Landers opened the trunk, lifted out a couple of pairs of latex gloves, and walked up the stairs to room 201. It was overcast and drizzling outside, but it still took his eyes a second to adjust to the dim light in the room. As soon as he cleared the door, he could smell blood. His eyes moved to the left. Jimmy Brown, a big, dim cracker with a butch haircut who had worked his way up through patrol and was finally, after twenty years, an investigator with the Johnson City police, was leaning over the bed. Beneath him was the body of what appeared to be a male whale. A very pale male whale. He was buck naked, lying flat on his back. His legs were splayed and his arms went straight out from his shoulders.

Spread-eagled. He was covered in dark dried blood.

”So much for death with dignity, huh?” Landers said.

Brown looked at him deadpan. He didn’t even smile. How could he not smile? That was pretty fucking funny. Landers chalked it up to petty jealousy.

”Where’s the forensics team?” Brown said.

”On the way. Should be here in an hour or so.”

The TBI’s East Tennessee forensics guys and girls scrambled out of Knoxville, ninety miles to the west.

They were responsible for covering the entire eastern half of the state. Landers knew they’d show up in their fancy modern mobile crime scene van dressed in their cute little white uniforms. Thanks to the CSI television shows, they all thought they were stars.

”Who’s the pretty boy?” Landers said.

Brown stepped back away from the body and pulled out his notepad.

”Signed in as John Paul Tester and gave a Newport address, confirmed by registration in the glove compartment of his car. His wallet’s gone, if he had one.

Manager says he checked in late yesterday afternoon, said he was here to preach at a revival, and asked where he could get a good hamburger. The manager told him to go to the Purple Pig. We’re getting a driver’s license photo from the Department of Safety so we can take it down there and ask around.”