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Dale’s knees wobbled. His butt caught on the back of a chair in the next row. His new sneakers easily caught the resin floor, triggering fresh complaints from his aching toes but keeping him upright. The conference room’s cool air burned hot in his throat, and his heart slammed a jackhammer beat in his throat and temples and ears.
Marsupial’s limp body looked freakish. It was a surrealist painting, an Escher drawing, a conjunction of objects and ideas that didn’t fit together. A staircase that never ended. A liquid clock, slumped over a wall but hands still ticking. A fur-lined teacup.
A multitool in the ear.
Dale had seen someone die from a seizure. It had turned out to be cyanide, but Lash’s death could have been natural.
He’d seen someone fall to his death. A big chubby guy, dyi
