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the body.” Mike swallowed hard and stiffened his spine. “No passport or immigration papers and nothing showing up on the database except a fake driver’s license. We believe he’s illegal. Wallet shows he works as a taxi driver for Speedaway Taxi Service. His girlfriend found him and called it in. She talked to him just a few hours ago.”
    They skirted past a wooden dresser, broken armchair and small table. Garcia’s personal effects had already been tagged and bagged. No obvious signs of a struggle or break-in, but then people in this neighborhood didn’t have anything worth stealing.
    Mike sucked in a sharp breath when they reached the bed. Garcia lay curled in a fetal position, covers drawn up to his shoulder and clutched between his hands. A silver bowl lay on the floor beside him. The pungent, acrid smell of bile permeated James’s protective mask and he gagged as he crouched down beside the victim to get a closer look.
    “What the fuck?”
    For a split second he thought his first assessment of aliens might be true. Barely recognizable as human, Garcia’s swollen, misshapen head dwarfed the small pillow on which it lay. He had seen pictures of John Merrick, the Elephant Man. The similarities were remarkable.
    “Forensics has only just started processing the bed, and I’m not planning to be around when they lift the sheet,” Mike said.
    James stood and took a step back. He thought he had seen everything after his years in the homicide unit, but there had been nothing like this. “Is it congenital?”
    Mike shook his head. “We interviewed the landlord. He described Garcia as a regular guy. Nothing out of the ordinary. Hard-working. Honest.”
    “Looks like some kind of allergic reaction. I have a friend who’s allergic to bees. He swells up whenever he gets stung, although I’ve never seen him as bad as that.”
    “Maybe…we should tell Sergeant Donaldson it might not be homicide-related. He breezed in and out of here pretty fast.”
    James snorted a laugh. “You don’t tell Donaldson anything. He tells you. He’s decided we should be involved, so we’re involved. You’ll benefit from the experience. Sometimes years go by with nothing more than gang murders and domestic violence to keep us busy.”
    His cell buzzed against his hip. “I’ve seen all I need to see. I’m going to head back to the office. Let me know which pathologist the coroner’s office puts on the autopsy. We’ll definitely need a toxicology report on this one.”
    James left the apartment and quickly shed his crime suit. Flipping open the phone he checked the caller ID. Mark . He hit Call Back and walked down the street, dodging pop bottles and condom wrappers as he headed toward his standard-issue dull gray Crown Victoria.
    Mark didn’t mince words. “There was a woman at the bar on Friday. A lawyer. I want you to find out who she is.”
    “I remember her.” James tried to suppress a smile. Mark must have it bad. In the twenty-three years they’d been friends, he had only rarely asked for a favor.
    “I’ve searched the Law Society website but there are dozens of female lawyers named Katy. I can’t call them all. Valerie knows where she works but I can’t get in touch with her.”
    “You could wait.” James stifled a laugh. “Valerie will be at the club next weekend.”
    “I can’t wait,” Mark snapped. “Trixie walked her to her car. A black GM Acadia. First two letters of the plate are TX.”
    “Trust Trixie to remember a detail like that.” James stopped to pick up a shard of broken glass and deposit it in a nearby garbage can.
    “Trixie said the license plate reminded her of her name.”
    James couldn’t help pushing his agitated friend. “Has she committed a crime? Because I’m finishing up at a crime scene and wasn’t really looking to waste an afternoon breaking into the police database because you’re desperate and can’t control your dick.”
    Mark was immediately contrite. “Sorry. Bad