No Rules(3)

Donovan absorbed the insult without expression, but was pleased to see Rasmussen scowl when he tossed his wet helmet onto the visitor’s chair in front of the desk. He’d never gotten along well with territorial bureaucrats and this one was already giving off bad vibes. “The sheriff tells me you have a cause of death for Walter Shikovski,” he said.

“I do.”

“What was it?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Donovan allowed a tight smile, enough to let the coroner know that he was merely tolerating the question; the report was public knowledge. “He was a close friend,” he said. True, although far from the whole truth.

“Didn’t know he had any,” Mosely said. The sheriff’s assessing gaze was more professional than Rasmussen’s, openly curious about the stranger. “His coworkers said he kept to himself.”

“I’m a former student.” Also true, as far as it went. “Walter’s death was…unexpected.” Alarming was more accurate.

Rasmussen nodded, accepting the story. “Walter Shikovski died of a heart attack,” he said. “Plain and simple. Ventricular tachycardia resulting in death.”

A heart attack, maybe. Not plain and simple, though. “Can I see the body?”

The coroner frowned. “Why?”

He didn’t want to say it, but knew he wouldn’t get to see the body any other way. “Because you might have missed something.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“No.”

“Then how would you know?”

“I knew Wally.” If he gave them the truth, they’d never believe it. “Look, if you won’t show me, I’ll examine the body at the funeral home. But it would be easier if I could see him here.” It took all the patience he had to add, “Please.”

Rasmussen gave Sheriff Mosley a sullen glance. Mosley shrugged. “Fine,” Rasmussen acquiesced reluctantly. “In here.”

He followed them into an adjoining room, past a solitary autopsy table in the center, to a bank of four steel vault doors in the far wall. Rasmussen pulled out the upper left drawer until it was fully extended. Donovan braced himself mentally as the coroner lifted the sheet, revealing the upper half of Walter Shikovski’s nude body.

He’d seen dead bodies before, but never got used to the jolt of seeing the composed, grayish features of a friend. Sadness twisted in his chest, and he quickly looked away from Wally’s face. His friend would understand the necessity of what he had to do, but he would perform the task with as much respect as he could.

Stepping closer, he took Wally’s left arm and turned it, carefully examining the spaces between his fingers, the inner crook of his elbow, and under his arm. The dead limb felt unnaturally heavy and loose in his hands. Setting his jaw, he repeated the examination on Wally’s right arm. Rather than lower the sheet past his friend’s waist, he raised it from the bottom, exposing Wally’s lower legs. He repeated the search, checking behind Wally’s knees and between his toes, even pulling out a small flashlight to better examine the waxy, pale skin. Rasmussen stood with his arms folded and said nothing. Donovan ignored him, taking his time.

Finally, he straightened and wiped beads of sweat from his brow, the evidence he’d found chilling him to the bone. Goddamn it. What had his friend gotten into, and what kind of hell had they put him through before killing him?

“I’m done,” he told the coroner. “Thank you.”

Rasmussen came forward. “What do you mean, you’re done. What did you find?”

“Exactly what I thought I’d find. Needle marks. But I’m not surprised you missed them, they were well hidden.”

“Marks, plural? What the hell are you talking about?”

He didn’t have to answer. Rasmussen snatched the flashlight from him and repeated the examination, touching on every spot Donovan had looked at. Mosely watched with growing curiosity, moving closer to Wally’s body as if he might see something, too. When Rasmussen finally turned to face Donovan, his cynicism had been replaced by a sober determination. “What happened to him?”

Nothing he wanted to tell. “What do you think?”

“Needles. He was injected, repeatedly. I did a standard tox screen; nothing showed up.”

“It wouldn’t. I’m sure the drug used was undetectable.” What he didn’t say was that, if this case was like others he’d seen, only one of those marks was from a lethal injection. The others were most likely thin probes, used purely to cause pain. But Rasmussen would probably never need to diagnose torture again, and didn’t need to know. “You weren’t wrong about the heart attack, just maybe about the cause.”