Vaneski swallowed. “I don’t know. He—he just sort of—well, he fell.”
“You didn’t catch him?” asked the chief. He was a physician on a case now and had no time for sirring his superiors.
“No. No. I jumped away from him.”
“Why? What’s the trouble?” Jeffers asked.
“He’s dead,” said the Chief Physician’s Mate.
17
Leda Crannon was standing outside the cubicle that had been built for Snookums. Her back and the palms of her hands were pressed against the door. Her head was bowed, and her red hair, shining like a hellish flame in the light of the glow panels, fell around her shoulders and cheeks, almost covering her face.
“Leda,” said Mike the Angel gently.