spotless. The stainless-steel tables and shelves gleamed. The white linoleum floors and porcelain basins always had a glossy finish. The state inspectors constantly praised Scott and told him they wished all the places they had to inspect looked this good.
Now as he pulled up to the back door his eyes darted around, looking for a vehicle. Joe Black had been driving something different every time they’d met. Scott figured he must use various leased cars or perhaps rentals. Last night Joe had walked up the beach so Scott hadn’t even seen what he was driving. But there wasn’t a vehicle anywhere in sight. Could he have finished already? Or maybe he hadn’t started yet.
Scott disarmed the alarm system and had his key in the door when he heard something rattling against the back of the building. He stopped and leaned around the corner. A rusted old shoppingcart had been wedged between the trunk of a magnolia tree and his Dumpster.
Damn! He hated people snooping around his property, leaving trash. It cost money to empty that frickin’ Dumpster.
He was shaking his head, still cursing under his breath, when he went inside. He immediately reset the alarm.
Scott understood that there were specific reasons why he had become a mortician. He didn’t really like working with people. Sure, he had to advise and guide the bereaved, but it was easier to work with people when they were at their most vulnerable. They automatically looked to him as the expert. There was a built-in respect that came with the job title.
He actually didn’t mind working with dead people. Trish insisted that much of what he did was creepy and gross: the makeup, hairstyling, and clothes. Sometimes he had to paint the skin or sew up leaking orifices. And there were the plastic lenses he inserted beneath the eyelids to keep the eyes from popping open in the middle of a memorial.
Even the blood didn’t bother him. You drained it out and replaced it with embalming fluid. Oh sure, you couldn’t avoid blood leaking out sometimes, but it never sprayed or splattered like it did from a live, pumping heart. And yet, despite all the awkward and messy jobs Scott had done, nothing had prepared him for what he saw.
He backed up and stayed in the doorway, his hand pressed against the wall, needing it to steady himself.
Pink liquid pooled on the white linoleum floor and filled the troughs alongside the stainless-steel tables. A cardboard box blocked his entry, the type Scott used for bodies transported to the crematory,only this one held wadded-up bundles of clothes. On one of the tables lay a torso—the head, arms, and legs gone. On the other lay a corpse. It looked peaceful until Scott realized its knees and feet were cut and in between its legs.
Joe Black stood at the counter. When he turned around, Scott saw the front of his lab gown, his latex gloves, and his shoe covers, all soaked with blood.
“Oh hey, Scott, you’re just in time. I could use some help.”
CHAPTER 15
Maggie stared at the helicopter and the orange flight suit being handed to her. Obviously she hadn’t given it enough thought when she asked to see the crime scene. It was the Coast Guard, for God’s sake. Didn’t they use boats?
A helicopter. She felt her knees go a bit weak. She could barely handle being trapped on a commercial airliner. How the hell was she supposed to do a helicopter?
“Wouldn’t it be easier to take a look from a boat?” she asked, still not accepting the flight suit that the young woman offered.
She hoped the question didn’t sound ridiculous. Already she felt a bit sick to her stomach just from the thought of climbing into the helicopter. She pushed her sunglasses up and crossed her arms, pretending it was no big deal how they proceeded. She didn’t want the aircrew to interpret her hesitancy as fear. The slip, the tell would not be a great start to the investigation, and it would certainly hamper her credibility, let alone her authority.A refusal or
Now as he pulled up to the back door his eyes darted around, looking for a vehicle. Joe Black had been driving something different every time they’d met. Scott figured he must use various leased cars or perhaps rentals. Last night Joe had walked up the beach so Scott hadn’t even seen what he was driving. But there wasn’t a vehicle anywhere in sight. Could he have finished already? Or maybe he hadn’t started yet.
Scott disarmed the alarm system and had his key in the door when he heard something rattling against the back of the building. He stopped and leaned around the corner. A rusted old shoppingcart had been wedged between the trunk of a magnolia tree and his Dumpster.
Damn! He hated people snooping around his property, leaving trash. It cost money to empty that frickin’ Dumpster.
He was shaking his head, still cursing under his breath, when he went inside. He immediately reset the alarm.
Scott understood that there were specific reasons why he had become a mortician. He didn’t really like working with people. Sure, he had to advise and guide the bereaved, but it was easier to work with people when they were at their most vulnerable. They automatically looked to him as the expert. There was a built-in respect that came with the job title.
He actually didn’t mind working with dead people. Trish insisted that much of what he did was creepy and gross: the makeup, hairstyling, and clothes. Sometimes he had to paint the skin or sew up leaking orifices. And there were the plastic lenses he inserted beneath the eyelids to keep the eyes from popping open in the middle of a memorial.
Even the blood didn’t bother him. You drained it out and replaced it with embalming fluid. Oh sure, you couldn’t avoid blood leaking out sometimes, but it never sprayed or splattered like it did from a live, pumping heart. And yet, despite all the awkward and messy jobs Scott had done, nothing had prepared him for what he saw.
He backed up and stayed in the doorway, his hand pressed against the wall, needing it to steady himself.
Pink liquid pooled on the white linoleum floor and filled the troughs alongside the stainless-steel tables. A cardboard box blocked his entry, the type Scott used for bodies transported to the crematory,only this one held wadded-up bundles of clothes. On one of the tables lay a torso—the head, arms, and legs gone. On the other lay a corpse. It looked peaceful until Scott realized its knees and feet were cut and in between its legs.
Joe Black stood at the counter. When he turned around, Scott saw the front of his lab gown, his latex gloves, and his shoe covers, all soaked with blood.
“Oh hey, Scott, you’re just in time. I could use some help.”
CHAPTER 15
Maggie stared at the helicopter and the orange flight suit being handed to her. Obviously she hadn’t given it enough thought when she asked to see the crime scene. It was the Coast Guard, for God’s sake. Didn’t they use boats?
A helicopter. She felt her knees go a bit weak. She could barely handle being trapped on a commercial airliner. How the hell was she supposed to do a helicopter?
“Wouldn’t it be easier to take a look from a boat?” she asked, still not accepting the flight suit that the young woman offered.
She hoped the question didn’t sound ridiculous. Already she felt a bit sick to her stomach just from the thought of climbing into the helicopter. She pushed her sunglasses up and crossed her arms, pretending it was no big deal how they proceeded. She didn’t want the aircrew to interpret her hesitancy as fear. The slip, the tell would not be a great start to the investigation, and it would certainly hamper her credibility, let alone her authority.A refusal or
Similar Books
