Undead to the World by D. D. Barant

Author:D. D. Barant [Barant, D. D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Speculative Fiction Suspense
ISBN: 9780312545079
Amazon: 031254507X
Goodreads: 13539454
Publisher: St. Martin's
Published: 2012-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

Therese Isamu. Real name Teresa, real identity the curator of the Human Achievement Museum. The sight of her corpse floods my mind with memories, followed closely by a surge of grief. Get ahold of yourself. This isn’t really her.

No, it isn’t. This is the woman who greets me at the beginning of every shift with a friendly smile, who gives me meals on the house, who loves dirty jokes. This is—was—my friend.

“What’s going on here?” demands a voice from behind me.

I turn. David Cassiar stands on the steps below me, looking puzzled.

Oh, boy.

“That’s a very good question,” Sheriff Stoker says, stepping out into the hall and pulling the door shut behind him. “Mr. Cassiar. You and I need to speak.”

“Certainly,” Cassiar says. “Would you care to step into my room, since you’ve been inside already?”

“That, that, that,” says Silas. He looks like he’s about to cry. “That’s Therese, isn’t it? I mean, some of her, right?”

Stoker frowns. “Quinn, take Silas downstairs and get a statement, all right? Jace, downstairs and get back in the car—you and Charlie shouldn’t even be present. Mr. Cassiar, I’m going to need to talk to you right here.”

Deputy Silver escorts Silas down the stairs, past me, Charlie, and Cassiar. I stay right where I am, and Charlie doesn’t budge, either. He climbs a step and whispers to me, though. “Jace. Let’s go. I need to talk to you.”

Maybe I should listen. Maybe I should do what I’m told. Maybe I should leave the bloody crime scene to the professionals—oh, wait. That’s me.

“Cassiar’s not your guy,” I say. “Give me two minutes with you in that room and I’ll prove it. And I won’t touch a thing.”

“Excuse me?” Cassiar says. “Prove what, exactly? And who is Therese?”

Stoker stares at me. I meet his gaze levelly.

“I must be the crazy one,” Stoker mutters at last. “Mr. Cassiar, don’t go anywhere. Valchek—you got two minutes.”

I nod, and wait for him to open the door again. He pulls out a pair of latex gloves and puts them on first.

We go inside. He shuts the door again.

My first good look at the body triggers another cascade of memories, but this time they’re more professional than personal; forensics training, mostly. I try to focus on that.

“The amount of blood suggests she died from exsanguination,” I say. “There’s a blood trail from the window, but it’s not extensive—probably from a minor injury as she was dragged to the bed. Blood spatter indicates arterial spray from a neck wound; her throat was torn open while she lay on her back.”

“Torn?” Stoker says.

I point. “Look at the edges of the wound. Ragged, not straight. A knife or other sharp implement would have done a much cleaner job.”

“What else?”

“Major organs are missing: heart, liver, lungs. Flesh on her upper thighs. If this body was found in a forest, it would be a clear case of animal predation.”

“But she isn’t out in the woods. She’s in a bedroom.”

“Yeah. Not her bedroom, either. That’s because she was brought here and killed—by someone who leaped up to the second-floor window while carrying her.

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