Free Eclipse by Hilary Norman Page B

reading again, from a text entitled ‘The Eyes Hold the Key’.
    About forensic pathology and vitreous humor. The stuff that resisted putrefaction longer than other bodily fluids could manage.
    â€˜Where bacteria has begun to corrupt the blood alcohol level and render it inaccurate, the vitreous humor can still quite faithfully tell the ME what the blood alcohol level was shortly before death. Even after embalming, because embalming alcohol cannot enter the vitreous humor after death, a toxicologist is still able to test it for ethanol.’
    He tossed that text aside, moved on.
    To ancient Egypt. To one of his favorite myths about the battle between Horus, the god of the sky, and Seth, the god of chaos.
    Though he was a man of science, chaos fascinated him in a manner that order never could.
    According to the myth, Horus had fought Seth to avenge his father’s death, in the course of which battle Horus’s left eye had been damaged – part of a mythological explanation for the phases of the moon.
    My, how he loved it all: knowledge, science, fiction, mythology, drinking in everything from classical Latin to the study of rainforests, to suicide methodology and even euthanasia – a subject which went against all his most deeply held beliefs.
    His studies were eclectic, but his preference, always, remained science-based. Because he was a man of learning. A doctor.
    First and last.
    At one in the morning, Sam could not get off to sleep, and though he could have called Grace, who might already be breakfasting in Switzerland, she might
not
be awake yet and he was reluctant to disturb her.
    Anyway, he didn’t want to burden her with his present dark thoughts, at least not just before her long flight home.
    His own evening had been pleasant. Martinez had come back to the island for dinner, and they’d dropped by Epicure on the way to pick up a bunch of Claudia’s favorite foods. And Joshua had refused to go to sleep, had been allowed to stay up late, and they knew it was excitement because his mommy was coming home next day.
    An excitement shared by his father.
    The darkness was in him because of the case.
    Mostly, though, because of Felicia Delgado. The sheer insanity of the fact that she might possibly be regarded as a suspect in her own mother’s murder. Because she had psychiatric issues. And because she’d had her mom’s blood on her – that now confirmed.
    It made no sense, at least – small mercy – to consider her a suspect in the other Black Hole killings, and in this case, too, Felicia being a witness was a whole lot more probable.
    But just thinking about the poor kid’s state of mind stirred up another echo.
    Grace had been the one, from the outset, who had steadfastly believed in Cathy’s innocence.
    Grace, who had become her psychologist.
    That was the other thing burdening Sam tonight. He hated the idea of involving his wife in this new case, yet he couldn’t help wondering if Grace might not be exactly the right person to try to penetrate Felicia Delgado’s wounded shell when she was ready.
    Sleep would not come any time soon this night.
    At ten a.m. Zurich time, Grace was checking in at Kloten Airport.
    Everything going smoothly, and she’d allowed extra time before her lunchtime flight to shop for gifts. Chocolates, of course, for everyone, from the terminal’s branch of Sprüngli, but also a few small impulse gifts for the family.
    And for Magda, and perhaps for Martinez too. And something extra special for Claudia, and she had no idea yet what to get Sam, though she was pretty sure there’d be no shortage of gifts for Joshua . . .
    Eyes on her.
    Watching from a distance as she walked – in her smooth, easy, graceful way, golden hair glinting beneath the lights – through to passport control and the departure area, finally vanishing from sight.
    Thomas Chauvin sighed.
    Took off his rimless glasses, wiped them with a