Read Online Dead on the Dance Floor by Heather Graham - Free Book Online Page A

the hall, smiling as he greeted Quinn. “Hey, thought you were heading off on vacation.”
    â€œI was.”
    â€œWhat are you doing down here?”
    â€œRight now? Feeling damned lucky to see you.”
    â€œMost people don’t feel that way—when I’m at work, anyway,” Duarte said with a touch of humor.
    â€œLet me rephrase. Since I have to see a medical examiner, I’m glad it’s you. You performed the autopsy on Lara Trudeau.”
    Duarte, a tall, slim black man with the straightest back Quinn had ever seen, arched a graying brow. “You’re working an angle on Lara Trudeau?”
    â€œThat’s surprising, I take it?”
    Duarte lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Nothing surprises me. I’ve been here far too long. I ruled the death accidental because I sure as hell couldn’t find any reason not to. Due to the circumstances, though, Dixon is still doing some work—though nothing more than paperwork, I imagine.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, the circumstances?”
    â€œA healthy woman popped too many nerve pills, swallowed some hard liquor and dropped dead. It isn’t a daily occurrence. Not even in Miami.” The last was spoken dryly and a little wearily. “Although, in all honesty, the number of people who do die from the misuse of prescriptions and even over-the-counter drugs is a hell of a lot higher than it should be.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œPeople mix too much stuff. And then they think, like with sleeping pills, hey, if one helps, I could really get a good night’s sleep with a bunch of them. As for Lara Trudeau, who the hell knows what she was thinking? Maybe she just thought she was immortal.”
    â€œI’m surprised the stuff didn’t affect her dancing.”
    â€œThat too—she must have had a will of steel.”
    â€œShe dropped dead in front of an audience.”
    â€œNot to mention the television cameras. And no one saw anything suspicious.”
    â€œThere was no sign of…?” Quinn said. Though what the hell there might be a sign of, he didn’t know.
    â€œForce? Had someone squeezed open her cheeks to force pills down her throat? Not that I could find. The cops, naturally, checked for prints on her prescription bottle. Not a one to be found.”
    â€œNot a single print?” Quinn said with surprise. “Not even hers?”
    â€œShe was wearing gloves for her performance.”
    â€œAnd that would normally wipe the entire vial clean?”
    â€œIf she was rubbing her fingers around it over and over again, which a nervous person might do.”
    â€œStill…”
    Duarte shrugged. “I guess it’s one of the reasons the cops kept looking. She was famous and apparently not all that nice, so…there might have been any number of people who wanted her dead. Trouble is, they just haven’t got anything. There were hundreds of people there. She went out to dance with a smile on her face. No apparent argument with anyone there…well, I’m assuming you’ve read the report.” He stared at Quinn. “She’s still here. Want to see her yourself?”
    â€œI thought you’d released her body.”
    â€œI did. The funeral home won’t be here until sometime tonight. Come on. I’ll have her brought out.”
    They walked down halls that, no matter how clean, still somehow reeked of death. Duarte called an assistant and led Quinn to a small room for the viewing. Loved ones weren’t necessarily brought in to see their dearly departed. A camera allowed for them to remain in the more natural atmosphere of the lobby to view the deceased.
    She was brought in. Duarte lowered the sheet.
    Lara Trudeau had been a beautiful woman. Even in death, her bone structure conveyed a strange elegance. She truly gave the appearance of sleep—until the eye wandered down to the autopsy scars.
    Quinn stared at her, circling the gurney