‘Murder scene?’ I asked, as Boyce went to deposit his load.
‘He was stabbed somewhere,’ Pavlik pointed out. ‘There must—’
‘Oops,’ Boyce said as Potter slipped off his shoulder and onto the bunk. ‘He’s kind of slippery.’
‘Probably python tummy juices,’ Hertel said from the doorway. ‘Not to mention the rain. It’s coming down cats and dogs again out there.’
As if the Everglades themselves were writing our stage directions, lightning flashed through the window, illuminating the body.
‘Let’s keep him up on his side,’ Pavlik said, assisting. ‘We don’t want to jam the knife any deeper into his back.’
‘Not going to matter much now,’ Hertel opined, clicking on the roomette light.
We ignored him as the two other men settled Potter onto the bunk, facing away from us toward the window.
I suppressed a shiver. Given my new-found ‘pluck,’ I attributed the reaction to the fact that my sundress was rain-damp. With the window closed and air conditioning on, the sleeping space felt like an icebox. And it smelled none too sweet, as well. ‘What do we do now?’
‘I asked Markus, Missy, and Zoe to keep this to themselves, but have everyone convene in the passenger car.’ Pavlik hooked a finger in the direction of the next car. ‘We’ll need to explain the situation and outline our options, assuming there are any.’
Then, to Hertel, ‘I assume, since the track is underwater, we’re stuck here?’
‘You’re plumb right about that. We can plow through a little water, but it looks to me like the railroad bed might’ve washed away under the tracks and sunk ’em, which is why we have that gulley between us and where the snake had ahold of him.’ He nodded at Potter.
I looked at the dead man, who could easily have been curled up in bed ‘with his trousers on,’ as the old nursery rhyme goes.
One shoe off and one shoe on. Diddle, diddle, dumpling, my son John. ‘Should we cover him or something?’
‘I’d rather not,’ said Pavlik. ‘The less we tinker, the happier the crime-scene people are going to be when they get here. In fact, we should clear this car and post a guard to keep everyone out.’
He looked at Boyce. ‘Will you take first watch?’
The coffee man née military policeman nodded.
I was relieved Pavlik had found a comrade-in-arms in Boyce, especially since his next choice probably would have been me. Much as I appreciated the trust, being left alone guarding a dead body – especially one that had been headfirst in the digestive tract of a very pregnant nightmare – was beyond creepy, even bordering on sci-fi.
Besides, I told myself, much better that I be present when the sheriff briefed the rest of the passengers. That way I’d know what he had and hadn’t told them and, therefore, what I was free to say. That was the kind of judgment – or lack of judgment – call that had gotten me into trouble before.
Moving to the warmer corridor, Pavlik waited for the rest of us to follow him out before sliding the door closed behind us. Then he and Boyce went room to room – one opening the door, the other entering, then alternating for the next one just like you would see in the movies.
Satisfied no one was in the sleeping car besides us, Boyce asked, ‘Do you want me posted here in the hall?’
‘Let’s go through to the next car,’ Pavlik said, leading the way into the vestibule.
‘Wait a second,’ I said, backtracking. ‘I don’t think we closed this exit door completely when we brought the body in. That’s probably why it’s so toasty warm in the hallway.’
‘Stop!’ Pavlik barked, but I’d already grabbed the handle and went to slide the door closed.
My hand came away, sticky.
NINETEEN
The rumble of voices could be heard as Pavlik slid open the door of the passenger car.
‘It must be blood,’ I whispered to Pavlik as I slipped past him into the restroom to wash my hands. ‘That’s also the area where I found Potter’s matches.’
‘Time and forensics will tell us just what the substance is,’ the sheriff said, maddeningly reasurred. ‘As for the matches, are you sure they’re his?’
‘Yes.’ I dried my hands on a paper towel before plunging one of them into the pockets of my sundress to retrieve the empty matchbook. I held it up. ‘See? These were the matches he had at the table in the dining car. At first, Missy and I thought he might have opened the door to smoke and fallen out.’
Pavlik took the matchbook. ‘“Titanium”?’
‘Apparently it’s a “gentleman’s club,” or at least that’s what Missy called it. Knowing her gift for sugar-coating, it could be a brothel, or even an S&M dungeon, for all we know.’