The Laughing Corpse - Laurell K. Hamilton [96]
I poked the smaller glob with one gloved finger. I had remembered my surgical gloves this time. Goody for me. The glob was wet and heavy and solid. I swallowed hard, but I was no closer to knowing what it was. The two scraps were like morsels dropped from a cat’s mouth. Crumbs from the table. Jesus.
I stood. “Next.” My voice sounded steady, ordinary. Amazing.
It took all four men lifting from different corners to peel the sheet back from the bed. Merlioni cursed and dropped his corner, “Dammit!”
Blood had run down his arm onto the white shirt. “Did um’s get his shirt messy?” Zerbrowski asked.
“Fuck yes. This place is a mess.”
“I guess the lady of the house didn’t have time to clean up before you came, Merlioni,” I said. My eyes flicked down to the bed and the remains of the lady of the house. But I looked back up at Merlioni instead. “Or can’t the dago cop take it?”
“I can take anything you can dish out, little lady,” he said. I frowned and shook my head. “Betcha can’t.”
“I’ll take some of that action,” Zerbrowski said.
Dolph didn’t stop us, tell us this was a crime scene, not a betting parlor. He knew we needed it to stay sane. I could not stare down at the remains and not make jokes. I couldn’t. I’d go crazy. Cops have the weirdest sense of humor, because they have to.
“How much you bet?” Merlioni said.
“A dinner for two at Tony’s,” I said.
Zerbrowski whistled. “Steep, very steep.”
“I can afford to foot the bill. Is it a deal?”
Merlioni nodded. “My wife and I haven’t been out in ages.” He offered his blood-soaked hand. I took it. The cool blood clung to the outside of my surgical gloves. It felt wet, like it had soaked through to the skin, but it hadn’t. It was a sensory illusion. I knew that when I took off the gloves my hands would be powder dry. It was still unnerving.
“How we prove who’s toughest?” Merlioni asked.
“This scene, here and now,” I said.
“Deal.”
I turned my attention back to the carnage with renewed determination. I would win the bet. I wouldn’t let Merlioni have the satisfaction. It gave me something to concentrate on rather than the mess on the bed.
The left half of a rib cage lay on the bed. A naked breast was still attached to it. The lady of the house? Everything was brilliant scarlet red, like someone had poured buckets of red paint on the bed. It was hard to pick out the pieces. There a left arm, small, female.
I picked up the fingers and they were limp, no rigor mortis. There was a wedding band set on the third finger. I moved the fingers back and forth. “No rigor mortis. What do you think, Merlioni?”
He squinted down at the arm. He couldn’t let me out-do him so he fiddled with the hand, turning it at the wrist. “Could be rigor came and went. You know the first rigor doesn’t last.”
“You really think nearly two days have passed?” I shook my head. “The blood’s too fresh for that. Rigor hasn’t set in. The crime isn’t eight hours old yet.”
He nodded. “Not bad, Blake. But what do you make of this?” He poked the rib cage enough to make the breast jiggle.
I swallowed hard. I would win this bet. “I don’t know. Let’s see. Help me roll it over.” I stared into his face while I asked. Did he pale just a bit? Maybe.
“Sure.”
The three others were standing at the side of the room, watching the show. Let them. It was a lot more diverting than thinking of this as work.
Merlioni and I moved the rib cage over on its side. I made sure to give him the fleshy parts, so he ended up groping the dead body. Was breast tissue breast tissue? Did it matter that it was bloody and cold? Merlioni looked just a little green. I guess it mattered.
The insides of the rib cage were snatched clean like Mr. Reynolds’s rib cage. Clean and bloody smooth. We let the rib cage fall back on the bed. It splattered blood in a faint spray onto us. His white