Free ColdScheme by Edita Petrick Page B

window panels, overlooking
an expanse of darkness. It flickered with the lights of the craft parked in
their marinas. We had entered on the mid-level. There were others above and
below. Both were accessible by a gracefully curved staircase. It was made of
wood and granite. It floated in the air—majestic like all things money could
buy. The black lacquered railing ran around the floors. It gave an impression
of a luxury cruise ship. The lighting came from many sources, overhead and from
the floor. The mid-level was the dining area and reception. The bedroom suites
would be upstairs. The downstairs was another reception area, for socializing.
    There was a Prince Excelsior hotel in Honolulu. It had a
penthouse suite just as magnificent as this one. Fifteen years ago, it had cost
four thousand dollars a night to stay there. I imagine it would be double
today. The penthouse had an exit from the lower level on to a rooftop garden
with a swimming pool. The terrace was not screened but it had a security
railing. It wasn’t high enough to pose a challenge. I took the bet that life
had served me on a golden platter. I had soared into the darkness, heady with
the scent of the native flora. The rulers of uncommon destiny decided not to
play fair. There was another terrace, smaller, not visible from above. It was
filled with potted greenery. It had interrupted my defiant flight and delivered
a harsh message. I had spent two months in a hospital, healing broken bones and
fractures. To this day the smell of hibiscus and ginger came to haunt my
dreams.
    I didn’t want the memories but they surged on their own.
    “Kenny, Meg, over here,” I heard Sven Olsen’s voice. I shook
off the history.
    The victim was lying on his back, parallel with the polished
steel cart. It was laden with silver-dome covered dishes. A bottle of wine
chilled in the bucket drenched with condensation. There was a single yellow
rose in a crystal tube in the center of the cart. Joe knelt beside the body. He
was taking off the latex gloves.
    “Don’t bother asking,” he mumbled. “One exploded chest is
interesting, in any given year. Two are…” He trailed off.
    “Puzzling,” I offered.
    “Alarming.” He lifted his head and stared at me with worry.
    “Found any traces of pacemaker?”
    “Would I have said alarming, if I did?”
    “Same as Brick?” I saw that he didn’t want to go through the
protocol tonight.
    “Exactly.”
    “This victim is not a missing persons case.” I pointed.
    “He is now,” he snapped. “Missing from the human ranks.” He
motioned at the victim’s chest. It was a freshly ploughed field covered with
shredded red poppies. Even the sleeves of his white service jacket were soaked
with blood.
    He continued, “His organs were already liquefied when I
started. Brick’s tissue and blood samples didn’t show anything abnormal. He was
an O-negative. That’s all that analysis gave us. I’ll have something to put
down on my report. I was hoping there might be a trace of some synthetic
alkaloid that would account for liquefaction. I’ve been reading research
papers. There’s no mention of anything that would be as toxic as this shit. The
reaction is incredible. I think in this case, the substance worked faster. It
was more potent.”
    “Someone wants to make sure that we don’t get even a
fragment of what the victim had carried in his chest,” I said.
    “You’ve got it.” He gave me a military nod.
    “So if Brick’s pacemaker was an older model and this one is
a newer, improved version…” I stopped. I dared not continue.
    Joe was fearless. “They’re still improving on the original
design. That means there will be more walking ghosts. I don’t envy your job. I
have only my colleagues at Hopkins to annoy me. You have an empire builder
here, a dark overlord.”
    “Do you think it could have malfunctioned?” I asked.
    “Not a chance.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because that would make your job easier. I could