get to the bottom and start down a dark hallway.
I know we're at his mercy, but enough's enough. "You do realize one of us is a hero, right?"
Tank stops and looks back at Hericane like he forgot she was there. "Well, present company excluded, of course."
I get up in his face and lock eyes with him. His breath smells like putrid bacon. "And you do remember what it is we're about do, right?" I push a little closer; I need him to get the message. "Maybe you could show a little sensitivity for once in your life?"
His eyes drift, and I start to think I'm gonna have to paint him a picture. Then he focuses back in on me with a tough glare, and I think he doesn't have any sensitivity to begin with.
But he surprises me. "Sorry." He leans around me and looks at Hericane with an actual sincere expression on his greasy face. "Sorry." Then he whips around and marches off down the hallway. "This way, please."
I shrug at Hericane and follow him. An apology from the douche. Will wonders never cease?
He stops at a door midway down the hall and pushes it open. Surprise again, he actually holds it for us as we walk through.
"Charlie?" He wanders off across the room and disappears through a doorway.
Leaving us to look around.
I've been here many times in my career, but this time is different. Everything is very familiar to me--the silver tables draped with sheets, the trays of equipment, the power tools. The wall of cold storage drawers, each big enough to hold a lifeless human body.
But the feeling is all wrong--darkly personal instead of all business. Painful instead of clinical.
It reminds me of the one time, seven years ago, when I was down here for Jimmy and the boys. The one time they had to drag me kicking and screaming out the door, knocking shit over right and left.
Here we are again. Only she's taking it a lot better than I did.
At least on the outside.
Still, something needs to be said before this goes any further. "Hey." I turn and meet her gaze. "If you need to step out, you step out, all right?"
Hericane frowns and shakes her head. "I'm okay."
"Be that as it may, you got nothing to prove here." I raise my eyebrows. "Nothing to prove to anyone. You understand?"
She looks past me at the middle table, where vague outlines of parts and pieces are visible under the draped white sheet. She blinks once, then twice, then nods. "Sure."
"This will suck. I don't care who you are, this will suck." Reaching out, I give her invulnerable arm a squeeze. Feels just like any other arm to me. "But you got a friend right here. Okay?"
Hericane nods, eyes locked on the middle table.
I give her arm a shake. " Okay ?"
Her eyes dart away from the table and back to me. "Okay."
"Okay, ladies." Just then, Tank strolls back in, clapping his hands together. "Let's get this show on the road."
The coroner walks in behind him--an old guy named Charlie Abernathy. Sweetest guy you could ask for, been with the department since Eve ate the apple. More grandkids than there are ants in an anthill.
"Hello, Bonnie." He looks up from his stooped shuffle, peering over his Coke bottle glasses. "So very good to see you, dear."
"You, too, Charlie." Guy oughtta make me cringe, he autopsied Jimmy and the kids...but instead he makes me smile every time. What's he doing working with trash like Tank?
"Lieutenant Driscoll has filled me in." Charlie shuffles to the middle table and stops, looking at Hericane. "He says you're the victim's next of kin?"
Hericane bites her lip and nods. "Mm-hm."
Charlie touches a corner of the sheet on the table and clears his throat. "I guess you know she was pretty well obliterated. Her remains were dispersed throughout the apartment." He clears his throat again. "We, uh...we gathered her up as best we could. I doubt you'll see much that you recognize."
Hericane nods. Her eyes are locked on that sheet.
"But maybe that's a blessing, in a way." Charlie manages the faintest smile, and then it's gone. He pulls up the corner
I know we're at his mercy, but enough's enough. "You do realize one of us is a hero, right?"
Tank stops and looks back at Hericane like he forgot she was there. "Well, present company excluded, of course."
I get up in his face and lock eyes with him. His breath smells like putrid bacon. "And you do remember what it is we're about do, right?" I push a little closer; I need him to get the message. "Maybe you could show a little sensitivity for once in your life?"
His eyes drift, and I start to think I'm gonna have to paint him a picture. Then he focuses back in on me with a tough glare, and I think he doesn't have any sensitivity to begin with.
But he surprises me. "Sorry." He leans around me and looks at Hericane with an actual sincere expression on his greasy face. "Sorry." Then he whips around and marches off down the hallway. "This way, please."
I shrug at Hericane and follow him. An apology from the douche. Will wonders never cease?
He stops at a door midway down the hall and pushes it open. Surprise again, he actually holds it for us as we walk through.
"Charlie?" He wanders off across the room and disappears through a doorway.
Leaving us to look around.
I've been here many times in my career, but this time is different. Everything is very familiar to me--the silver tables draped with sheets, the trays of equipment, the power tools. The wall of cold storage drawers, each big enough to hold a lifeless human body.
But the feeling is all wrong--darkly personal instead of all business. Painful instead of clinical.
It reminds me of the one time, seven years ago, when I was down here for Jimmy and the boys. The one time they had to drag me kicking and screaming out the door, knocking shit over right and left.
Here we are again. Only she's taking it a lot better than I did.
At least on the outside.
Still, something needs to be said before this goes any further. "Hey." I turn and meet her gaze. "If you need to step out, you step out, all right?"
Hericane frowns and shakes her head. "I'm okay."
"Be that as it may, you got nothing to prove here." I raise my eyebrows. "Nothing to prove to anyone. You understand?"
She looks past me at the middle table, where vague outlines of parts and pieces are visible under the draped white sheet. She blinks once, then twice, then nods. "Sure."
"This will suck. I don't care who you are, this will suck." Reaching out, I give her invulnerable arm a squeeze. Feels just like any other arm to me. "But you got a friend right here. Okay?"
Hericane nods, eyes locked on the middle table.
I give her arm a shake. " Okay ?"
Her eyes dart away from the table and back to me. "Okay."
"Okay, ladies." Just then, Tank strolls back in, clapping his hands together. "Let's get this show on the road."
The coroner walks in behind him--an old guy named Charlie Abernathy. Sweetest guy you could ask for, been with the department since Eve ate the apple. More grandkids than there are ants in an anthill.
"Hello, Bonnie." He looks up from his stooped shuffle, peering over his Coke bottle glasses. "So very good to see you, dear."
"You, too, Charlie." Guy oughtta make me cringe, he autopsied Jimmy and the kids...but instead he makes me smile every time. What's he doing working with trash like Tank?
"Lieutenant Driscoll has filled me in." Charlie shuffles to the middle table and stops, looking at Hericane. "He says you're the victim's next of kin?"
Hericane bites her lip and nods. "Mm-hm."
Charlie touches a corner of the sheet on the table and clears his throat. "I guess you know she was pretty well obliterated. Her remains were dispersed throughout the apartment." He clears his throat again. "We, uh...we gathered her up as best we could. I doubt you'll see much that you recognize."
Hericane nods. Her eyes are locked on that sheet.
"But maybe that's a blessing, in a way." Charlie manages the faintest smile, and then it's gone. He pulls up the corner
Similar Books
