He shook his head. “The case is all yours.”

“There’s no case right now. She’s a drug overdose.”

They headed back down the corridor and stopped in front of a door in the delivery wing. Muse said, “Wait here.”

She slipped inside. When she came back out, she said, “The hospital’s pathologist is with her. He, uh, cleaned her up, you know, after the caesarean.”

“Okay.”

“I’m doing this,” Muse said, “because I still owe you a favor.”

He nodded. “Consider it paid in full.”

“I don’t want it paid in full. I want you to be honest with me.”

“Okay.”

She opened the door and led him into the room. The man standing next to the gurney—Myron assumed that he was the pathologist—wore scrubs and stood perfectly still. Suzze was laid out on her back. Death does not make you look younger or older or peaceful or agitated. Death makes you look empty, hollow, like everything has fled, like a house suddenly abandoned. Death turns a body into a thing—a chair, a filing cabinet, a rock. Dust to dust, right? Myron wanted to buy all the rationales, all the stuff about life going on, that an echo of Suzze would live on in her child in the nursery down the hall, but right now it wasn’t happening.

“So do you know anyone who’d want her dead?” Muse asked.

He offered up the easy answer: “No.”

“The husband seems pretty shook up, but I’ve seen husbands who could channel Olivier after killing their wives. Anyway, Lex claims he flew in on a private jet from Adiona Island. When he got there, they were wheeling her out. We can check his time frame.”

Myron said nothing.

“They own the building—Lex and Suzze,” Muse went on. “There are no reports yet of anyone going in or out, but the security is pretty lax in that place. We might look into it more if we feel the need.”

Myron approached the body. He put his hand on Suzze’s cheek. Nothing. Like putting your hand on a chair, a file cabinet. “Who called it in?”

“That part seems a bit unusual,” Muse said.

“How so?”

“A man with a Spanish accent made the call from the phone in her penthouse. When the paramedics got there, he was gone. We figured it was probably an illegal working in the building and didn’t want to get in trouble.” That made no sense, but Myron didn’t want to get into that. Muse added, “Could be someone who was shooting up with her and didn’t want trouble. Or even her dealer. Again, we’ll look into it.”

Myron turned to the pathologist. “Can I look at her arms?”

The pathologist glanced over at Muse. Muse nodded. The pathologist pulled back the sheet. Myron checked the veins. “Where did she shoot up?” he asked.