EIGHTThe following morning started badly. Especially for the body that lay on it’s back on the linoleum floor behind the counter, crumpled like a rag doll that had been carelessly tossed aside. There was no blood and there were no signs of violence, except for the broken neck that set her pose at an unnatural angle and a wrenched arm with a delicate, ochre-hued hand reaching toward the ceiling.
Mr. Wong was in shock and choked back the tears as he spoke with the officers.
“I come downstairs and find her like this, my beautiful Jia.”
“Were there any customers in the store when you got here?” asked Trick. The way the body lay behind the counter it could easily have gone unnoticed. The one morning he’d skipped stopping in for his coffee and disaster hit. If he’d been there it might not hav
