A Caduceus is for Killing by Diana Kirk Read Free Book Online Page B

own business, finishing a gargantuan slice of prime rib, when Trent slid into his booth with a luscious brunette in tow. Trent had spotted his hiding place and they headed straight towards him. The lucky stiff happened to meet her at Doctor Pearson's apartment, and she had surprised the shit out of him. What was her name?
     Suzanne. In the dim bar-light her long hair glistened. Her sheer blouse was cut just low enough to show her breasts without becoming obscene, although his thoughts crossed the line. And to complete the picture, her jeans fit like a second skin.
    This woman knew the effect she had on men and took ad-vantage of their weaknesses. Krastowitcz disliked her immediately, but still couldn't keep his eyes off her. A prick-tease. He could spot them a mile away. A gorgeous piece, though. Some guys had all the luck
    He'd been able to surreptitiously question Suzanne through-out the evening. Chattering incessantly, she happily supplied background information on Grafton and her roommate. Info the good doctor had neglected to tell.
    On the Friday before, Dr. Pearson had met with the Dean and learned Grafton had denied her faculty appointment. Seems he'd written a nasty letter about her performance. Angered, Pear-son had stated she'd confront the deceased about it on Monday. But unfortunately, she'd found him slightly uncommunicative, draped over his toilet, and skewered like a shish kabob.
    Pearson had jumped Trent's case for calling her `Miss.' God, Krastowitcz hated "libbers." They were so full of anger. Maybe she was the killer after all. Grafton probably forgot to call her Doctor, and she'd nailed him.

         KRASTOWITCZ RUBBED his throbbing head. He'd spent way too much time at the Tap and it was way too early to be slicing and dicing. "Got any aspirin?" he hollered at George who pulled on his gloves with a loud snap.
    "Sure. Rough night?"
    "Yeah, a bitch." He pulled his note pad from the inside jacket pocket and reviewed his carefully scribbled notes. Milton Grafton, successful virology researcher at Dorlynd, was actively looking for genetic sources of cancer. Some recent work on the AIDS virus had earned him a multi-million dollar National Institutes of Health Grant.
    Nothing else was significant except the modus operandi. Grafton was the last of three murders he'd worked on, all with severed penises. Connected? Maybe. But why? And what? The others had been bums, transients, throw-aways.
    Maybe they weren't connected at all--just coincidence. He might know more after the autopsy. Grafton worked on AIDS. Had he angered one of his homos?
    Krastowitcz had to talk to Pearson again. If his head ever stopped throbbing long enough. Suzanne was flaky, and from what she told him last night, she and Pearson were complete opposites. How could they live together without getting on each other's nerves? He hadn't managed to live with anyone. Some-times, though, opposites got along pretty well as long as they went in different directions and didn't intrude on each other. He made a note in his book to run a record check on Suzanne, too. If there was anything of interest in either of their pasts, it would show up.
    "Am I interrupting your beauty sleep?" George Iverson toss-ed the aspirin bottle in his direction.
    Gary caught it mid-air. "Excedrin, I hope."
    "You think this is a drugstore? This is the morgue, buddy. Come on, I'm ready." He laughed. "Get the name of the dog that bit you?"
    Gary covered his eyes. "Not so loud. Right after you left, Trent arrived with Pearson's roommate. I couldn't resist checking out his moves with the ladies. He's good. Real good. Unfortunately, I drowned my sorrows in a few pitchers of Milwaukee's finest, waiting for her to decide between me and Trent. Any more questions?"
    "Yeah. Who won?"
    "Obviously not me, chum."
    George pulled the sheet off the mutilated cadaver.