Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights II Streets of Shadows - Michael Reaves [22]
Jax watched the forensics droids going about their business, admiring their efficiency. The smaller units hovered on repulsorlifts a few centimeters above the carpet, so as to avoid trampling its fibers with their shuffling gaits. He was impressed with their speed and thoroughness—impressed, and more than a bit apprehensive. They were the epitome of professionalism, and the last thing he wanted was to have that vaunted clarity, that merciless illuminating glare, turned upon himself and his cohorts.
Having concluded his cursory inspection of the room, the police prefect emerged to study those waiting outside. Jax could feel the official’s disapproval. The biolight source in the hallway’s ceiling was on the verge of final decay, and the illumination had grown unreasonably bright, like that of a star just before its death throes. The unit cast hard-edged shadows instead of bathing everything within its purview in a normal soft, diffuse glow. It gave the scene a stark, alien quality. Beneath it, even the beauteous if distraught Dejah looked cold.
Haus coughed softly. “Did any of you touch anything, other than the doorplate?”
Jax answered for the three of them. “No.”
The prefect looked skeptical. “Not even the corpse? To see if he was still alive?” He looked at Dejah, who was sitting in a small hoverchair with a blanket draped over her shoulders. “You. He was your partner, and you didn’t bother to check his vitals?”
Jax felt a small stab of irritation. While it was the prefect’s job to ask questions, this one had been answered already. He was tempted to wonder aloud which part of no the Zabrak didn’t understand, but he held his irritation in check. It was seldom a good idea to give in to easy emotion. Especially when being questioned in a homicide. Keeping his tone carefully neutral, he responded for Dejah.
“There was no need, Prefect. It was apparent he was dead.”
Haus wore studied indifference like a mask. “You could tell that from across the room?”
“I could tell,” Dejah mumbled lifelessly. “He had the death reek on him.”
Not even the prefect saw fit to question this. A Zeltron could easily detect the scent of epinephrine and fear pheromones in the room, as well as the lack of empathic vibes from her erstwhile comrade. And the Force had made it unequivocally clear to Jax the moment the door had opened that the sculptor Volette was dead, but it wouldn’t be even a remotely good idea to let Haus know that.
I-Five said, “Judging from the size of the bloodstain on the carpet, Prefect Haus, the proportions of the body, and the depth of the stab wound that killed him, the probability of him being anything other than dead was close to zero.”
Haus regarded I-Five. “So now a protocol droid is offering me advice on what questions to ask? Had a lot of experience with murder victims, have you?”
I-Five was less than intimidated. “During the Clone Wars I was posted at a medical Rimsoo in a planetary war zone. I regret to say that my experience with organic exsanguination is rather more extensive than I would wish.
“Given the extent of the bloodstain and the thickness and easily discernible absorptive capacity of the carpet, a simple mathematical computation can determine the quantity of liquid necessary to provide such dispersal. The average humanoid adult has a blood volume of approximately four-point-nine liters, of which two-point-seven liters is plasma. Humanoid survival with an untreated Class Four blood loss—that is, greater than forty percent of total volume—is unlikely for more than a few minutes. The amount of blood soaked into this carpet is, I estimate, nearly three liters. Even