Someone could be hiding on the top shelf, however. It was a good ten feet wide.
“Get me someone right away,” I ordered the drone.
“I can help you with whatever you may need,” it said pleasantly.
“No, a human being. I need an actual human being.”
“Is there something the matter? Are you having a bad shopping experience?”
“Yes! I am having a bad shopping experience. Call security!”
“Security has been alerted by radio. What is the nature of the security issue?”
“There’s a dead man in my shopping cart, what do you think?”
The drone buzzed over to the body.
“Sir, I must ask you to get out of the shopping cart. Shopping carts are for SerMart products only.”
“He’s dead, you idiot,” I snapped, still scanning the top of the shelf. If the murderer or murderers were up there, they were still hiding. There was no way to get off that shelf except by taking the catwalk, and I saw no one. I just happened to be near a break in the shelves where another aisle crisscrossed mine, so stepping a few feet from the cart I could see the catwalk on the other side of the shelf too. No one had fled in that direction either.
“Where the heck is the murderer?” I said out loud.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” the drone replied.
“I don’t either.”
I heard the sound of running feet. A middle-aged couple rounded the corner.
“What happened? We heard screaming. Argh!”
They ran back around the aisle.
“I presume that wasn’t security,” I said.
“Security will be here in just one moment.”
Keeping an eye on the catwalks, I also checked out the body. He was thin, about six feet tall, with a fringe of gray hair around a bald pate. I guessed him to be about seventy, although he appeared to have been in good health before having a knife stuck through his head. It was one of those luxury knives with a keen steel blade that professional chefs use. Just the thing to drive through someone’s head. It would take considerable strength, however.
More details: His clothes, while casual, were expensive. He wore shoes of soft Italian leather that must have cost several hundred dollars, and name-brand slacks and a dress shirt.
The most impressive part of his wardrobe was a heavy gold ring with a giant ruby framed with diamonds that he wore on the middle finger of his left hand. Generally, I find oversized jewelry to be tasteless, but this piece was so artistically crafted that it managed to be beautiful.
Assuming it was made with real gems and gold—and it sure looked like it was real—it must have been worth a pretty penny.
A simple gold wedding band was on the ring finger of the same hand.
After another glance at the catwalks, where the drones were still busily buzzing around on their various tasks, I approached the body for another look, and then immediately rushed back to the intersection of the aisles to see if the murderer took the opportunity to make a break for it. No luck.
“Are you lost?” the drone said. “Can I help you find anything in particular?”
“How about security?”
“Security will be here in just one moment.”
“You’ve mentioned that before.”
I went and took a closer look at the body. The knuckles on the right hand were scuffed. There was very little blood on the entry or exit wound, but I could see faint traces where blood had been cleaned incompletely off the skin on the head and neck. A few fresh drops dripped out of the wound, staining the victim’s otherwise clean shirt. No doubt the fall had shaken the head and released some blood that remained in the body.
I touched the flesh of his hand. It was cold but not completely cold. A body will reach the surrounding temperature, and thus feel cold to the touch since we’re used to bodies being warm, within about twenty hours. Either this man had been killed within that time frame or he had been kept in a warm place. I didn’t see any other signs of decomposition.
I flexed the arm. It was stiff but not completely so. Rigor mortis starts around four to six hours after death. I suspected that this man had been killed, cleaned, redressed, and most likely moved here about eight hours before he made his uninvited entry into my shopping cart.
I checked my watch. Just past eleven. So whoever killed him did it in the wee hours of that morning.
But why move him here? He didn’t seem like the kind of person to be hanging around a big-box store at three o’clock in the morning.
As I pondered all this, I heard a strange sound. It sounded for all the world like an old steam train. Puff puff puff puff. Puff puff puff puff.
I looked around for tracks. Yes, really. I wouldn’t put anything past this weird place.
The puffing got louder and began to be accompanied by a rhythmic thudding.
A security guard came huffing and puffing around the corner, sweat pouring down his face. His brown polyester shirt had popped out of his matching pants to show a large white belly with a fringe of hair around the belly button. I looked away, only to spot the dark stains under his armpits. I looked at the corpse instead. It was more pleasing to the eye.
“Oh my God!” the security guard moaned. “He’s dead.”
“Dead as a doornail,” I replied. “Dead as Caesar.”
The security guard looked at me, eyes wide. “There’s another man dead?”
“I don’t know. Is there?” I asked, confused.
“Caesar. Who’s this Caesar? You said he was dead too.”
“Oh, Lord. It’s just a saying. He died well before your time. Even before my time.”
The guard looked at the body in my shopping cart. A drone buzzed above him, looking too.
“Sir,” the drone said. “I must ask you to get out of the shopping cart. Shopping carts are for SerMart products only.”
The security guard frowned at the drone. “Go away. Security override.”
“Have a nice day,” the drone said, buzzing away.
“God, I hate those things,” he
