"I don't know. That's an odd color for coagulating blood. It doesn't feel right, either."
"Do you think he was sick?"
"There's just something crazy about this whole thing. The man had two hearts."
King was both amazed and angered. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I didn't get a chance to tell you. This man was a freak. I found it out last night. He had two hearts. I'm sure of it."
"No chance to tell me? Why, goddamn it, we sat in that coffee shop for half an hour while I leveled with you. No chance! You held out on me." King laughed cynically. "I guess that's human nature. With a couple of bucks at stake even honest men go cagey."
Corson ignored the jibe. "Listen, for Christ sake! This is murder! Can't you understand that?"
"Of course, it's murder—in your room, with your knife. You'll have some explaining to do."
King's face hardened. He became subtly remote, impersonal. His eyes turned cold as he began inserting flash-bulbs into his camera and snapping the room and the body from various angles.
Frank Corson, out of his depth for sure now, stood helpless. Les King looked up from his work. "Well, don't just stand there, Doctor. You've got a murder to report. Get with it."