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be missed, eventually, and then we would know who he was. That was the first step in figuring out who killed him.
    We stood and watched as the doc and Marilyn worked. The only identifying mark on the body was the spidery tattoo on his right hand, and we knew that meant he was somehow connected with a tong. They’d already taken dental x-rays, which we could use to confirm identity if we couldn’t find someone who knew him. “Any news from missing persons?” Doc asked as he worked.
    I shook my head. “You know the drill. No one is really missing unless he’s been missing twenty-four hours.”
    Doc fingerprinted the guy, rolling the tips carefully across the pad just as we’d been taught to do with live subjects, and put aside the prints. We’d run them through our computer, and with luck we’d find a match, because based on the tattoo he was likely involved in something illicit. There are also a few reasons why law-abiding citizens have their prints on file; for example, some states require d fingerprinting for licensing, and once in a while you’ll find a match with a real estate broker or stock dealer.
    Doc carefully examined the guy’s fingernails and hands, looking for any signs he might have grappled with his assailant. Often they can find microscopic elements under the fingernails which could lead to the killer, but in this case it was pretty obvious to all of us that the guy had been hit from behind and hadn’t had a chance to fight. Doc made a detailed record of the condition of the body, noting a small mole on the chin and a tiny scar on the left ring finger. It made me wonder if the guy had been married, because I’ve seen men who wear wedding rings cut themselves when their rings get caught on something
    The room went dark again for a while as Marilyn shone a light all over the guy’s body. “Since he was dragged down the alley, we may get lucky and find some fingerprints on him,” Doc said. “This scope helps us find them.”
    Akoni nudged me. “How you holding up, man?”
    “Okay. You?”
    “I’ve felt better.”
    When we turned back, they were lifting prints from his skin. “Not much luck,” Doc said. “We might get a good one from his hand. And there’s a nice clean one up by his neck. Somebody taking his pulse, probably.”
    Marilyn turned the lights back on. Something was bothering me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I chalked it up to my general discomfort level. While Doc and Marilyn made the Y-incision down the guy’s body, Akoni and I stepped back. I had seen this before and it wasn’t pretty. Since the guy had died of a head trauma, I didn’t think there was much his insides could tell us, and I didn’t really want to lose my saimin if I could help it. Akoni was already looking pretty pale.
    Doc cut the poor guy open and removed his internal organs, weighing them and remarking on them. “Too much fatty foods,” he said at one point. “That can kill you.”
    Akoni and I looked at each other. I waited until the sound of the saw had stopped before I turned back. That’s always the worst part to me, cutting the top of the head off and removing the brain. “You want to see the blood vessels?” Doc asked.
    “We’ll take your word for it, Doc,” I said.
    “Death definitely occurred as a result of blunt trauma to the head. Almost instantaneous. Probably no more than an hour before he was found. Maybe even less.”
    Doc promised to fax over a final report within twenty-four hours. We collected our evidence and went down to the car.
    “Well, I can’t say we know much more than we knew when we went in there,” I said. “He confirmed what we thought, though.”
    “That still doesn’t give us much of a place to start,” Akoni said.
    “Well, we’ve got a guy with tong connections, and he was killed outside a gay bar. Tongs own any of those bars, you know?”
    Akoni shook his head. “No clue.” I handed the evidence bag to him so I could fish out my keys, and the