CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Stanton and Simms stood at the door of the men’s restroom, looking down at Falkner, who lay in a pool of his own blood. Deep red filled the gaps in the floor tiles like small canals in a white landscape. By the bloody marks on the third sink in a row of six, Falkner smashed the mirror, then offed himself by cutting his throat. The ghastly signs of arterial spray started at the broken mirror and traversed up the wall and onto parts of the ceiling.
The whole place looked more like a slaughterhouse than a men’s bathroom.
The agent who had found him stood outside, shivering. He was a new guy fresh out of the farm. It was his first week there, and he’d had his first look at a dead body.
‘Why the hell wasn’t someone watching him?’ Stanton growled at another agent. His fac
