Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon

“They're not on staff,“ I said.

“Miserable squatters,“ Liz muttered through her teeth.

“They were here when we came,“ I explained.

“We tried to convince them that staying wasn't a viable option,“ Liz said. “That their very differing business requirements were going to make coexistence quite difficult: So far they have chosen to stay.“

“Can you blame them?“ I asked. “I mean, where else are they supposed to go? You know how hard it was for Mutant Wizards to find this space.“

“So other than the shared office space, there's no connection,“ the chief said. “No reason for them to interact with the deceased.“

Liz and I looked at each other.

“No logical reason,“ I said. “But they did interact, thanks to Ted.“

The chief sighed. “Why do I think you're going to tell me they had a reason to dislike him?“

“You must be getting a good picture of Ted's character,“ I said. “I don't think his constant practical jokes endeared him to them, but I think it was his bugging their offices that really ticked them off.“

“Bugging their offices?“

“We don't know for certain that was him,“ Liz said.

“Yeah, but do you have any doubt?“ I countered.

“He could get in a lot of trouble, doing that,“ the chief said.

“I'm well aware of that,“ Liz said. “I'm still dealing with the legal ramifications of that little escapade.“

I couldn't help thinking, not for the first time, that Liz did rather seem to enjoy having legal crises to deal with. Was she, perhaps, a bit of an adrenaline junkie? She was certainly a cutthroat negotiator, and I suspected she'd be a pretty sharp litigator if the occasion arose.

“Are the therapists suing you?“ the chief asked.

“They threatened to,“ Liz said. “Fortunately, because of the danger of industrial espionage, we'd arranged for a weekly sweep by a security firm to detect electronic surveillance devices.“

“So they found the bug?“ the chief asked.

“No,“ I said. “We found the bug because Ted – “

“Or whoever planted it,“ Liz corrected.

“Or whoever planted it gave in to the temptation to broadcast from one of his microphones over the office announcement system,“ I said. “That shut things down pretty quickly.“

“However, the weekly security inspection enables me to demonstrate that the firm took the appropriate action to prevent electronic surveillance and cannot be held responsible for the bugging incident,“ Liz said.

“That's nice,“ the chief said. “But I guess the shrinks have to stay on my suspect list for now.“

“Meg,“ came Dad's voice from the office door. “The medical examiner's here!“

I should have known Dad would manage to attach himself to the medical examiner. He had stuck his bald head through the partially opened office and was looking steadily at us with a deceptively innocent look on his face. You'd think he had no interest whatsoever in the corpse that was still reposing on top of the mail cart – unless, like me, you knew what excellent peripheral vision he had.

“Shall I bring him in?“

The chief nodded and made a little shooing motton at Liz and me.

“Let's move out in the hall, shall we, and let the medical gentlemen do their job.“

“Fine,“ Liz said. “Better yet, unless you need me for something, I'd just as soon not hang around in the hall while they work.“

“That's fine,“ the chief said, nodding. “But if you could stay down there in the parking lot…“

“Understood,“ Liz said. I could see her pulling her cell phone out of her purse as she crossed the lobby to the stairs.

Apparently Dad had managed to attach himself to the ME's entourage. At least he stayed behind in the reception area when the chief and I moved out into the hall. I made a mental note to avoid having dinner with Dad. Let him spoil someone else's appetite with all the grisly forensic details.

The chief was still quizzing me about the therapists' patients when the young technician stepped out into the hall.

“Chief,“ he said. “What do you make of this? We found it when we moved the body.“

I recognized the lethal little circle of metal he was holding up on one latex-gloved hand. It was a shuriken.

“A what?“ the chief asked.

“A shuriken“ I repeated, and spelled it out this time.

The technician was opening up a baggie in which to store his find. Okay, it was probably some kind of official evidence collection container, but it looked like a baggie to me.

“Shuriken,“ the chief said, nodding. “That's those things martial arts people are always throwing around.“

“Not throwing around very much, unless they're either quite advanced or morbidly fascinated with self- mutilation,“ I said. “You could slice your fingers off on that thing and hardly even notice till they're on the floor.“

“If it's sharpened,“ the chief said.

As if on cue, the technician slid the shuriken into the baggie. It sliced right through the bottom and thunked to a halt in the carpet, about three inches from the chief's left boot.

“It's sharpened,“ I said.

The chief looked at the technician, eyes narrowed. The technician avoided his boss's stare as he fished another baggie out of the pocket of his lab jacket, pried the shuriken out of the carpet, and placed it, more carefully, in the baggie.

“Interesting,“ the chief said.

“Very interesting,“ I said. “You don't usually see them that well made; most of the ones you could buy ready-made, at least around here, are cheap, flimsy pieces of junk that wouldn't hold an edge like that.“

“You can buy those things?“ the technician asked.

“At any martial arts supply store. They're illegal in a lot of states, but Virginia's not one of them. Still, since Ted appears to have been strangled, does it have anything to do with anything?“

“You let us figure that out,“ the chief said. “So… all you folks do around here is make games?“

Did this have something to do with the shuriken, or was he deliberately changing the subject?

“That's right,“ I said.

“The kind where you shoot a bunch of space aliens and all that?“

“No, Lawyers from Hell isn't a live-action combat game; more of a combination role-playing and simulation game.“

“You don't say,“ the chief said, looking over his glasses at me.

“I should go into a little more detail?“

“You should go into a lot more detail if you want me to understand it.“

“Want us to explain it, Meg?“ I heard Frankie say with characteristic enthusiasm.

I glanced over to see several heads peering out of the stairwell doorway. I gathered that the police had forbidden anyone to step out into the hall, since none of them could possibly see much from the doorway – with the possible exception of Frankie, who by standing on one leg and raising the other behind him for balance, had managed to cantilever his entire body out into the hallway without breaking the letter of the law.

“Sure,“ I said. “Why not?“

Why not became quite apparent after Frankie had been talking a few minutes. I was sure another