Read Online Rite of Wrongs by Mica Stone - Free Book Online

behind a desk and become a police officer. She was proud of the fact that in the heat of the moment and face-to-face, she’d saved more lives beyond the suicidal.
    The morgue and autopsy suite was in the basement of Union Park’s only hospital—a corner of the basement at that. A far corner, even, which meant a long, long walk from the elevator down the brightly lit and overly sanitized hallway’s squeaky-clean tile floor.
    Clean was good, but it was still a morgue, with dead bodies cracked open, internal organs removed, and secrets and dignity thrown to the wind. Not to mention the blood.
    So much blood.
    Once inside, having made eye contact with Fiona and shared a cursory nod, Miriam took up her usual position as far away from the stainless-steel table as she could get.
    She did her best not to shiver as she leaned against the cold counter near the exit. She didn’t need to see what was going on. She was good with listening to Fiona explain her findings. A technician from the crime lab listened as well, photographing the body and Fiona as she worked.
    But Ballard . . .
    He bellied up to the bar, his hands in his pockets, his goggles and protective clothing in place. Miriam wasn’t sure if he enjoyed watching Fiona or the autopsy more. Metal tools clinked as she finished with one and reached for the next. Miriam didn’t look too closely. She didn’t want to know what they were.
    “I gotta think this one’s pretty straightforward.”
    That was Ballard. Always hoping for the easy answer.
    Miriam thought in this case, he might be getting exactly that.
    From behind her hood, Fiona arched both brows at him and paused, a big-bladed knife-looking thing in her hand. “Nothing about homicide is straightforward, Detective. It complicates more lives than most crimes.”
    “Well, yeah,” he said with a shrug, a little kid reprimanded. “I get that. I just meant, the victim’s death—”
    “Please don’t use that word.” Fiona’s calm cut him off as surely as if she’d used whatever it was she was holding. “Mrs. Gardner lost her life at the hands of a killer. The least we can do is show our respect by using her name.”
    Ballard and Miriam, too, were accustomed to avoiding such personalization. Doing so gave them the distance they needed to see the whole picture, and not lose their shit over the things one human being could do to another.
    Fiona’s role wasn’t the same as theirs, even while she provided one of the most important investigative services in any homicide. In fact, Fiona was more empathetic than any ME Miriam had ever worked with. Her determination to do right by the person whose body lay under her hands had her finding the minutest of details.
    Miriam had her fingers crossed that would happen today. She didn’t yet have much to work with. She wasn’t going to discount a clue, no matter how seemingly small or random.
    Using her jacket lapel to block the smells, she tuned out the sound of Fiona’s saw and thought about the case. Would learning anything at all about the murder weapon help?
    There hadn’t appeared to be signs of a struggle. If there was anything beneath the victim’s nails, Fiona would find it, but Miriam wasn’t holding her breath. So far, her biggest lead was the bloody Scripture.
    She pulled her notebook from her pocket and found the page where she’d written down the entire verse: Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long upon the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee. Exodus 20:12.
    Why had the killer only painted the first six words? Had he run out of time, because she knew he hadn’t run out of paint. Maybe his brush wasn’t made for blood and had fallen apart. She scratched out a note to ask Karen Sosa about loose hairs, whether natural or synthetic.
    Were those the only words of the verse that mattered? Were they the only ones he needed in order to make his point? And what was his point? That Gina had not respected her birth parents? Or had