Sweet Dreams by William W. Johnstone Page A

wife’s brain?”
    â€œYes. I kept waiting for you to explain it. You never did.”
    â€œBecause I don’t know what caused it, Jerry. I’ve never seen anything like it. But I can give you both a foolish and very unscientific theory.”
    â€œHere it comes,” Voyles muttered.
    They waited while Finley relit his pipe.
    â€œThe brain was totally destroyed. Completely,” the M.E. said. “Almost,” he added, “as if the brain had been picked clean and then destroyed.”
    â€œOh, fuck!” Voyles said. “What is this, sci-fi time?”
    â€œMaybe it’s the Blob,” Jerry said. “Come on, Doctor Finley. You can’t be serious.”
    The M.E. was not ruffled by the sarcasm of both men. “After that was done, or perhaps during or before, her blood was drained and then every vital organ was destroyed.”
    Jerry sat up straighter, an incredulous look on his face. “Every organ?”
    â€œHeart, lungs, liver, spleen, brain, eyes, kidneys, reproductive system – everything. I have never seen anything to match it in thirty-five years as a medical examiner.”
    â€œWhat the hell am I going to put in my report!” Voyles asked, protest in his voice. “We’ve asked permission to take over this case, and received it. We’ll be working with a special team out of Jeff City.” He did not elaborate. “Picked her brain! Drank her blood! Jesus God, Doc. I put that in my report and I’ll be back working traffic in Cabool!”
    â€œI don’t know about your report, Lieutenant,” Finley said. “But I want every scrap of bone and hair and flesh md rags you people have in cold storage. And I want them here, in my lab, by eight o’clock in the morning. And if you think I can’t go over your head and get them, son, you are sadly mistaken.”
    â€œI believe, I believe!” Voyles said. “I was going to ask if you would work with us on this. Doctor Finley, just off the top of your head, sir, what killed the Baldwin woman?”
    â€œI can tell you my personal opinion. Doctor Baldwin, Lieutenant Voyles, I’m an old man. I’ve seen many things in this world that I cannot explain. I’ve come to believe in many things others in my profession scoff at. I don’t for one minute believe the races of people populating the earth’s surface are the only intelligent beings God created. I am very comfortable accepting both theories on how we came to be, for there is no way of telling how many times the Almighty attempted to make us in His image and failed, no way of knowing how many worlds He populated. I have seen UFOs, as I imagine most people have – whether they realize it or not. And I believe that whatever killed Mrs. Baldwin was not of this world.”
    â€œI’m supposed to put in my report that she was killed by little green men?” Voyles asked, dismay in his voice. “Doc, give me a break. I do that and I may as well get ready for a transfer to Siberia.”
    Finley smiled. “Voyles, you may put in your report that Mrs. Lisa Baldwin died of a heart attack brought on by massive amounts of alcohol. I could have retired years ago, so any threats anyone might wish to heap upon my head are meaningless as far as I am concerned.”
    The highway cop visibly relaxed. “What about her being sexually molested?”
    â€œWhat about it?” Finley tossed the question back to the cop. “Fine. She was raped. Put that in your report too. We’ll get together in a few days with the whole team and go over the real cause of her death.”
    â€œBut you said you didn’t know what killed her,” Voyles said.
    â€œNo, son,” Finley replied slowly. “I know what killed her. I just don’t believe anything of this earth did it.”

8
    Heather had gone to bed earlier than usual. She had not drawn attention to the fact. She had just taken a