Free The Pressure of Darkness by Harry Shannon Page A

thinking aloud. "After maybe five or six hours he cuts off the little finger of one hand. Where did he do that?"
    "Like most of it, in the bathroom."
    "He just sets the finger on the damned sink, cauterizes the amputation, and does the other. Then one of his eyes."
    "Appears that way."
    "So the finale is, he puts the mirror in place, steps into the tub, and does the Samurai Sayonara?"
    Doc shrugged again. "Stoned out of his mind by then, not to mention grossed out and sick from the pain."
    Burke closes his eyes. Ugly pictures danced. "Okay, give me how he would have done that part. Reconstruct it for me."
    "He did it the clinical way, I'd guess. Began the incision at mid-center, just about the pubic hair, dead on where it had to be. He cut in and then out to the right and upward in a curve. Remember, the large and small intestines are packed in there like a mile of chitlins in a small pail, so once the abdominal cavity was opened they wouldn't have rushed out, not if the guy was sitting in a reclining position."
    Burke opened his eyes. "But they were out?"
    Doc nodded. "Part way. He probably tugged on them a bit."
    "I think I'm going to throw up now."
    "Pussy." Doc hits 'print' one last time. "Seriously, if I hadn't been doing this shit for so many years I'd come with you. Although I got to say the little ducky prints on his butt cheeks kind of take the heaviness out of it for me, you know?"
    "Yeah. Sure."
    "Tell you something, this guy knew his drugs."
    Burke tilted his head like a man listening to a tune played far, far away. "How's that?"
    "Because he used just enough to keep him in the loop, all the time. Like he didn't want to miss a single thing, you know?"
    "Any other angles?"
    "Okay," Doc said, warming to it. "Another way you could look at it is that somehow somebody gets in there with him. They tie him up."
    "No ligature marks on his wrists or ankles."
    "Maybe he is wrapped with towels. Or they drug him with something else, something that leaves the bloodstream in a hurry? Not out of the question. I'll keep looking."
    "Then they torture this poor bastard for hours over something they think he knows, Doc. Maybe he even tells them near the beginning, but they don't believe him. So they go on until he finally dies. They set it up so it looks like he did himself and sneak back out again."
    "No 'they,' Burke. I guess maybe one guy could have, though."
    "Or a woman."
    "Okay, point taken. But all the damned DNA is his. At least the preliminary tests say that. Blood drops, saliva, tissue samples. Of course, good luck finding useful fiber or print evidence in a hotel suite that's been rented to a gazillion people."
    Burke grimaced, looked down. "I'll talk to Gina. Might be worth seeing if there is anything on the voice mail."
    "You really think somebody did him?"
    "Who knows? But something weird is going on here."
    "No kidding."
    "Do you buy all this, Doc? That he committed suicide?"
    The smaller man rolled his wheelchair to the right. He stretched his upper body. Doc still lifted weights and took pride in his upper torso. "I've seen stranger shit, Burke. On the surface it looks like this guy hated his life and wanted to punish himself for something nasty he did along the way. Besides . . ." He looked away and his voice trailed off.
    "Besides what?" Burke raised his head. "What were you about to say there?"
    "Think about it," Doc said, "it's like that old locked room thing on 'Murder She Wrote,' or something. If nobody else went in or out of that room, and we can't find a trace of evidence says anybody was there before he checked in, how the fuck would somebody be able to get in there, do him over such a long period, and walk out again without a drop of blood on their clothes?"
    "Yeah."
    Doc was still thinking it over. "Not to mention 'why.'"
    "Oh, that part is easy," Burke said. "The guy was a prick. I have a feeling he's got a list of enemies longer than my dick."
    "No sweat, then, brother. You will be home for supper." Doc