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wound.
    “There don’t seem to be signs of struggle,” Rick said.
    “I need to send tissue samples off; haven’t removed the organs yet.” Dr. Gibson looked up from the corpse. “It’s possible he was drugged—no struggle then.”
    Cooper nodded. “Like the date-rape drug.”
    Dr. Gibson examined the underside of the forearms to see if Christopher had warded off blows. “No marks. The severed jugular might have obscured fingerprints. If he was choked, his eyes would be bloodshot, and you’ll notice they aren’t.”
    Rick looked at the glassy, staring eyes. He couldn’t quite get used to that, although he’d seen plenty of corpses. Those opened eyes always seemed to him to be silent witnesses.
    “Can you hurry the drug report from Richmond?” Cooper mentioned the location of forensic research.
    “It’s Christmas. No one will be in a hurry, but, Sheriff, you can try to prod them a wee bit.” Dr. Gibson’s curiosity rose higher as he considered again the clean cut at the throat.
    Rick crossed his arms over his chest. “Used a sharp blade.”
    “Yes, no ragged edge. The wound is quite neat and clean.”
    Cooper flipped her notebook shut for a moment. “No struggle. Drugs unknown at this point. Either he knew his assailant or the killer snuck up on him.”
    “Definite possibility.” Dr. Gibson started to hum as he worked.
    Rick understood how methodical most coroners were, especially Dr. Gibson. “I don’t want to interrupt your procedure, but I am curious.”
    “I appreciate that,” Dr. Gibson answered as he continued his exam.
    “I’m curious, too. Seems to me that type of cut had to be made by someone who knew what they were doing.” Cooper was always fascinated by murder.
    “Takes work and skill, which you know. If you pull the head back, it’s easier to cut the jugular.”
    “Dr. Gibson, we’ll leave you to it, and I thank you for coming down here at night,” Rick said.
    The old pathologist smiled. “House full of grandchildren. I needed the quiet.”
    After bidding the good doctor good-bye, the two work partners and friends drove to headquarters. Cooper followed Rick into his office, where he shut the door.
    “Search back ten years to see if there’s been any killing of priests, nuns, monks.”
    “Right.”
    “Are you sure you want extra duty over Christmas?”
    She nodded in the affirmative. “My holiday will start New Year’s Eve, when Lorenzo visits.” She mentioned her boyfriend, whom she had met in the fall and was now home in Nicaragua. The romance was budding.
    He looked at the large wall clock. “How’d it get to be two?”
    “The earth just keeps revolving on its axis.” She smiled, feeling ragged.
    “Hey, go home. Get a good night’s sleep. I will, too. You know, sometimes if I give myself a problem to solve before I go to sleep, I wake up with the answer. Try it.”
    “I will.”
    “One more thing. See if you can keep Harry out of this. Bad enough she and Fair found the body.” He rubbed his palm on his forehead as if to banish cares.
    “Boss, I’ll try, but don’t hold your breath.”
    He laughed. Cooper left.
    Rick did not take his own advice. He started searching for similar cases, even though he’d assigned the task to Cooper.
    The phone rang at three-thirty.
    Dr. Gibson’s light voice was on the line. “Figured you’d be up. Sheriff, I found a curious thing in his mouth. Under his tongue there was an ancient Greek coin, an obol.”
    Rick, not having read much Greek mythology, blurted out, “What the hell could that mean?”
    “Oh, the meaning is quite clear, Sheriff. He needed an obol to give to Charon, who pilots the dead across the River Styx to the underworld. If he doesn’t have the coin, he wanders in limbo, a cruel fate.”
    “That is odd. He’s murdered, but the killer wants him in the underworld.”
    “Not quite so odd, Sheriff. For one thing, it’s a slap at his proclaimed Christianity. The killer is paying homage to the old gods.