Blip-click. Blip-click. The coroner snapped away for the obligatory crime-scene photos, picking angles and framings that seemed more artistic than forensic. At least it appeared so to the two-headed police detective who looked on, impatiently tapping his pen on his notepad.
There was something oddly peaceful about the dead alien sitting there, slumped over his huge desk. His calm face rested in a puddle of dark blood. Looked like ink.
"Alright, enough with the pictures," said the detective's left head while the right one rolled its eyes, "he's not goin' in a freakin' catalogue! How about making yourself useful and givin' me a preliminary verdict as to the time of death."
The medical examiner stopped and stretched up with a thoughtful nod.
"Well, Inspector, this one's tricky, mighty tricky. Speaking professionally though, my preliminary verdict would be... based on the color of the blood, I would say... then there's the stiffness of the body to consider..."
"And all this tells you exactly what, coroner?" The detective snapped back the hat on the head that asked the question.
"Don't they call that rigor mortis?" It was Rivqua who spoke.
The detective's two heads turned and the coroner looked up.
"Rigor mortis," Rivqua repeated. "Stiffness of the body. Gives you an idea how long somebody's been dead based on how frozen stuck the body is."
"I know some bands called Rigor Mortis," Zana said, "and the name fits their music perfectly."
The detective pointed with his pen. "You two ladies have been in here from the moment we came in. Why? Who are you and what are you doin' here? Answer me!"
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