Page 51 of Last Violent Call
“I meant about the investigation, Ben. We have a ticking time bomb.”
“A time bomb, too? I thought we only had a dead body.”
“You think you’re so funny.”
“You laugh at all my jokes, so whose fault is that?”
Marshall pushed the encyclopedia off his lap, then leaned over and put his hands around Benedikt’s neck, pretending to strangle him. It was no fun, because Vodin would want his report in a few hours, and instead of experiencing joy at being a nuisance, Marshall moved so that his arms wrapped along Benedikt’s shoulders instead, resting his head there as his thoughts raced. He had hoped the encyclopedia would have somesort of scientific method for determining the presence of chemicals in dead bodies. Even though Benedikt said that he hadn’t found an injection site while checking the body again this morning, Yeva’s claim about what she had overheard made it likely that the syringe had been used.
But the only interesting thing the encyclopedia had been able to offer him were facts about clouds. Which was nice, but irrelevant for his specific purposes. Maybe if they already had contact with Lourens, the old scientist would easily be able to offer a method of deduction. Except by the time they were in contact with him, one could only hope they had already solved this murder.
“Hey.” Benedikt reached up to touch Marshall’s arm, his tone turning earnest. “Don’t fret so much. I am supposed to be the nervous one.”
“We cannot both be the nervous one?”
“Absolutely not. That is far too many nerves in one marriage.”
Marshall laughed. He tipped his head so that it was his cheek leaning on Benedikt’s warm shoulder instead, the heat of skin emanating through the white cotton shirt Benedikt had changed into. There had been so many times in their childhood when he had wanted to do this. When his palms had practically stung in his craving for touch while knowing he had to rein back, knowing he couldn’t risk crossing the line. Instead of stealing a kiss, he had gotten by with playful punching. Instead of touching Benedikt’s hair when it shone painfully bright under the morning sun, he had leaped at his best friend, demanding to be carried on his back. Marshall Seo had grown up playing himself off as a joke; it was always easier to pretend that he didn’t really mean something, to shrug a matter off and feign carelessness.
Benedikt, in the present, turned his head. “You’re being awfully quiet, Mars.”
Yet even when the rest of the world was fooled, Benedikt took him seriously. The last star could burn out and the oceans could dry tonothing, but Benedikt would be there, letting Marshall protest and fuss and grouse until his true face came out.
“I am only thinking,” Marshall said. “About you.”
“Good thoughts, I hope.”
“Dirty ones, actually.”
Benedikt rolled his eyes. Before he could respond, however, there was a muffled crash in the passageway outside, and then a yell of alarm. Both Marshall and Benedikt were up within seconds, knowing that there could only be so many reasons someone was yelling on a train with an active crime scene.
Marshall threw open the compartment door. His first instinct was to look left, in the direction of the dining carriage. When another cry sounded, he was almost surprised to discover it was from the right.
“Hang on, hang on,” Benedikt warned before he could start in that direction. “What is it?”
A woman stumbled out of the washroom at the end of the carriage.
“I-i-in there,” she stammered. “I only turned on the lights and…”
She had been among the passengers interviewed only hours earlier. Marshall couldn’t recall her name, but he gave her a reassuring smile as he brushed by, saying, “Take a deep breath. I will have a look.”
He stepped into the washroom. On the mirror, there was a message penned by a careful hand.
In dripping, crimson blood.
STOP LOOKING
7
“Okay, well, the good news is that it’s not blood.”
Benedikt swiped a finger against one of the Cyrillic letters, taking off its tail. He rubbed the smudge against his thumb and continued, “Oil-based paint, I would guess. It looks very difficult to clean.”
A sudden flash of light flared over his shoulder. Benedikt whirled around quickly, then almost knocked into Lev, who had silently approached from behind with his camera out.
“Oops,” the boy said. “Don’t mind me. Getting some pictures.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Benedikt said, sidling out of the way. His knee nudged against the porcelain toilet bowl.
