One by One by Chris Carter

head gesture she indicated the swinging double doors to the right of the reception.
    Hunter and Garcia pushed through them and carried on down the long, squeaky-clean white corridor. At the end of it they turned left into a shorter hallway, where an orderly wheeling a body on a gurney covered by a white sheet was coming their way. One of the two fluorescent ceiling lights was malfunctioning, flickering on and off at odd intervals. The scene reminded Hunter of some B-rated horror movie.
    Hunter pinched his nose as if he was about to sneeze. The smell of the place got to him every time. It was like a hospital’s, but with a different punch to it. Something that seemed to claw at the back of his throat and slowly burn the inside of his nostrils like acid. But today the overpowering smell of disinfectant and cleaning products was churning his stomach even more. It was like he could smell the sodium hydroxide in them. Garcia seemed to have picked that up too, judging by the look on his face.
    Another left turn and they were at the door to Autopsy Theater One.
    Hunter pressed the intercom button on the wall and heard static crackle from the tiny speaker. ‘Doctor Hove?’ he called.
    The heavy door buzzed and unlocked with a hiss like a pressure seal. Hunter pushed it open and he and Garcia stepped inside the large and winter-cold room. Its walls were tiled in brilliant white. Its floor was done in shiny vinyl. Three stainless-steel autopsy tables sprang out of a long counter with oversized sinks that ran along the east wall. On the ceiling, above each table, was a circular island of surgical lights. Metal crypts took up two walls and looked like large filing cabinets with bulky handles. The Chief Medical Examiner for the Los Angeles County Department of Coroner was standing at the far end of the room.
    Doctor Carolyn Hove was tall and slim with penetrating green eyes and long chestnut hair that she usually kept in a ponytail, but today it was rolled up into a simple bun. Her surgical mask hung loosely around her neck, revealing full lips with just a touch of pink lipstick, prominent cheekbones and a petite, delicate nose. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her white lab coverall.
    ‘Robert, Carlos,’ she greeted each detective with a nod. Her voice was velvety but firm, the kind that was always in control.
    Both detectives returned the gesture in silence.
    ‘Mike told me the whole story,’ Doctor Hove said. ‘So the killer called your office and made you watch?’ She moved toward the autopsy table closest to her. The other two were mercifully empty.
    Hunter and Garcia followed.
    ‘Made us choose how the victim would die first,’ Garcia replied.
    ‘Any idea why?’
    ‘We’re working on it.’
    ‘Mike also told me that the killer created some sort of . . . torture chamber?’
    ‘Something like that,’ Hunter answered.
    ‘You can watch the footage if you like, Doc,’ Garcia said. ‘Maybe you can pick up something that we missed.’
    She gave them a hesitant nod. ‘Sure, if you send it to me, I’ll have a look.’
    There was a moment of silence before their attention moved to the corpse on the steel table. The skinless and faceless victim lay there like an androgynous creature. Nothing more than a distorted lump of flesh. The infamous Y incision, decorated by thick, black stitches, now added one more layer of grotesqueness to the body.
    Doctor Hove put on a new pair of latex gloves, switched on the lights on the island overhead and looked down at the victim. ‘All these years as a forensics doctor and I still don’t understand it. How can a person do this to another human being?’
    ‘Some people are capable of worse, Doc,’ Garcia replied.
    ‘As far as pain goes, there isn’t anything worse, Carlos.’ Her tone sent a chill up Garcia’s spine. ‘Sodium hydroxide is a strong base substance,’ she explained. ‘It sits right at the opposite end of the pH scale from strong acids like sulfuric and