"Okay, one more time, Patrolman. Why did you need us here?"

The young uniformed officer squirmed visibly, looking down and clearing his throat, trying to avoid his superior's penetrating stare. The very tired looking lieutenant, his fedora perched almost haphazardly on his head, his tie loose and top shirt button undone was staring at the patrolman's downturned head, his impatience almost palpable.

The lieutenant's younger partner was standing several feet away, looking equally exhausted and disheveled, but a wry, almost sympathetic smile played across his face and he turned away with a barely perceptible chuckle.

"Well, sir," the patrolman started tentatively, "we have a body and…" His voice trailed off as he gestured vaguely towards the deceased lying face down on the hotel room floor.

Mike Stone leaned forward slightly as the pause lengthened. "Yes, I can see that, Patrolman…ah…" he glanced at the nametag on the dark blue shirt, "Johnson. But what makes you think this is a murder?" The voice was velvety smooth but everyone in the room could hear the barely suppressed irritation.

A slightly louder chuckle that became a covering cough erupted from the inspector as he took a step deeper into the room and knelt beside the body.

The lieutenant turned slightly and gestured towards the floor. "So are there any signs of foul play here? Any signs of a fight or any kind of physical altercation?"

It took the patrolmen a few seconds to clue in that the questions were not quite rhetorical. "Oh, ah, no, sir."

"Steve," Mike said without looking at his partner, "do you see any signs of violence on the body?"

The inspector scanned the deceased, a middle-aged man, wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts, lying face down on the carpet at the foot of the bed, head towards the door, half a burned out cigarette in his upraised left hand. He rolled the body slightly, glancing underneath.

"Nope, nothing. There's not a mark on him that I can see."

Mike, who had turned to his partner, looked slowly back at the patrolman. "So what makes you think this poor guy just didn't have a heart attack?"

Johnson swallowed heavily and cleared his throat again. "Well, sir, um, the sliding glass door to the balcony was open slightly and, ah, and the dead bolt wasn't on the door. The room is really hot and the air conditioning wasn't on, and you know it was a really unusually hot day today."

As Steve got to his feet, Mike slipped both hands into his pockets and looked around the room. Taking a deep breath, he asked quietly, "Who is he and who found the body?"

The patrolman perked up, opening the notebook in his hand. Steve suppressed a smile. "His name is John Bennett and he's a salesman for a paper company, Carlton Stationary, based here. He lives upstate in McKinleyville, which is near Eureka. The hotel manager says he knows him – he's a regular, two to three times a year.

"He had a business meeting this morning and when he didn't show up, one of his associates, a Fred Neuberger, showed up here and asked the manager if they could check up on him and they found him like this." He gestured towards the floor with his notebook.

Mike looked back at the body and took a deep breath. He glanced at his partner, only to be met with a wry half smile as Steve looked away with a shake of his head, starting back towards the door.

"Well, Patrolman Johnson," Mike said with a heavy sigh, "if you find any signs of foul play, you let us know, but right now, this just looks like an unfortunate natural death. So why don't you follow up on this - call Mr. ah…."

"Bennett, sir."

"Mr. Bennett's wife, let her know what's happened to her husband, find out if he has a history of heart disease or anything else, follow up with the autopsy…you know, the usual." Mike put a gentle hand on the patrolman's chest and looked into his eyes. "I admire your enthusiasm, Johnson, but you just have to be careful not to turn every death into a homicide. We're busy enough already."

"Ah, yes, sir," Johnson stammered, nodding.

Mike smiled kindly, then turned to the others in the room – Johnson's partner, the hotel manager and one of the city's coroners. "Thanks, fellas." Trying to suppress a yawn, and rubbing the back of his neck wearily, he followed his partner out into the corridor.

With a smile and a chuckle, Steve glanced back at the older man. "Yeah, that was just what we needed this morning. So, how many hours has it been now since either of us has been home?" He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes then through his hair.

Mike snorted. "I've lost track. Tell ya what, when we get back in the car, turn off the radio. I don't want to answer another call before I get up close and personal with my bed for at least eight hours."

Steve chuckled. "You have to admit, the guy has enthusiasm."

"You can say that again," Mike laughed as he fell into step beside his partner. "Kinda reminds me of me. Did I ever tell you about the first dead body I came across as a rookie?"

Steve shook his head. They had arrived at the elevators and he punched the 'down' button.

"Oh yeah," Mike said with a nod, "I thought I had it all figured out. The old lady was dead at the foot of her stairs. She lived in one of those beautiful old Victorian's over on Steiner. Worth a mint, even back then. So I had it all figured out – some greedy relative pushed her down the stairs so they could get their inheritance. I was so sure I took my theory right to the captain, went right over the head of my sergeant."

The elevator car had arrived and they stepped in.

"So," Steve asked, "were you right?"

Mike chuckled as he leaned against the back of the car, hands in his pocket, and crossed his legs. "Oh yeah, I was right, alright." As Steve looked at him sideways, he chuckled even harder. "Turned out she tripped over her cat."

# # # # #

Through the fog of a heavy sleep, Steve thought he heard both his doorbell and heavy pounding on his front door. With a groan, he pushed himself up onto one elbow and looked at his clock/radio. 8:14. He glanced at the window but when no sunlight peaked around the curtains, he groaned again and flopped back down on the bed. He'd only been asleep for about five hours…

The doorbell and pounding continued, and was still going about a minute later when the door opened and a bleary-eyed, dressing-gowned Steve glared at the equally reddened, heavy-lidded eyes of his partner. "Mike, what the hell…?"

"Get dressed," the older man growled. "I just got a call from Bernie. They're doing the autopsy on that guy from the hotel this morning…and there's something he wants to show us."

# # # # #

"This better be good, Bernie. Steve and I have had about four hours sleep in the past 48," Mike grumbled as they strode into the autopsy room, glancing quickly at the body under a sheet on the table.

The head coroner looked up from the file folder in his hand, somewhat taken aback at the disheveled appearance of the two usually dapper detectives. "Sorry, Mike, but Patrolman Johnson said you told him to let you know if there were any signs of foul play and ah, well…" He hefted the folder.

Mike glanced at his partner, eyebrows raised. "So, what, it wasn't a heart attack?" he asked the doctor.

"Not even close." Bernie moved to the autopsy table, pulling the sheet down to the reveal the body's entire torso. Both detectives winced at the sight of the still exposed organs of John Bennett. Bernie suppressed a smile as Mike closed his eyes briefly and Steve looked away but they both quickly pulled themselves together and stepped closer to the table.

"Okay, so, as you can see we have bruising here and here," the coroner said, pointing to areas on Bennett's left hip and ribcage, "which could be consistent with a fall, but could also be the result of a beating. But that's not what I wanted you to see." He pointed at the lower abdominal area. "His bowels are ruptured, as is his stomach, his heart is lacerated and his chest cavity was filled with blood." He hesitated and took a deep breath. "But that's not all."

He turned the sheet down even more. "There is a laceration on the scrotum, that might have come from a kick," he said evenly, and peripherally he saw both detectives wince and cringe slightly, as he knew they would.

Steve was staring at the body. "What are you saying, Bernie?"

The coroner took a deep breath. "Gentlemen, the cause of this man's death was blunt force trauma. This man was murdered."

Mike rocked back on his heels. Steve's head came up quickly, staring at Bernie then he turned and looked at his partner, who met his gaze. Mike's eyes slid back to the body and he rubbed his left hand over his mouth. Exhaling loudly, he said wryly, "Well, I guess I owe Patrolman Johnson an apology."