“Lot of prints all over this room,” the tech told Mickey.
“I figured there would be. Some of them are mine,” Mickey said wearily. “But if we print all the guests and staff, then we can compare for the ones that shouldn’t be here.”
“If the killer wore gloves—”
“Then we’re out of luck. A state we are all too used to.”
The tech nodded glumly and resumed his careful dusting of the myriad surfaces in the room. It was much easier for everyone to work now that the aging catatonic killers had been lifted onto stretchers and carried away. The woman, Fern, had finally stopped trying to crawl to Disney World, but it had taken two officers to restrain her until the hypodermic could be inserted into her arm.
The police photographer was lying on his back in the cavity of the chimney taking shots of
