Vic liked to whistle as he worked. In his mind it was
a pastime that delivered cheer to an otherwise depressing setting. Around him
bodies lay under sheets, their toe tags flapping in the draft. First on his
schedule was a Miss Marie Delvigne and, while her occupation was left blank,
any man within three villages knew of the trade she plied. She’d been found
face down in her own vomit and it made the other ladies like her jumpy. He was
aware of a wet spot forming on his pelvis as her body oozed and leaked on the
table.
