“Two weeks. And I didn’t tell you, okay?”

“I’m glad you did.” He looked down at the asphalt. “I don’t much like surprises.”

“So what do we have here, Doc? Hit-and-run?”

“This seems to be the point of impact.”

Rizzoli looked down at the large splash of blood.

Then she looked at the sheet-draped corpse, which was lying a good twelve feet away, on the sidewalk.

“You’re saying he first hit the ground here, and then bounced way over there?” said Rizzoli.

“It would appear so.”

“That’s got to be a pretty big truck to cause this much splatter.”

“Not a truck,” was Tierney’s enigmatic answer. He started walking along the road, eyes focused downward.

Rizzoli followed him, batting at swarms of flies. Tierney came to a stop about thirty feet away and pointed to a grayish clump on the curb.

“More brain matter,” he noted.

“A truck didn’t do this?” said Rizzoli.

“No. Or a car, either.”

“What about the tire marks on the vic’s shirt?”

Tierney straightened, his eyes scanning the street, the sidewalks, the buildings. “Do you notice something quite interesting about this scene, Detective?”

“Apart from the fact there’s a dead guy over there who’s missing his brain?”

“Look at the point of impact.” Tierney gestured toward the spot in the road where he’d been crouching earlier. “See the dispersal pattern of body parts?”

“Yeah. He splattered in all directions. Point of impact is at the center.”

“Correct.”

“It’s a busy street,” said Rizzoli. “Vehicles do come around that corner too fast. Plus, the vic has tire marks on his shirt.”

“Let’s go look at those marks again.”

As they walked back to the corpse, they were joined by Barry Frost, who had finally emerged from the car, looking wan and a little embarrassed.