The pathologist pointed at a bruise in the crook of her elbow.

“You see some old tracks here?” Myron asked.

“Yes,” the pathologist said. “Very old.”

“Anything else fresh?”

“Not on the arms, no.”

Myron looked at Muse. “That’s because she hasn’t used drugs in years.”

“People shoot up in all different spots,” Muse said. “Even in her heyday, what with wearing tennis outfits, rumor has it Suzze shot up in, er, less conspicuous places.”

“So let’s check that.”

Muse shook her head. “What’s the point?”

“I want you to see that she hadn’t been using.”

The pathologist cleared his throat. “There’s no need,” he said. “I already did a cursory examination of the body. I did indeed find some old scarring there, near the tattoo on her upper thigh, but there’s nothing fresh.”

“Nothing fresh,” Myron repeated.

“That still doesn’t prove it wasn’t self-inflicted,” Muse said. “Maybe she decided to do it in one big swoop, Myron. Maybe she was indeed clean and overdid it or overdosed intentionally.”

Myron spread his hands, giving her incredulous. “When she was eight months pregnant?”

“Okay, fine, then you tell me: Who would want to kill her? And more than that, how? Like I said, no signs of struggle. No signs of forced entry. Show me one thing that says it wasn’t a suicide or accidental OD.”

Myron wasn’t sure how much to say here. “She got a post on Facebook,” he began. And then he stopped. A cold finger traced down his spine. Muse saw it.

“What?” she asked.

Myron turned to the pathologist. “You said she shot up near her tattoo?”

Again the pathologist looked toward Muse.

“Hold up a second,” Loren Muse said. “What were you saying about a post on Facebook?”

Myron didn’t wait. He reminded himself again that this wasn’t Suzze, but this time he felt the tears push into his eyes. Suzze had survived so much, had finally come out on the right end, and now, just when she seemed to have everything within her grasp, well, it was time for Myron to step up. Screw the excuses. Suzze had been his friend. She had come to him for help. He owed her.

He pulled back the sheet before Muse could object. His eyes fell to her upper thigh, and yes, there it was. The tattoo. The same tattoo that was in the ‘Not His’ post. The same tattoo that Myron had just seen in the photo of Gabriel Wire.

“What’s wrong?” Muse asked.

Myron stared down at the upper thigh. Gabriel Wire and Suzze had the same tattoo. The implication was obvious.

Muse: “What’s that a tattoo of?”