The white Yak 42 with blue flashes touched down smoothly on the tarmac at Saratov airport in southern Russia, with barely a squeal from the tires. The roar of the engines filled the air as the pilot engaged reverse thrust to bring the aircraft down to taxi speed.
Outside of the airport, near the arrivals gate, a small crowd had gathered, many carrying flowers for their expected friends and family.
Hunter stripped off his paper gown. The autopsy, at last, had come to an end. Dr. Carver left his assistant to close up the body, and he and Hunter headed for Carver’s office for a recap of the results.
“It didn’t appear that she was sexually assaulted before the murder,” Carver said, sitting behind his desk, “but she led a very active sexual life.”
Smith shifted the rifle, squinted through the scope, and centered the crosshairs on the target. This one looked much like the last two—a man in his mid-20s, fit, and fairly good-looking. But unlike the last two this man was drunk and getting a blow job.
