As Annie and Mark, Chuckles, the Sergeant, and Constable Tom clambered down the stairs to the Butcher’s back room, the scent of rancid blood assaulted them. The stench wasn’t from hanging meat or smoked hams and bacon, it was metallic and dark, congealed in a mess under the body and from holes in the back of the Butcher’s head as he sprawled face down on the bare planks.
A head wound bleeds profusely, Annie remembered and paused to vomit in a pail containing water and rags. Chuckles whined and pressed his soft body against hers. Mark held her shoulders until she stopped shaking.
A head wound bleeds profusely“I can only guess why this happened,” the Sergeant said. He prodded the cavity of a pork carcass. “Cocaine.”
Bags wrapped with twine were hidden in the swinging meat. A trail of whit
