Chapter 17
THE BARE CHEST was sliced and diced, but it wasn't like the others. No one would convince me that this had been done by blades. I knew claw work when I saw it.
"This was no blade or tool," I said. "It's claws."
Olaf leaned on his side of the body, maybe a little closer to both the body and me than he needed, but nothing too noticeable. Maybe I was just being overly sensitive? Naw.
"I know it is not a blade or a tool that I am familiar with," Olaf said.
I looked across the body and found that, yeah, he was looking at me, not at the body. I stood up and moved a step back. Fuck it, he unnerved me and he knew it.
"But what killed him?" Memphis asked.
I looked at the doctor, then back at the body. He was right; none of the wounds so far were fatal. "The jaw bite is terrible, but unless he died of shock, then..." I looked at the lower part of the body, which was still covered.
"Yes," Memphis said, "we need to keep looking for the cause of death."
"I'm not a pathologist," I said. "I don't need to know the cause of death, doc. I'm just here to see if it's something supernatural or not. That's it, all my job."
"Then leave, Marshal Blake, but first can you confirm that it was a lycanthrope attack?"
I had to go back to the body and spread my hands above the wounds. I curled my fingers in the closest imitation I could of the marks. I traced the air above the wounds but was careful not to touch the body. "It was claws and a lycanthrope, and they were in half-human, half-animal form when the attack took place."
"How can you be sure of that?" Memphis asked.
I held my hand up. "Watch my hand trace over the wounds. The marks were made by a hand, not a paw."
The woman, Patricia, said, "Your hand is too small to make marks like that, even with claws."
"The hands get bigger when the person shapeshifts." I sighed and looked across the table. "May I borrow your hands for a moment, Otto?"
"You may," he said, and held those big hands out.
"Can you place your hands above the wounds like I was doing, and trace the wound track?"
"Show me again," he said.
I traced my right hand over the wounds, and he put his much larger hand over mine, so that we traced the wounds together. I tried to pull away, and he pressed our hands to the wounds, trapping me against the body, our fingers spread. He pushed his fingers into the wound tracks, and the spread of his fingers was big enough to fit the wounds. He pinned my hand to the body, while his gloved fingers dug into the meat of the wounds.
Rose kept taking pictures.
"Stop it, Otto," I said through gritted teeth. I had multiple weapons on me, but nothing he had done here made it okay to shoot him in front of witnesses.
"I am doing what you asked," he said.
I tried to pull my hand out from under, but he pressed harder, pressing our hands into the dead flesh and the fresh wounds. His fingers made wet sounds in the wounds, while he pressed my hand tight under his.
"You're messing up the wound marks, Marshal Jeffries," Memphis said.
Otto didn't seem to hear him. I had choices. I could faint-no. I could throw up on him, but the body was in the way. I could go for a gun left-handed and shoot him. That was appealing, but not practical. Too many witnesses. I thought of one other choice.
I leaned in and spoke low. "If you ever want to date me for real, let me go." I'd rather date an untamed cougar, but I was figuring that he was crazy enough not to understand that.
He looked at me, and there was surprise in his eyes. He raised his hand enough for me to pull away. I cradled my hand against the green gown as if it hurt.
"Are you hurt, Marshal Blake?" Memphis asked.
I shook my head. "I need some air, though. I'm sorry, doctor." I'd never left an autopsy room early. I'd never bailed on anything before, but it wasn't the body that I bailed on. It was Olaf, standing there, looking at me. The look wasn't serial killer sex now, it was puzzlement. It was that guy look again, as if he truly was trying to figure out what would please me. That was the look I had to get away from. That was the image that made me turn for the door and fight not to run.