of hours he did.
But wouldnât that have been his partner?
She supposed not, since Patton had been at thehospital welcoming his new daughter into the world. Maybe Henson and his partner hadnât bonded closely enough in the past six months for Henson to share his obsession with all things electronic.
The idea that something was wrong with the scenario just kept nagging at her.
Alex drove, her destination uncertain. She couldnât go to the scene of the explosion in Morningside until Shannon called her back with an exact location. No point in checking out the crash site where Hensonâs car had been found; the cops had already been over it and the car was in the hands of forensics.
There was just one thing she could do right now.
Go to the morgue.
The concept was a fairly simple one that had only just occurred to her. The old guy whoâd blown off half his head had two eyesâor at least he did before he opted to discharge a .45 into his skull. Most folks who chose contacts over eyeglasses wore two. Maybe there was still one attached to the guyâs intact eye.
Anticipation fired through her.
Only one way to find out.
It wasnât that she didnât trust the cops to do theirjob. She did, usually. But sheâd been doing this job long enough to know she didnât have anything to prompt their attention, to make them look beyond the obvious. Cops operated under the rule of probable cause. Unless something at the scene of Hensonâs crash looked suspicious or some foul play involving his car was discovered, the case would be ruled accidental. End of story.
Henson had been a damned good cop. Not only was he good at his job, he truly cared. That was exactly why heâd chosen to run the contact lens through some preliminary analysis when any other cop would have dismissed it. There really wasnât any reason to suspect the contact lens was anything relevant. It was just weird looking. But, because the lens was so unusual and Henson had a thing for the odd, he had wanted to be sure. That was just the kind of cop he was. Thorough. Dedicated. Maybe even a little hopeful that heâd be the detective who busted some big spy ring or something.
Damn she was going to miss that guy.
Â
The Morgue Bureau was part of an imposing three-building complex nestled amid a couple of lushly landscaped acres on the perimeter of the University of Miami Medical School Center. South Florida tropical trees, shrubs and bushes indigenous to the area highlighted the meticulously cared for landscape.
Inside, the elegant furnishings, potted palms, soft lighting and smiling receptionist would almost make one think of a ritzy resort hotel. At least until you read the mission statement above the front desk:
To provide accurate, timely, dignified, compassionate and professional death investigative services for the citizens of Miami-Dade County.
That stopped any warm, fuzzy feelings dead in their tracks.
As far as Alex was concerned the luxurious details were wasted on most visitors to the Joseph H. Davis Center for Forensics Pathology considering they were dead. But, hey, the place looked great. Didnât even smell like a morgue. Special electronic air filters erased the unmistakable odors of formaldehyde and decomposing bodies.
Alex waved to the receptionist but didnât bother checking in. Sheâd been here enough times to know her way around and headed straight for the work area of an old friend, Cody Feldman, an evidence courier. If he wasnât in sheâd just have to try her luckwith an assistant medical examiner sheâd dated a couple of times. But Cody would be far easier toâ¦coax into doing what she wanted. He had a thing for Alex.
A smile stretched across her lips as she recalled the last time theyâd gone out. A couple of months ago. Friday night. Dinner and a movie had been on the agenda but theyâd never made it out of her house.
What could she say?
Cody was
But wouldnât that have been his partner?
She supposed not, since Patton had been at thehospital welcoming his new daughter into the world. Maybe Henson and his partner hadnât bonded closely enough in the past six months for Henson to share his obsession with all things electronic.
The idea that something was wrong with the scenario just kept nagging at her.
Alex drove, her destination uncertain. She couldnât go to the scene of the explosion in Morningside until Shannon called her back with an exact location. No point in checking out the crash site where Hensonâs car had been found; the cops had already been over it and the car was in the hands of forensics.
There was just one thing she could do right now.
Go to the morgue.
The concept was a fairly simple one that had only just occurred to her. The old guy whoâd blown off half his head had two eyesâor at least he did before he opted to discharge a .45 into his skull. Most folks who chose contacts over eyeglasses wore two. Maybe there was still one attached to the guyâs intact eye.
Anticipation fired through her.
Only one way to find out.
It wasnât that she didnât trust the cops to do theirjob. She did, usually. But sheâd been doing this job long enough to know she didnât have anything to prompt their attention, to make them look beyond the obvious. Cops operated under the rule of probable cause. Unless something at the scene of Hensonâs crash looked suspicious or some foul play involving his car was discovered, the case would be ruled accidental. End of story.
Henson had been a damned good cop. Not only was he good at his job, he truly cared. That was exactly why heâd chosen to run the contact lens through some preliminary analysis when any other cop would have dismissed it. There really wasnât any reason to suspect the contact lens was anything relevant. It was just weird looking. But, because the lens was so unusual and Henson had a thing for the odd, he had wanted to be sure. That was just the kind of cop he was. Thorough. Dedicated. Maybe even a little hopeful that heâd be the detective who busted some big spy ring or something.
Damn she was going to miss that guy.
Â
The Morgue Bureau was part of an imposing three-building complex nestled amid a couple of lushly landscaped acres on the perimeter of the University of Miami Medical School Center. South Florida tropical trees, shrubs and bushes indigenous to the area highlighted the meticulously cared for landscape.
Inside, the elegant furnishings, potted palms, soft lighting and smiling receptionist would almost make one think of a ritzy resort hotel. At least until you read the mission statement above the front desk:
To provide accurate, timely, dignified, compassionate and professional death investigative services for the citizens of Miami-Dade County.
That stopped any warm, fuzzy feelings dead in their tracks.
As far as Alex was concerned the luxurious details were wasted on most visitors to the Joseph H. Davis Center for Forensics Pathology considering they were dead. But, hey, the place looked great. Didnât even smell like a morgue. Special electronic air filters erased the unmistakable odors of formaldehyde and decomposing bodies.
Alex waved to the receptionist but didnât bother checking in. Sheâd been here enough times to know her way around and headed straight for the work area of an old friend, Cody Feldman, an evidence courier. If he wasnât in sheâd just have to try her luckwith an assistant medical examiner sheâd dated a couple of times. But Cody would be far easier toâ¦coax into doing what she wanted. He had a thing for Alex.
A smile stretched across her lips as she recalled the last time theyâd gone out. A couple of months ago. Friday night. Dinner and a movie had been on the agenda but theyâd never made it out of her house.
What could she say?
Cody was
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