Read Online Murphy's Law by Lisa Marie Rice - Free Book Online

Florence for analysis.”
    Loiacono’s face fell. The person Loiacono so grandly called Toxicologist Biagi was actually a police cadet who had been sporadically studying for a degree in chemistry these past three years.
    Loiacono was always crushed when he realized that the Siena Police Department wasn’t the FBI. There was no toxicology lab, unless you counted the Bunsen burner used to brew coffee in a moka when the espresso machine broke down, and a perfectly useless microscope with scratched lenses pressed into service as a paperweight.
    Everything went to Florence for analysis. Where, Dante thought irritably, they took their own sweet time about responding.
    Guzzanti was kneeling by the body and had opened his black medical bag.
    Dante hated everything pertaining to doctors and illness and had to school himself not to look away from the array of hideous instruments Guzzanti was placing on the floor.
    Guzzanti snapped on latex gloves and examined the body carefully, head to toe.
    “What do you think, Guzzanti?”
    Guzzanti looked up. “Dead, Dante. He’s definitely dead.”
    Guzzanti had always been ornery. Dante was suddenly very glad that he hadn’t married Simona Guzzanti, good in bed as she had been. Having Guzzanti and his sharp tongue as a father-in-law would have been hell. “I mean, when did he die? Can you tell?”
    Guzzanti touched the body for the first time, picking up the right hand and holding it, turning the body slightly. He unbuttoned the first button of the shirt to loosen it and lifted the body slightly to check the dead man’s back.
    “Okay, here’s what I can tell upon visual examination. The body’s cold, so algor mortis has already set in. But that happens immediately. Rigor has begun. The skin of his face, neck and hands is ashen, so blood has started to drain from the topmost part of the body. He has lividity on his back. He has a normal expression and there is no sign of a struggle. He must’ve been taken by surprise. The stiletto was slipped right between the fourth and fifth rib for an instant death. Not an easy thing to do.”
    Dante deeply, deeply wanted to get out of the room. “So…time of death?”
    Guzzanti sighed. “I’ll need to do a test for that.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a strange-looking thermometer. He looked up at Dante. “The Americans, bless them. They don’t know how to cook and can’t manage to make a decent wine, but boy do they know their dead bodies. I’m going to measure the temperature of the body’s liver.”
    “Liver?”Dante gaped. “But—but the liver is inside the body.”
    “Good going, Sherlock. Indeed it is. And that is why, Commissario Rossi—” Guzzanti looked over his half-moon glasses as he stressed Dante’s title, “—I’m going to need your permission to remove the dead man’s jacket and shirt, punch a hole in his side and measure the temperature of his liver.”
    Dante didn’t know about the temperature of Roland Kane’s liver, but he did know that the temperature of the room suddenly shot up ten degrees. He tried desperately to think of some reason why Guzzanti couldn’t do this, but it was hard to think with his stomach sliding greasily up his throat.
    He deepened his voice. “I’m not certain I can give you permission at this time, Guzzanti, because it might violate the integrity of the crime scene, and—”
    “Shut up, Dante,” Guzzanti said, scrutinizing the bottom of his bag. “I’m going to need an extra pair of hands here.”
    Dante looked down at his own hands and put them behind his back. No way.
    “Me, doctor.” Loiacono trembled with eagerness. “May I be allowed to assist you?”
    “You may, inspector. Put these on.” Guzzanti held out a pair of latex gloves and Loiacono donned them with a snap.
    “Okay.” Guzzanti looked up. “This is what’s going to happen. I am going to open up the man’s jacket, pull up his shirt and undershirt, if he has one, and expose the lower right