The absence of first molars signaled orthodonture. He had extensive, very expensive porcelain crowns, and contact lenses tinted to enhance eyes already vivid. Remarkably, the right tens had not been washed away when his mask had flooded, and his dull gaze was weirdly asymmetrical, as if two dead people were staring out from sleepy lids.

I was almost finished with the external examination, but what was left was the most invasive, for in any unnatural death, it was necessary to investigate a patient's sexual practices. Rarely was I given a sign as obvious as a tattoo depicting one orientation or another, and as a rule, no one the individual was intimate with was going to step forth to volunteer information, either. But it really would not have mattered what I was told or by whom. I would still check for evidence of anal intercourse.

"What are you looking for?" Roche returned to the table and stood close behind me.

"Proctitis, anal tunneling, small fissures, thickening of the epithelium from trauma," I replied as I worked.

"Then you're assuming he's queer." He peered over my shoulder.

The color mounted to Danny's cheeks, and anger sparked in his eyes.

"Anal ring, epithelium are unremarkable," I said, scribbling notes. "In other words, he has no injury that would be consistent with an active homosexual lifestyle. And, Detective Roche, you're going to have to give me a little more room."

I could feel his breath on my neck.

"You know, he's been in this area a lot doing interviews."

"What sort of interviews?" I asked, and he was seriously getting on my nerves.

"That I don't know."

"Who was he interviewing?"

"Last fall he did a piece on the Inactive Ship Yard. Captain Green could probably tell you more."

"I was just with Captain Green, and he didn't tell me about that."