Near the corpse was a makeshift table fashioned from a giant electrical spool laid on its side, the kind used to feed wire for massive projects. Atop the raw wood surface was more decaying matter.

On dishes.

Welcome to dinner.

Impossible to say what this last meal had consisted of. The crockery bearing it was white just like Frankie DiMargio’s teeth and bones where they weren’t streaked with oozing, clotted matter. The same went for silvery utensils and red glass goblets.

A bottle of wine on the counter was obtrusively clean.

Milo read the label. “Prosecco. Cheap.”

The techs never let up but all of them kept their distance from the body when possible.

Milo motioned to the nearest tech. His suit and mask evoked a Star Wars stormtrooper.

Resonant rasp: “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Any idea what the food is, yet?”

“I think I spotted some kind of fish—white, flaky. Or maybe it’s chicken. Maybe also peas, at least some kind of little round green thingies. I mean I hope they’re peas but I’m not committing ’cause what I thought was rice turned out to be dead maggots.”

“Think of that,” said Milo. “Cuisine strong enough to kill a maggot.”

“You know how it is, sir. Sometimes the little buggers get overenthusiastic and sink in too deep and can’t wiggle out. The lucky ones become flies.”

“Survival of the fittest maggot,” said Milo. “The essence of police work.”

Asthmatic laughter through the mask’s activated carbon filter. “Anything else, Lieutenant?”

“A time of death guess would help. I won’t hold you to it.”

“It would have to be a long time for this level of decomp, Lieutenant. For sure, days, maybe a week. Or even weeks, temperature’s not too high, the rate could’ve been slow. But I’m really not the guy to ask, you’ll have to find out from the coroner.”

“How about cause?”

“This much mess?”

“No obvious wounds.”

Trooper’s white chest heaved. “The way it looks, she’s one big wound.”

“Don’t suppose you noticed a computer.”

“Not so far. And there’s no closet space plus we checked the drawers, so I’d say no.”

“How about a diary detailing who the bad guy is, including physical description, address, telephone number, and political preferences?”

More rasp. “Something else I’m surprised hasn’t shown up, Lieutenant: No cell phone. Although maybe we’ll find it, with all the crap she collected, you never know.”

“The crap” was far too much thrift-shop and dozens of taxidermy specimens. Snakes baring fangs coiled around branches. Glass-eyed heads of wolves and foxes, sheep and cows, skunks and badgers stared at one another relentlessly. Gleaming jars on makeshift shelves held what looked to be fetal creatures in suspension. Added to all that were random animal parts, including an elephant’s foot serving as a repository for black silk flowers.