Gaudet grinned. “Have you carried around a lot of unconscious women?”

“If you don’t believe me”-Murphy pointed to the crime-scene tech lying at his feet-“try carrying her from the back door to here.”

The tech shook her head as she climbed to her feet. “That’s enough of this bullshit.” She began banging her palms on the back of her blue utility pants. “I didn’t know this place was so dirty.”

Gaudet ignored her. “Maybe the killer and the victim walked in together.”

“Maybe,” Murphy said, “but I don’t picture our guy as a smooth talker. Not like Ted Bundy. I picture him as shy around women. I think he approached her on the street, told her what he wanted. He showed her some money and they made a deal. Then he led her to the back of the building where they could take care of business. But he choked her or slugged her with something and he dragged her in here, unconscious.”

“How did he know he could get into the building?”

“He’s a planner,” Murphy said. “He probably took the door off the hinges long before he ever approached her.”

The crime-scene tech finished dusting herself off and gave Murphy a disgusted glare. “You owe me a new pair of pants if I can’t get these clean.”

Murphy turned to her. “Can you check the hinges and the pins on the back door for fresh tool marks?”

“Did you hear me about my pants?” she said. When he didn’t answer, she stomped off toward the back door.

It was almost five o’clock when the coroner’s investigator showed up. By that time Murphy was so hot he had stopped sweating. From his Boy Scout days he seemed to remember that was one of the signs of heat exhaustion or heat stroke… heat something.

The coroner’s investigator examined the woman’s body by flashlight. He started with her scalp and began working his way toward her toes. He stopped halfway. Murphy, who was looking over the investigator’s shoulder, saw the tip of a dark object protruding from the woman’s rectum. “What is that?” Murphy said.