A small chill danced down Rex's spine. In the box lay a serene-faced, middle-aged man with his hands folded over his chest. He had a rosy complexion and appeared to be napping. What an odd place for a man to sleep, Rex thought. He glanced up at Malloy. The latter said, "As near as we can tell, he's been dead for four months."
"But—"
"I know. Perfectly preserved—the skin soft—all normal fluid still present in the body. Nothing's wrong with him except that he's dead."
Rex touched the soft tissue. It was cool. "How can you figure the time?"
"He came in on a food freighter—in a cargo of potatoes that was sent from a farmer's market at a place called New Iowa in the heart of the Martian farm belt."
"Not far from the forbidden polar circle," Rex said.
"I thought you didn't know anything about Mars."
"When things were dull on Pluto, I studied timetables."
"That's interesting. I'll issue them to all agents."
"Of course you've got no proof that the body was put aboard at Iowa."