I let a moment pass and asked, "What about below the surface?"
"You must understand that I can't answer questions with any accuracy until everything's run through lab analysis."
"Of course."
"Also I haven't yet taken prints from the gun."
"Check."
"Obviously, this is very important, and--"
"Noted."
"A complete toxicology and serology will need to be worked up. If the victim was on drugs or under the influence of alcohol, that can--"
Holy shit. "Shut up, Tim." I took a deep breath and tried to recall my question. "Is there any physical matter we should be concerned about at this stage of the investigation?"
You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink. Tim glanced over his shoulder at the body and replied, "Well, it's interesting. What I think is--"
"Tim . . . did I ask what you think? Facts."
"Oh . . . all right. For starters, the sheets on this bed are changed and washed weekly. The maid informed us. This is relevant and important information. It establishes time frame. The particles and residue on this sheet were deposited within the last seven days."
I flipped open my notebook, scribbled, and said, "Time frame . . . yes, yes, always important . . ." Actually, I began sketching Tim, standing perfectly erect, tottering on a chair, noose around his neck, arms straight, extended and . . .
"There are a lot of the victim's hairs on the pillow," Tim continued, "and sweat residue. But you expect that. Everybody sheds and sudates when they sleep. But there are other hair particles and strands as well."
I erased the chair, Tim's legs were kicking furiously, and--I looked up--"Not his hair?"
"Well . . . you can see that his hair was gray, coarse, and cropped very short. There are some red hairs, and also some very fine blonde hairs. Both are quite long, which suggests they could be from females . . ." He turned tentative again, and added, "That's a hypothesis on my part. A chromosonal analysis is needed before a firm conclusion can be reached."
"More than one woman?"
"Well . . . I would say at this point--"
"Yes or no."
"Uh . . . yes."
Goodness. Despite Tim's pathological aversion to declarative phrases, this suddenly took an interesting turn. I asked him, "Have you finished the bathroom yet?"
"I did that first. Bathrooms are always gold mines."
"And what did we find there?"
"More hair. Both black and red, as well as some of the victim's hair in the sink, probably from shaving. And the usual pubic traces on the toilet seat."
"Further confirming the presence of more than one female?"
"It appears . . . yes, perhaps as many as three." He knew what my next line of questioning would be and added, "I ran an infrared light over the sheets. There are interesting traces . . . probably semen. I don't know whether these traces are new or old."
Like that, Cliff Daniels went from the ubiquitous man in a gray flannel suit to something far more complicated and mysterious. This raised a number of evocative questions, not to mention a few dark and dubious possibilities.
Anybody who beds two different women inside one week likes to live on the edge. This guy didn't have to whack himself--just arrange for the two or more women to show up together and they'd take care of things for him.
Indeed, that, or some variation thereof, might be what happened here. I looked at the corpse on the bed and asked myself the obvious question: What was Clifford doing in the hour before the trigger was pulled? Did he die alone? Or with company?
To Tim I asked, "Is there any indication he was having sex at the time of, or shortly prior to, his death?"
"It does seem an obvious conclusion, doesn't it? I intend to take epidural traces from his penis for the lab. However, from what I've seen . . . or didn't see--specifically, no visible traces of sperm, or crust of vaginal fluid on his penis--it's possible the victim was stimulating himself."
Tim looked at me expectantly as I weighed whether to ask him another question or just kill myself. When I remained silent, he said, "Can I return to my work?"
"What's stopping you?"
"Well . . . you are."
"Nonsense."
"Oh . . . that's a joke." He emitted a sort of high-pitched laugh.
I looked at him and said, "If anything interesting pops up, call me immediately. I'll be in the living room." I turned and started to walk away when I was struck by