I turned away from the corpse and opened my eyes, staring down at the floor.
"Ryan?" Ericson said, from the far side of the body. The note of hardness that had been in her voice all evening was absent. She hadn't moved while I had done my cursory examination.
"I recognize him," I said.
"At least, I think I do. You'll need to check dental records or something, to be sure."
I could hear her frown in her words.
"Yeah? Who was he?"
"I don't know his name. I always called him Spike. For the haircut. He was one of Walter Payton's bodyguards."
Ericson was quiet for a moment, then said, succinctly, "Shit."
"What, Ericson?" I looked back at her, without looking down at Spike's mangled remains.
Ericson's face was set in concern, for me, her blue eyes gentle. I saw her wipe the expression away, as quickly as a shadow crosses the floor, a smoothing of lines that left her features neutral. I
