He shuddered. “Let’s just say, I don’t envy you your job one bit. All I have to do is take pictures!”
“I’m pretty sure nobody wants my job,” I said. “I guess that’s job security, right?”
I headed up the trailer stairs, pushing the sunglasses on top of my head. I peered in, and got a good look at the body sprawled on the floor beside an executive chair that looked totally out of place. The guy had probably been white, though with the amount of bloating it was tough to tell. He’d probably been a bit heavy before death, but now he was so swollen with decomposition I had to wonder if we’d be able to get him into the bag. He had on faded black jeans and a light blue T-shirt, though now it was heavily stained with purge fluid that had seeped from various orifices on his body. Maggots squirmed in his mouth and nose and eyes. Seriously nasty.
And my sense of smell is at full-strength right now, I thought. How wonderful.
Derrel was already inside and gave me a nod as he made notes on his pad. I didn’t want to interrupt his flow of concentration, so I busied myself with looking around and being nosy. Big black flies buzzed against the windows and tangled in the dingy lace curtains. A line of ants tracked up the side of the kitchen counter, most likely headed to the stack of pizza boxes that hadn’t been thrown out. Other than the ants and the flies, the place really wasn’t crummy or scuzzy at all. He’d kept it pretty nice and neat overall. No piles of dirty laundry in the hallway or dishes in the sink. The carpet looked fairly new, the furniture all matched, and the entertainment system was even better than Randy’s.
The computer on the desk was still on, screensaver running, and I gave the mouse a nudge to see if the guy had been in the middle of typing a suicide note or something.
“Dude loved his games,” Derrel said without looking up.
“Huh?”
He gestured at the screen in a vague motion. “That’s Left For Dead 2. And if you look on the shelf he also has Halo, Grand Theft Auto, Call of Duty, and damn near every other popular game.”
I let my gaze sweep the interior of the trailer. “Did he have any life other than this? Did he have a job? Didn’t anyone miss him?”
“Oh, he had a job.” A grimace passed over Derrel’s face. “He has a record a mile long for dealing drugs. Pot, crack, heroin, you name it. This guy was a real prize. I guess I’m not surprised that he went so long without being found.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Though I bet his regular customers were jonesing. The neighbor in the next trailer over was the one to call the cops.”
“Complaining about the smell?” I said.
Derrel grinned. “Got it in one.”
I crouched by the body. There was something odd, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I took a deep breath, aware of the stench of the decomposition, but not bothered by it.
Something’s missing.
My mouth went dry as realization hit home. Okay, so it had been less than a day since I’d last had brains. I wasn’t hungry and probably wouldn’t start having cravings for another day and a half at least. Even so, one thing I’d discovered in the past couple of weeks was that I had a nose for brains. I could smell it in the people around me, and I could certainly smell it in dead bodies. It didn’t even matter if there was so much decomposition that it’d be inedible. Brains rotted fast—after a few days outside of a cooler there usually wasn’t much left but a nasty grey goo—but I should still be able to detect the scent.
Yet there was only the barest whiff of it here.
“Hey, Derrel,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice nice and calm and casual, even though a strange uneasiness was working its way through my gut. “What’s the guess on cause of death?”
“Hang on a sec and we’re gonna see what we can find out,” he replied. He jotted a few more notes on his pad, then set it down on the desk and tugged on gloves. “With the amount of decomposition and all this purge fluid surrounding him, it’s going to be tough to tell how he died unless there’s some obvious trauma still evident.”
I didn’t respond to that. I knew what we were going to find. At least, I couldn’t think of any other explanation. Still when we turned the body, I felt an odd relief that I hadn’t been imagining it.
“Well, how’s that for ‘obvious trauma’?” I asked, looking down at the caved-in back of the guy’s skull. Maybe I was starting to get the hang of this whole undead thing.
Derrel let out a low whistle. “I think that qualifies.”
I flicked a maggot off my glove as Derrel went outside to tell the detectives that it looked like a homicide. A large black fly buzzed in a low drone around my head, and when I waved it away it joined the others congregated against the window. I straightened as Sean entered. He gave me a pained look as he pulled the mask back onto his face.
“Angel, I have no idea how you can stand this stench,” he said. “Derrel’s been doing this for long enough that I think he doesn’t have any smell receptors left, but you . . . ?” He grimaced as he snapped pictures of the skull and the injury while I held the body in position for him. “You are one tough chick.” Then his eyes crinkled, and even though he had the mask on, I could tell he was grinning at me. “Or maybe you’re seriously sick and twisted, in which case you are so in the right line of work.”
I laughed. “Gotta be the second one,” I said. “I’m not tough!”
He finished taking his pictures, and I walked out with him. I knew it would be a while before I could take the body since it was pretty obvious it was a homicide, which meant that the detective assigned to the case would need to go in and do whatever it was that detectives did. About all I knew was what I’d seen on TV, and considering how much of what I did differed from the TV version, I figured I was most likely misinformed on ninety percent of the details.
I pulled off my gloves, leaned up against the front of Derrel’s Durango to wait. I’m tough, huh? That was a new one. I had to admit, I was kinda tickled at the thought.
“How are you doing, Angel?” a familiar voice asked to my right.
I turned with an automatic smile before realizing who the speaker was. And my sunglasses are up on my damn head, I thought with a mental cringe. “I’m all right, Deputy Ivanov,” I replied, keeping the smile on my face. Fuck it. I wasn’t the one who’d been arrested. I wasn’t going to hang my head in shame simply because my dad could be a real piece of shit. “I’m doin’ all right,” I said. “Thanks.”
His eyes crinkled as he gave me a smile of his own. “You know, it’s all right to call me Marcus.” Then his eyes swept over my face, and I had to resist the urge to stiffen. “You sure don’t bruise easy, do you? I’d have thought you’d have a real shiner going there.”>He frowned. “No, I’m saying that you need to think about yourself at some point.”