The big operating room was brightly lit, and in the middle of the room was a steel table on which a body lay covered with a blue shroud.

On either side of the table was a gurney. One held Harry's clothes, laid out as they would be worn: boots, socks, thermal underwear, trousers, shirt, jacket, and knit cap.

On the other gurney were Harry's personal effects, and I could see the cameras, binoculars, maps, cell phone, wallet, watch, a pair of wire cutters, and so forth. On his key chain were ignition keys for his government vehicle, a Pontiac Grand Am, and his private vehicle, a Toyota. But no key for whatever kind of camper he had been driving. I assumed that the camper key was with the state police or the CSI team so they could move his camper. His gun and credentials would be with the troopers outside.

The room smelled of disinfectant, formaldehyde, and other unpleasant things, so I went over to a cabinet and found a tube of Vicks, which is a standard item in a place where cadavers are cut up. I squeezed some of the mentholated jelly on Kate's finger and said, "Smear this under your nose."

She smeared it on her upper lip and took a deep breath. I don't normally use the stuff, but it'd been a while since I'd been around a stiffening body, so I, too, put some under my nose.

I found a box of latex gloves, we each slipped on a pair, and I said to Kate, "Let's take a look. Okay?"

She nodded.

I went to the table and pulled the blue sheet down from the face.

Harry Muller.

I said to myself, Sorry, pal.

His face was dirty because he'd fallen face-first on the trail, and his lips were slightly parted, but I saw no grimace, or any indication that he'd been in agony, so death had come quickly. We should all be so lucky when we're that unlucky.

His eyes were wide open, so I pushed the lids closed.

I pulled the sheet down to his waist and saw a big gauze pad taped over his heart. There was very little blood on his body, so the bullet had stopped the heart almost immediately.

I noticed the lividity of his skin-the pooling of the blood on the front of his body, confirming he'd fallen face-first and died in that position.

I lifted his left arm. Rigor usually sets in within eight to twelve hours, and there was almost no flex in his muscles, but neither was his arm totally rigid. Also, from the appearance of the skin, and the general state of the body, I'd say death had occurred twelve to twenty-four hours ago. To take it a step further, if this was a premeditated murder, it had probably been done at night to minimize the chance of discovery during the commission of the crime. Therefore, it probably happened last night.

Assuming Madox did this, he probably waited for someone to find the body and report it to the police. When that didn't happen by this afternoon, he or an accomplice phoned it in from a park phone, thereby taking the heat off himself before the search of his property began.

In fact, while Kate and I were sitting with him, he was probably wondering why his phone tip hadn't turned up the body yet, and he was getting nervous.

I examined Harry's wrist and thumb, and saw no evidence of restraints, though often there are no marks.

I took Harry's left hand in mine and examined the palm, fingernails, and knuckles. The hands can sometimes tell you something that the coroner, who is usually more interested in organs and trauma, misses, but I saw nothing unusual, only dirt.

I glanced at Kate, who seemed to be holding up okay, then I came around the table and took Harry's right hand and looked at it.

A female voice said, "Can I loan you my scalpel?"

Kate and I turned to see a woman at the door dressed in surgical scrubs. She was about thirty, petite, with short red hair. As she moved closer, I saw she had freckles and blue eyes. Actually, baggy blue scrubs aside, she was cute. She said, "I'm Patty Gleason, the county coroner. I assume you're the FBI people."

I pulled off my latex glove and extended my hand. "Detective John Corey, Anti-Terrorist Task Force."

We shook, and I introduced FBI Special Agent Kate Mayfield, remembering to add, "Kate is also Mrs. Corey."

Kate further added, "I'm also Detective Corey's supervisor."

Dr. Gleason suggested, "Maybe you can tell him not to handle the body without a medical examiner present. Or maybe not handle it at all."

I apologized but informed her, "I did this for twenty years in New York City."

"You're not in New York City."

We were off on the wrong foot, but then Kate said, "The deceased was a friend of ours."

Dr. Gleason softened. "I'm sorry." She turned to Kate. "What does this have to do with terrorism?"

"Nothing. Harry was also a colleague on the Task Force, and he was up here hiking, and we've come to identify the body."

"I see. And have you made a positive identification?"

"We have," Kate answered. "What's your preliminary finding?"

"Well, from what I can see from the external wounds, a bullet passed through his spinal column, then through his heart, and he died almost instantly. He probably felt nothing, and if he did, it was for only a second or two. He was basically dead before he hit the ground."

I nodded and observed, "In all my years as a cop, I've never seen a perfect shot through the spine and heart that was an accident."

Dr. Gleason didn't comment for a few seconds, then said, "As a surgeon and coroner, I've seen about a hundred hunting-accident wounds, and I've never seen one quite like this either. But it can happen." She asked, "You're thinking it was homicide?"

I replied, "We're not ruling it out."

She nodded. "That's what I hear."

Some medical examiners like to play detective, like on TV, but most stick strictly to the facts. Not knowing Patty Gleason, I asked, "Did you find anything that would indicate a homicide?"

"I'll show you what I found, and you can take it from there."

She went over to the supply cabinet, snapped on a pair of gloves, then gave me a fresh glove and said, "I see you've already found the Vicks."

She motioned toward the two gurneys. "I've removed and cataloged everything for placement into evidence bags by the FBI. Do you want to go over the inventory and sign for this stuff?"

Kate replied, "There are other agents on the way who need to list everything on what we call the green sheet."

I said to Dr. Gleason, "Let's look at the body."

She moved beside the gurney and pulled the taped gauze off Harry's chest, removing some hair and revealing a big, gaping hole. "As you can see, this is the exit wound. I used a lighted 7X magnifier and observed bits of bone, soft tissue, and blood, all in minute quantities and consistent with the passage of a high-velocity, large- or medium-caliber bullet through the vertebrae, heart, and sternum."

She went on for a while, clinically describing the end of a human life. She concluded, "As you know, I'm not doing the autopsy, but I doubt there's much more an autopsy is going to show in regard to the cause of death."

I said to her, "We're more interested in the events that led up to the moment of death." I asked, "Did you notice anything unusual?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." She put her finger on Harry's chest, an inch from the edge of the ragged exit wound, and said, "I noticed here ... can you see that?"

"No."

"Well, it's a small puncture wound. Obviously made before death. I probed it, and it's deep into the muscle tissue. I also examined his shirt and thermal top, and there seem to be corresponding holes, and what appears to be a small bloodstain, so this object-possibly a hypodermic needle-was pushed hard through his clothing and into his pectoral muscle. I can't say if anything was injected, but toxicology should be able to tell us."