The head, turned on the lino at a godawkward angle, with blood squirting in feeble arcs I can scarcely bear to witness.
A shooting. A shooting. A shooting. BANG BANG.
And the limbs, spreadeagled like a badly graffitied swastika; broken, maybe severed, I can't say.
Oh, and a ring. I see it now, a ring: I love you more than Andy Warhol's hairdo. I dressed up real smart, Babe, sure I did — look, see, the tie you bought me for Christmas. Aaack. Aaack. Breath.
It was Sarperstein’s attorney, I tellya — the guy with the horsehair duds. It's all in the file, Amelia. Look in the goddamn—
Hah, the flashes now. Yeah.
The flashes now, yeah, the flashes...
Now the ringing. Easily ignored at first but it persisted. I opened one eye and then the next. What time was it? I grabbed the cell off the nightstand and flipped it open. The ringing stopped and the time was 11:45 p.m. I had been asleep for less than an hour. My mind was still working on the flashes and the crime scene from my last case when I mumbled into the phone, “What?”
“Zack, we have another murder.”
Sitting up, I combed my fingers through my hair. Then wiped the sand from my eyes. Two in 24 hours. Crap.
“Crap, what is it this time? Jealous ex-wife? Stage suicide attempt? Mob hit? Gang hit?”
“No, nut job. Some guy dressed in a medieval costume cracked a museum curator’s head open.”
Fully awake, I reach down for my jeans, unceremoniously dropped next to my bed. Now we have something interesting. “Not a nut job. Paranormal mystery with time travel. I’ll be right there.”
Opening: Whirlochre.....Continuation: Vivian Whetham