“I just thought there ought to be something alive and happy in this place.” His blue eyes fixed on mine.
“I hope that isn’t a comment about me.” I could not help but laugh.
“Are you ready to turn him?”
The body diagram on my clipboard came into focus, and I realized Danny was speaking to me.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered.
He was eyeing me with concern while Roche wandered around as if he had never been inside a morgue, peering through glass cabinets and glancing back in my direction.
“Everything all right?” Danny asked me in his sensitive way.
“We can turn him now,” I said.
My spirit shook inside like a small hot flame. Eddings had worn khaki range pants and a black commando sweater that day, and I tried to remember the look in his eyes. I wondered if there had been anything behind them that might have presaged this.
Refrigerated by the river, his body was cold to my touch, and I began discovering other aspects of him that distorted the familiar, making me feel even more disturbed. The absence of first molars signaled orthodonture. He had extensive, very expensive porcelain crowns, and contact lenses tinted to enhance eyes already vivid. Remarkably, the right tens had not been washed away when his mask had flooded, and his dull gaze was weirdly asymmetrical, as if two dead people were staring out from sleepy lids.
I was almost finished with the external examination, but what was left was the most invasive, for in any unnatural death, it was necessary to investigate a patient’s sexual practices. Rarely was I given a sign as obvious as a tattoo depicting one orientation or another, and as a rule, no one the individual was intimate with was going to step forth to volunteer information, either. But it really would not have mattered what I was told or by whom. I would still check for evidence of anal intercourse.
“What are you looking for?” Roche returned to the table and stood close behind me.
“Proctitis, anal tunneling, small fissures, thickening of the epithelium from trauma,” I replied as I worked.
“Then you’re assuming he’s queer.” He peered over my shoulder.
The color mounted to Danny’s cheeks, and anger sparked in his eyes.
“Anal ring, epithelium are unremarkable,” I said, scribbling notes. “In other words, he has no injury that would be consistent with an active homosexual lifestyle. And, Detective Roche, you’re going to have to give me a little more room.”
I could feel his breath on my neck.
“You know, he’s been in this area a lot doing interviews.”
“What sort of interviews?” I asked, and he was seriously getting on my nerves.
“That I don’t know.”
“Who was he interviewing?”
“Last fall he did a piece on the Inactive Ship Yard. Captain Green could probably tell you more.”
“I was just with Captain Green, and he didn’t tell me about that.”
“The story ran in The Virginian Pilot, back in October, I think. It wasn’t a big deal. Just your typical feature,” he said. “My personal opinion is he decided to come back to snoop around for something bigger.”
“Such as?”
“Don’t ask me. I’m not a reporter.” He glanced across the table at Danny. “I personally hate the media. They’re always coming up with these wild theories and will do anything to prove them. Now this guy’s kinda famous around here, being a big-shot reporter for the AP and all. Rumor has it when he gets with girls it’s window dressing. You get beyond it and nothing’s there, if you know what I mean.” He had a cruel smile on his face, and I could not believe how much I did not like him when we had only met today.
“Where are you getting your information?” I asked.
“I hear things.”
“Danny, let’s get hair and fingernail samples,” I said.
“You know, I take the time to talk to people on the street,” Roche added as he brushed against my hip.
“You want his mustache plucked, too?” Danny fetched forceps and envelopes from a surgical cart.
“May as well.”
“I guess you’re going to test him for HIV.- Roche brushed against me again.