Free Evidence of Blood by Thomas H. Cook

Dr. Stark said. “Not all of them care about themselves.”
    “And Ray was like that?”
    “Toward the end, he was,” Stark said firmly. “I had warned him time and again that he needed to slow down. He was a smoker, and toward the end, he drank too much, as if he were trying to make things worse.” He shook his head. “But even if he’d done everything I told him, took all my advice down to the last thing, I’m not sure it would have mattered in the end.” He shrugged. “The fact is, Ray Tindall was born to die pretty much when he did, and that’s something not much can be done about.” His eyes filled with a grim wonderment. “Every chromosome has a death certificate written on it.”
    Kinley was not so fatalistic. “Was he taking any medication?”
    “No,” Stark answered. “Just the opposite. He was doing everything wrong.”
    “Wrong?”
    “Well, besides the smoking and drinking, he didn’t need to be doing anything strenuous,” Stark said authoritatively. “And look where they found him? Way down there at the bottom of the canyon.” He shook his head with exasperation. “He didn’t drive a car down there, you know. He had to have walked all the way.” He looked at Kinley pointedly. “And you used to live up there, you know what that canyon’s like.”
    Kinley leaned forward slightly. “Did he mention that he was going down there to you?”
    “Absolutely not,” Stark said. “If he had, I would have just pulled out a pistol and said, ‘Here, Ray, just shoot yourself. It’s the same thing, and it’ll save us all the trouble having to hunt for you.’”
    “And he knew that?” Kinley asked. “How dangerous it would be for him to go down there?”
    “Sure, he did,” Dr. Stark said. “I’d told him a hundred times that he ought to stay away from anything strenuous.” He took in a long, slow breath. “In a way, Ray killed himself. Or at least, he might as well have. And he knew it, too.” He shook his head wearily. “But what can you do with a man like Ray Tindall? Nothing. Just tell him not to do something, then sit back and watch him do it.”
    “Do you have any idea what he might have been doing down in the canyon?” Kinley asked.
    The old man eased himself forward and firmly planted his elbows on the top of his desk. “Sometimes there are no answers for things like that,” he said. “I’ve been coroner for a long time, and I’ve seen a few things I never could clear up.” He tapped a single index finger at the side of his head. “The questions, they stay up here,” he said quietly. “Always up here. Night and day.” The eyes grew curiously intense, shining toward Kinley like two small gray lights. “You wonder what happened,” he said very softly, almost in a distant whisper, as if he’d suddenly sunk into a daze. “But it’s not for you to know.”
    •    •    •
     
    He was tossing uneasily on the sofa in the front room, his mind locked in a vaporous half-sleep of floating shadows, when he heard someone’s knock at the door. He rose sluggishly, his head still heavy as if filled with water, trudged to the door and opened it.
    Lois stared at him from behind the gray metal veil of the screen. “I need to talk to you,” she said edgily. “Right now, Jack.”
    Kinley opened the door and stepped aside to let her pass.
    She walked directly into the living room, then spun around to face him. “What is this I hear about your staying around to look into Ray’s death … or is it his life you’re looking into?” She drove her right fist into her side. “What exactly are you looking into, Jack?”
    Kinley tried to focus on her slender frame, but his eyes kept blurring, as if trying to block a clearer view. “You want something to drink, Lois?” he asked, stalling for time, waiting for his mind to regain its old control.
    “Drink?” Lois asked. The offer seemed to strike her like a slap in her face. “No, Jack, I don’t want a goddamn drink. I