Rex followed Malloy out of the office. They got on an elevator that
dropped them to a sub-basement. Malloy manned a scooter and they rode
for several minutes down a long, straight corridor.
Just when Rex wondered whether or not The Chief knew where he was
going, Malloy stopped the scooter in front of a closed door. He opened
the door and motioned Rex inside.
The room was small and bare, boasting as furniture, only a rectangular
table in its center. On the table sat a rectangular box. Malloy pointed
into the box and said, "All right--start talking."
A small chill danced down Rex's spine. In the box lay a serene-faced,
middle-aged man with his hands folded over his chest. He had a rosy
complexion and appeared to be napping. What an odd place for a man to
sleep, Rex thought. He glanced up at Malloy. The latter said, "As near
as we can tell, he's been dead for four months."
"But--"
"I know. Perfectly preserved--the skin soft--all normal fluid still
present in the body. Nothing's wrong with him except that he's dead."