Mac Hanson, a distasteful look on his face, stepped over to the pile of woven-fiber tarps, saying, “I might have walked right past this morning, but it hit me. I didn’t leave these tarps here. Too easy for the wind to catch them, you know?” He pointed. “Last time I was out here, they were over next to the lumber, stacked neatly, with that length of pipe to weigh them down.”

Hanson lifted the edge of the tarp. “So, seeing this, I walk over and lift the corner, like so . . .”

Hanson raised the tarp high enough that Talina could see the two feet and the lower legs, tucked beneath.

“I think there’s some idiot sleeping here, so I lift the tarps off.” Hanson ripped them away with a flourish, “And I yell, ‘Hey, what kind of fool are you? Sleeping out when quetzals . . .’ I don’t finish.” He pointed at the dead man tucked into a tight curl atop the duraplast crate. “I jump half out of my skin when I realize it’s dead soft meat. So I hustle my butt over and tell Two Spot.”

Talina stepped up, looking down at the mussed blond hair, the half-lidded amber eyes and dark-brown skin. The clothing was like nothing she’d ever seen, filmy, silver-red, and soft looking. The shoes had an exotic style, soft-soled, and reminded her of liquid metal. Bending close, Talina sniffed, her augmented senses identifying perfume, a curious body odor, and something else, foreign, that she couldn’t place. Even though the chin was tucked down close to the chest, Tal could see the bruising on the throat.

“Suffocated,” she said to herself.

Dek bent down beside her. Stopped short and groaned, saying, “You know who this is?”

“Yeah,” Talina straightened. “That’s Chad Grunnel. My irritating hot head from yesterday.”

Raya, unabashed, pulled the head back, taking effort. “Rigor is setting in. I need to get him back to the hospital, get a core temperature. That, along with lividity, should tie down the time of death with greater accuracy, but I’m thinking six, maybe seven hours.”

Talina straightened, looked around. “Mac? You see anything else out of place here?”

“Not so’s you’d notice, Tal,” Hanson told her. “Graveled and packed like this place is, there’s no tracks. The only thing I can see that’s out of place are the tarps.”

“Maybe we can get fingerprints off them?” Step suggested. “Maybe skin cells, fibers, hair? Something. I’ll bundle them up and get them to Iji over at the lab.”

“So,” Talina mused, “Who’d want to throttle Chad Grunnel? And on his first night dirtside?”