Predator. Faye Kellerman

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       CHAPTER THREE

      Marge began to suit up in earnest: a paper cover for her hair, paper shoe covers, a face mask, and double latex gloves. Even with all that protection, her stomach roiled. The fetid odor was overwhelming. “We’re walking into a biological hazard as far as I’m concerned. There must be twenty generations of bacteria growing inside by now.”

      Decker said, “Wait out here and I’ll go look for a body. If there isn’t one, why should both of us be grossed out?”

      “Thanks, but I’m coming with you. Suppose there are a bunch of tiger cubs hidden in the bedroom or something. Or maybe he kept other exotic pets like a Gaboon viper or a monitor lizard. Someone has to call 911 if you get bit.”

      Decker smiled as he put on his face mask. “Your loyalty is admirable. C’mon, Dunn. Let’s get this over with.”

      The living room was a hurricane with putrid waves gassing up from the steamy floors. Deep claw marks striated the walls, and the furniture was torn to tatters. There were enormous piles of feces flecked white with maggots and bread crumbed with flies and beetles. Insects hummed everywhere. The refrigerator had been knocked over, food spilling out onto the wood floors turning them as sticky as tar. Butcher paper had been shredded to confetti. Most of the meat from the fridge had been consumed, but what hadn’t been eaten was gray and oozing brown liquid. It took a steady foot and good balance to avoid stepping in something toxic.

      Marge felt light-headed, but she soldiered on, following Decker into the bedroom.

      That scene was made even more appalling by the presence of a distorted, bloated body. The corpse had partially liquefied, vital fluids and tissue soaking into the sheets and dripping on the floor below. Blood and guts were everywhere, sprayed on the walls and splashed onto the furniture.

      Marge said, “I’ll call the coroner’s office.”

      Decker nodded.

      “Mind if I make the call from the hallway? Even with the mask it’s still stinky.”

      “Sure. Then we’ll figure out a to-do list.”

      Marge fished out a pencil and her notebook. “Tell me what you need.”

      Decker said, “After you call up the Crypt, call … let me think who’s on tonight.” A pause. “Tell Scott Oliver and Wanda Bontemps to come down here. We need to relocate the residents for a day or two. The apartment building is off-limits as a biological hazard. Nobody comes back until this mess is cleaned up. If you need another detective, call up Drew Messing.” Decker was still staring at the body. “Do we even know if this is Hobart Penny?”

      Marge just shook her head.

      Decker continued. “No one comes inside here except those with official business.”

      “The tenants might want to go back and grab some clothes or a phone or a computer. What do I tell them?”

      “We can probably escort them in and out. It’ll take awhile, but it’ll keep them less pissed off. I’ll also need a couple of uniforms at the door to secure the scene.”

      “Anything else?”

      “That’s it for now.”

      Marge talked through her face mask. “You’re going to stick around inside?”

      “I am. I’m still not sure what I’m looking at.”

      Marge held off making the phone call to the Crypt. “You know … if I ignore all the disgusting mess—and the fact that a tiger lived in the apartment—this looks more like a homicide than a natural death … all that splatter on the walls?”

      “That spray was definitely the result of ruptured arteries pumping out fresh blood.” His eyes scanned the room. “This splotch over here looks like blowback from a blunt force trauma injury. You wouldn’t get these kinds of droplets and blood mist from simply dying and then having a tiger eat you.”

      “If the tiger mauled you or bit you when you were still alive, you’d very well have this kind of spray.”

      “That’s why I’m looking for signs of mauling and/or bite marks. It’s hard to tell because the body is so distorted.”

      Marge continued to study the scene: nauseating to look at and even more sickening to smell. Still she began to think like a professional homicide detective. “The face … such as it is … looks elderly. The stubble is white.”

      “I agree. It’s an older man. How old is Penny again?”

      “Eighty-eight or eighty-nine.”

      “The body could be that old. To me, it looks like a thin, elderly man that has bloated up with gas postmortem.”

      “The СКАЧАТЬ