I hate going to the morgue. No matter how many chemicals they spray on the walls and the floor, they can’t disguise the smell of death. I tried to breathe through my mouth as I signed my name at the front desk: Detective Lou Logeater, 11:57 pm.

“No smoking in here, Lou,” said some assistant in a white coat. I winced and ground the butt under my heel, him watching me just to make sure. When he left I went around the corner and shook a fresh cigarette out of the pack. Bug Mulligan came through a swinging door, pulling latex gloves off his sticky fingers.

“Need a light, Lou?”
“Thanks. These things’ll kill me some day.”

I gave him a cigarette too, and we stood there smoking in the hallway.

“So, don’t keep me in suspense, Bud. You cut open the victim yet?”
“The ‘victim’? Jesus, Lou.”
“What would you rather have me say?”

He threw his arms up in frustration. His voice got high and squealy, like a bride left at the altar. “Why do I always get these ones, Lou? Why do you always send them to me?”

I don’t like melodrama, so I didn’t say anything. I took a drag and breathed it out slowly as an assistant walked by looking at me contemptuously. After a minute Mulligan calmed down.

“I can tell you one thing: the victim was shot.”
“Well shit, Bud, I knew that two hours ago.”
“It’s the damnedest thing, though..”
“What is?”

He led me into the examination room, where even the cigarette smoke couldn’t hide the smell, and I was reminded again of the precariousness of digestion.

“I examined the stomache contents,” Bud said.
“Well?”
“That’s what’s so strange. Mostly hair. Some dust. A penny, a nickel. Some dry cheerios and popcorn kernals. A lego.”
“Jesus, what kind of sick shit was this guy into?”
“That’s just the thing, Lou. I don’t think we’re dealing with an ordinary homicide here.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because this is a vacuum cleaner, Lou.”

Suddenly it all made sense; the footprints, those anonymous phone calls, the guy who tried to run me off the road. How could I have missed it this long?I flicked the cigarette onto the floor and left it smoking there, like incense in a desecrated cathedral, as I ran out through the swinging doors. I knew I didn’t have much time.

“Where are you going, Lou?”
“To stop a killer,” I yelled back over my shoulder.