Free 4 Blood Pact by Tanya Huff Page B

certainly has a right to be hysterical under the circumstances —” would be preferable to the way she’d closed in on herself. This wasn’t, couldn’t be, just another case.
    “Hey.” He reached out and touched her arm. The muscles under the sleeve of her navy blue suit jacket felt like stone. “You okay?”
    “I’m fine.”
    Yeah. Right. It was, however, the expected response.
     
    “Now then.” The elder Mr. Hutchinson sat forward, placing his forearms precisely on the charcoal gray blotter that protected his desk and linking his fingers. “I assure you all that you will have our complete cooperation in clearing up this unfortunate affair. Never in all the years that Hutchinson’s Funeral Parlour has served the needs of the people of Kingston has such a horrible thing occurred. Ms. Nelson, please believe you have our complete sympathy and that we will do everything in our power to rectify this situation.”
    Vicki limited herself to a single tight nod of acknowledgment, well aware that if she opened her mouth she wouldn’t be able to close it again. She wanted to rip this case away from the Kingston police, to ask the questions, to build out of all the minute details the identity of the scum who dared to violate her mother’s body. And once identified . . .
    She knew Celluci was watching her, knew he feared she’d start demanding answers, running roughshod over the local forces. She had no intention of doing anything so blatantly stupid. Two years without a badge had taught her the value of subtlety. Working with Henry had taught her that justice was often easier to find outside the law.
    “All right, Mr. Hutchinson.” Detective Fergusson checked his notes and shifted his bulk into a more comfortable position in the chair. “We already spoke to your driver and to your nephew, the other Mr. Hutchinson, so let’s just take it from when the body arrived.”
    “Ms. Nelson, you’ll likely find this distressing . . .”
    “Ms. Nelson spent four years as a homicide detective in Toronto, Mr. Hutchinson.” Although he might have his own doubts about her being there, Fergusson wasn’t about to have an outsider pass judgment on an ex-member of the club. “If you say something that distresses her, she’ll deal with it. Now then, the body arrived . . .”
    “Yes, well, after she arrived, the deceased was taken down to our preparation room. Although there was to be no viewing, her arrangement with us made it quite clear that she was to be embalmed.”
    “Isn’t that unusual? Embalming without viewing?”
    Mr. Hutchinson smiled, the deep wrinkles across his face falling into gentle brackets. “No, not really. A number of people decide that while they don’t wish to be stared at after death, neither do they wish to, well, not look their best. And many realize, as happened in this instance, that friends and relatives will want one last look regardless.”
    “I see. So the body was embalmed?”
    “Yes, my nephew took care of most of that. He did the disinfecting, massaged the tissue to bring pooled blood out of the extremities, set the features, drained the body and injected the embalming fluid, perforated the internal organs with the trocar . . .”
    Fergusson cleared his throat. “There’s, uh, no need to be quite so detailed.”
    “Oh, I am sorry.” The elder Mr. Hutchinson flushed slightly. “I thought you wanted to hear everything.”
    “Yes. But . . .”
    “Mr. Hutchinson.” Vicki leaned forward. “That last word you used, trocar, what is it?”
    “Well, Ms. Nelson, it’s a long steel tube, hollow, you know, and quite pointed, very sharp. We use it to draw out the body fluids and inject a very, very astringent preserving fluid into the cavity.”
    “Your nephew didn’t mention it.”
    “Well,” the old man smiled self-consciously, “he was probably being a little more concise. I tend to ramble on a bit if I’m not discouraged.”
    “He said,” she caught his gaze with hers and held