminding Cam of the way loose garbage moves in a Hefty bag. He bit back an oath as he heard bone rub against bone.
    If it had been bad