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You're out of your mind, poor thing! If you'd been a saint, I wouldn't say so, but frankly, I don't see what gives you the right to judge him! Especially since it's all just wild speculation!
Okay. If I start lecturing myself, we'll hit rock bottom.
“That's it! Stop your whims; we have to infiltrate the morgue today.”
He reappears as he disappeared, a sign that he's never really far away, and gives me a devastating smile that makes me melt in spite of myself.
“Ah, here's some interesting information at last.” He chuckles, obviously impatient.
The advantage of being in the middle of nowhere is that the authorities are grouped together in central and adjacent posts. So, I don’t have to look very far to find the morgue where my stiff was taken, although I can only speculate, since I couldn't find anyone to confirm it.
After about twenty minutes on my bike, I arrive at the ugly modern building that stands out in an industrial zone on the outskirts of town. While the surrounding area has the picturesque charm of an old-fashioned village, this place gives the impression of a glass-and-steel blockhouse. I deduce that the morgue is in the basement, unless they're planning to steam the bodies.
The first problem: getting into the building undetected will be no easy task. A flock of police officers roam the parking lot, heralding an even greater number inside. As for wandering the corridors in search of the lower floors and the fridge, that's out of the question.
“It's swarming,” says my customer, concerned.
“We need a plan.”
Obviously, we can't just jump into the lion's den without having a story to tell when we're caught. But which one?
“How about pretending to be a cleaner?”
“Have you looked at me? No one will believe it for a second. Besides, I don't even have an access card!”
“Go to the reception desk,” he encourages me pragmatically.
“You're out of your mind, I tell you!”
“Are you all right, miss?” a uniformed stranger interrupts.
Just what we need! An agent strides toward me.
“Yes, I'm new. I'm new. Well, I'm not. I've been sent to replace a colleague.”
He stares at me uncomprehendingly.
“’For housecleaning,” I explain, before giving him a smile that is as hypocritical as it is radiant.
“Ah!”
He gives me a surprised look, then fixes his eyes on my motorcycle.
“Nice bike! It's the first time they’ve sent a biker,” he raves, clearly interested in my unusual appearance.
While this detail is likely to be my key to success, it will also be my undoing, as he'll remember it.
“I'll accompany you.”
Now I'm stuck.
I give the ghost a confused look, which the cop doesn't seem to notice, and follow him inside. He stops at the reception desk and calls out to his colleague.
“Look what I've found,” he says. “A replacement for the cleaning. You’ve got the info for her badge?”
The young cop gives me an embarrassed smile and plunges into watching his screen. His frantic search makes him more and more livid, as if he's blaming himself for not finding the necessary accreditation to let me wander around the building. Poor guy, if he only knew...
“I don't think so,” he admits feverishly. “I'm sorry, miss, but I can't let you in without an official document.”
