said, a tremor
in his voice. “The circumstances surrounding his death
were...odd.”
Odd. The same word Lambert had used when he came to me in the first
place. And now the poor bastard was dead.
“Odd how?” I asked cautiously.
“You need to see for yourself.” Tilton
glanced past me. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d bring Dr. Whyborne
with you.”
My spine stiffened. “Dr. Whyborne?”
Tilton met my gaze, but there was no
challenge or anger in his eyes. Just fear. “Word gets around in
this town, Mr. Flaherty. There’s an official version of what
happened at the museum that Hallowe’en. Of the freak wave that
almost wiped Widdershins off the map, only to die away just in
time. And then there’s...another version, let’s say.” He looked
away. “I don’t mean to imply Dr. Whyborne has any...expertise...in
these sorts of things. I’m just suggesting that if you happen to
bring a curious friend to the morgue with you, I’d be
indebted.”
Technically, there was no reason even for me
to go. With Lambert dead, there was no one paying me to look into
the case. I had no business investigating his death; rather, I
should leave the matter to the police and be done.
Tubbs had died horribly on a stone altar
very like the one on which the Brotherhood would have sacrificed
me. And now Lambert was dead as well, in a manner that disturbed
the Widdershins police, who ought to be fairly inured to the
bizarre by now.
“Of course,” I said. “Allow me to wake Dr.
Whyborne and apprise him of the situation.”
Chapter 13
Whyborne
The eastern sky was still black when we
arrived at the city morgue. Tilton led the way into the large front
room, where the unidentified dead lay on display, in hopes some
desperate spouse or child or mother might recognize them. I’d only
set foot here once before, when coming to view the body of Miss
Emily, the maid who’d helped raise me after Mother fell ill. I
still couldn’t think of her without a mix of grief and anger, for
all the secrets she’d kept from us.
The smell of death was heavy in the summer
heat, so thick I almost tasted it. I glanced at Griffin, but he
betrayed no disgust, his face carefully neutral in the presence of
so many police. The officer just behind him looked distinctly
green, however.
An unjust flicker of pleasure went through
me at that. Of course the police would—I desperately hoped—think
nothing of knocking on our door in the middle of the night. Never
realize we’d suffered those moments of heart-pounding fear, when I
contemplated the lawyers Father could muster, the judges he might
bribe.
But I hated that I had to be afraid at
all.
Tilton spoke with an attendant, who beckoned
us after. We passed through a small door into the inner workings of
the morgue. The thick walls held in a coolness absent in the
viewing room, though the reek of death didn’t lessen, as if it had
seeped into the very floor over time.
The officer remained outside the room, while
Griffin and I accompanied Tilton and the attendant within. Two
bodies lay on the steel tables tonight. Tilton didn’t bother to ask
which belonged to Lambert, but made straight for the sheet soaked
through with blood.
Not a good sign.
The attendant reached for the sheet, but
Tilton held up his hand. “Before you see the body, allow me to
explain what happened. Or what little we know of what happened.”
His skin had taken on a pasty hue. “According to the officer on
duty, everything was normal when he checked on the prisoners. There
was Lambert in his cell, and one of the Waites in another, worse
off for drink and passed out cold in his cot. The officer on night
watch put out the light and went back to his post just outside.
Everything was quiet for an hour or two. Then, just before
midnight, the screaming began.”
Tilton took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on
the bloody sheet. “The officer rushed back to see what was going
on, but by the time he arrived, Lambert was dead. He
in his voice. “The circumstances surrounding his death
were...odd.”
Odd. The same word Lambert had used when he came to me in the first
place. And now the poor bastard was dead.
“Odd how?” I asked cautiously.
“You need to see for yourself.” Tilton
glanced past me. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d bring Dr. Whyborne
with you.”
My spine stiffened. “Dr. Whyborne?”
Tilton met my gaze, but there was no
challenge or anger in his eyes. Just fear. “Word gets around in
this town, Mr. Flaherty. There’s an official version of what
happened at the museum that Hallowe’en. Of the freak wave that
almost wiped Widdershins off the map, only to die away just in
time. And then there’s...another version, let’s say.” He looked
away. “I don’t mean to imply Dr. Whyborne has any...expertise...in
these sorts of things. I’m just suggesting that if you happen to
bring a curious friend to the morgue with you, I’d be
indebted.”
Technically, there was no reason even for me
to go. With Lambert dead, there was no one paying me to look into
the case. I had no business investigating his death; rather, I
should leave the matter to the police and be done.
Tubbs had died horribly on a stone altar
very like the one on which the Brotherhood would have sacrificed
me. And now Lambert was dead as well, in a manner that disturbed
the Widdershins police, who ought to be fairly inured to the
bizarre by now.
“Of course,” I said. “Allow me to wake Dr.
Whyborne and apprise him of the situation.”
Chapter 13
Whyborne
The eastern sky was still black when we
arrived at the city morgue. Tilton led the way into the large front
room, where the unidentified dead lay on display, in hopes some
desperate spouse or child or mother might recognize them. I’d only
set foot here once before, when coming to view the body of Miss
Emily, the maid who’d helped raise me after Mother fell ill. I
still couldn’t think of her without a mix of grief and anger, for
all the secrets she’d kept from us.
The smell of death was heavy in the summer
heat, so thick I almost tasted it. I glanced at Griffin, but he
betrayed no disgust, his face carefully neutral in the presence of
so many police. The officer just behind him looked distinctly
green, however.
An unjust flicker of pleasure went through
me at that. Of course the police would—I desperately hoped—think
nothing of knocking on our door in the middle of the night. Never
realize we’d suffered those moments of heart-pounding fear, when I
contemplated the lawyers Father could muster, the judges he might
bribe.
But I hated that I had to be afraid at
all.
Tilton spoke with an attendant, who beckoned
us after. We passed through a small door into the inner workings of
the morgue. The thick walls held in a coolness absent in the
viewing room, though the reek of death didn’t lessen, as if it had
seeped into the very floor over time.
The officer remained outside the room, while
Griffin and I accompanied Tilton and the attendant within. Two
bodies lay on the steel tables tonight. Tilton didn’t bother to ask
which belonged to Lambert, but made straight for the sheet soaked
through with blood.
Not a good sign.
The attendant reached for the sheet, but
Tilton held up his hand. “Before you see the body, allow me to
explain what happened. Or what little we know of what happened.”
His skin had taken on a pasty hue. “According to the officer on
duty, everything was normal when he checked on the prisoners. There
was Lambert in his cell, and one of the Waites in another, worse
off for drink and passed out cold in his cot. The officer on night
watch put out the light and went back to his post just outside.
Everything was quiet for an hour or two. Then, just before
midnight, the screaming began.”
Tilton took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on
the bloody sheet. “The officer rushed back to see what was going
on, but by the time he arrived, Lambert was dead. He
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