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The damage reminded Ukiah of a wolf pack kill: the gut ripped open, the intestines pulled out, the blood-gorged heart and liver eaten first. Parts of his face were eaten down to expose white bone.
    Max cursed softly, an obscene chant that often called on his God, who apparently didn’t mind having his name taken in vain.
    â€œYou two the private detectives I wanted to see?”
    It was a voice like Mom Jo used on the wolves, a strong steel voice that demanded an answer. They turned to face the young woman bearing down on them. Compactly built, she came only up to Ukiah’s chest. She projected strength without the little yap-dog frenzy that Ukiah found in a lot of small people. She wore a torn heavy metal T-shirt and worn jeans that fit her snugly. Most of her hair was short and glossy black. One of her forelocks, however, was twice as long as the rest and dyed a vibrant purple, and hung down over her gray eyes. She turned to one of the forensic people to indicate that they could go, and flashed Ukiah a look at her .357 pistol in a kidney holster. She turned back to the privatedetectives again, flipping the violet hair out her eyes. She was in her mid-twenties, but had the air of someone in complete authority.
    Max eyed her blue jeans, T-shirt, and dyed hair. “I didn’t hear that the agency had gone casual on the dress code.”
    â€œI was working undercover,” she stated in a feminine version of “just the facts” impassiveness. She took out her FBI ID and flashed it at them. “Special Agent Indigo Zheng, Pittsburgh field office.”
    â€œMaxwell Bennett, Bennett Detective Agency.” Max had his hands in his jeans pockets and didn’t bother to take them out to shake—a sure sign he was in a bad mood. “This is my partner.”
    Max paused for a beat to let Ukiah introduce himself. Max insisted on Ukiah giving his own name; “establishing a strong presence,” he called it. They practiced it until it was smooth, but Ukiah would rather let Max do the talking.
    â€œUkiah Oregon.” Ukiah shook hands like he was taught and left Max to deal with the agent. In the name of learning, Max had once gotten Ukiah into an autopsy, so he was faintly familiar with the layout of the room and the procedures that the coroner would have followed.
    The first step would have been to draw blood samples. Ukiah found the vials labeled JANET HAZE scattered across the appropriate table. They had been dusted for fingerprints and left, so he felt free to pick one up.
    Tiny sharp teeth had gnawed through the rubber top. Four hairs lay almost invisible inside. He tapped them onto his hand. They were—mink fur? No, something close to a mink, some animal related to it. The teeth marks matched that of a mink cousin. The strong musk odor coming from inside the vial alsoconfirmed that it wasn’t a mink, but something close. He eyed the small glass cylinder with its gnawed-open top. Mink and weasels were common in Oregon’s Umatilla National Park where he ran with the wolves, but at a morgue in downtown Pittsburgh?
    The second step would have been to remove the vital organs. He found the neatly labeled, semirigid bags, but they too had been gnawed open. This time it was apparent, at least to him, that the damage had been done from the inside out. In the organ bags were more minklike hairs. He noticed this time the lack of blood. There was no residue, no blood cells, no organ cells—only the stray hair. He studied the labels. Janet Haze, heart, weight 3.4 pounds, extreme damage from advanced viral infection noted.
    She had been sick? He checked his memory and found only black holes. He sighed and examined the vials for blood traces. They had the same lack of residue, yet the labels stated that blood had been placed inside. He doubted that it was a case of labeling the vials and bags prior to use. The dead coroner would have been under pressure to do it by the book. He