One Grave Less

case. Diane hurried to the point of origin and peered behind the case.
    No lovers caught in flagrante delicto. A man was lying on his back on the floor. The entire front of his shirt was soaked in blood. There was blood splattered and smeared over much of his face. He was breathing through his mouth in short explosive puffs.

Chapter 2
    Diane knelt beside the man just as she heard the sound of footfalls coming into the room. She stretched her neck to look through the glass of the display case and saw two museum security guards.
    “Over here,” she called out. “I need an ambulance.”
    While one guard called for paramedics, the other knelt beside Diane with the first-aid kit. He was Rufus Diggs, a ruddy-faced, brown-haired man newly hired. Diane had liked his résumé because of his extensive paramedical training.
    He opened the first-aid kit and quickly slipped on gloves, tossed a pair to Diane, and began to examine the man on the floor. The blood appeared to be coming from a wound in his abdomen. It soaked his shirt and was spreading in an ever-widening pool on the floor. Diane tried to avoid it, but it was nearly impossible if the man was to be attended to.
    Security officer Diggs worked quickly cutting open the shirt and examined the gash in the man’s stomach.
    “Knife wound,” he said.
    Diane nodded in agreement.
    “Losing a lot of blood. Hold this firmly in place,” he said, indicating a large square of gauze he was placing over the bleeding wound. “I need to check his back.”
    Diane placed both hands on the gauze and held it compressed over the source of the bleeding. It quickly soaked with blood and she put another on top of it as Diggs carefully rolled the unconscious man to his side and checked him for more injuries. There did not appear to be any visible injury to his back.
    The man’s cheek was bruised and his features were distorted from the smeared blood. Diane didn’t recognize him. He was young, in his thirties perhaps. It was hard to tell.
    How the hell did he get in here? she wondered.
    “An ambulance is on the way,” said the other security guard.
    Diane glanced his way and nodded. He was another of the new security personnel. One she hadn’t met. He was young. Diane thought he might be a student at Bartrum, the local university. His physique looked like he lifted weights in all his spare time. His gaze was traveling aimlessly around the room.
    “Wait outside for the ambulance,” she said. “Don’t touch anything. This room’s a crime scene now.”
    He glanced at her for a moment as if he hadn’t understood. “Oh, uh, yes, ma’am,” he said finally and went out the door.
    “New guy,” said Diggs. “Real nervous on the way over here. Hadn’t expected anything like this, I’m sure. I think he’s seen Night at the Museum too many times.”
    Diane pressed on the bandage. Blood was still squeezing up between her fingers. She put another layer of gauze on the wound and continued the pressure. Her gaze drifted around the room. She was mentally searching the crime scene. She noticed more blood on the floor several feet away, near the door to an adjoining lab and storage rooms.
    It was hard to see on the dark floor, but she thought there was a trail of drops leading to where the injured man lay collapsed. Was he coming from the adjoining rooms when he fell here? If so, then, the way he was hemorrhaging, why wasn’t there more blood along his path? There were only drops.
    Diane squinted her eyes as she examined the drops on the floor. It was all in the shape. The tails of the elongated drops pointed in the direction of travel. And they pointed toward the door, not away from it.
    “Hell,” said Diane.
    “What?” said Diggs.
    “We may have another victim in the lab through that door. Take over for me, can you?”
    Diggs nodded, momentarily taking his eyes off the patient, glancing at the door, then pressed his hands on the bandage as Diane took her hands away.
    She slipped off the gloves, grabbed a new pair, and slipped them on. She still wore her running shoes from her earlier jog around the museum’s nature trails. She slipped them off, put them on top of the glass display case and carefully walked toward the lab, watching the floor to avoid the drops of blood. She slowly opened the lab door. It was dark inside. She flipped on the light, hoping she was not making herself a target for some maniac. She should have called security for more help.
    Nothing happened. No