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CHAPTER EIGHT
The Dover Medical Examiner’s Office hadall the charm of a Soviet gulag, and half the personality to boot. Puke-greenwalls, buzzing fluorescent lights that were one flicker away from triggering aseizure, and a pervasive stink of antiseptic trying and failing to mask thestench of dead meat. If despair had a smell, this was it.
Ella slouched in a molded plastic chairthat had been designed by some sadist with a hard-on for scoliosis, staring ata sad little potted ficus that was the room's sole concession to any form oflife. Next to her, Luca fidgeted like a kid on Ritalin, knee bouncing, fingerstapping out a nervous tattoo on his thigh.
Poor kid. Probably still had visions ofCSI-style glitz and glamour dancing in his head. All neon-lit labs and sexytechs spouting snappy one-liners. Well, welcome to the real world, rook. Hopeyou brought your nose plugs and your big boy pants.
Ella reached out and tapped a hand on hisknee. ‘Easy there, Tiger. You're not on trial. Just relax.’
Luca shot her a rueful look, but at leasthe stopped bouncing. ‘I am relaxed. Totally relaxed.’
‘Never seen a body before?’
‘Loads, just not a dead one.’
‘They never took you to the bodyfarm at Quantico?’
Luca huffed a laugh, then sobered. ‘Theydon’t use it anymore.’
Ella felt a pang of something suspiciouslyclose to sympathy. She remembered her first time seeing a corpse up close andpersonal. The waxy skin, the sunken eyes, the way the jaw hung slack in anobscene parody of a smile. It had haunted her dreams for weeks after. But she'dlearned to compartmentalize. To shove those images, those feelings, into alittle box in the back of her mind and slam the lid tight. You had to look at amangled piece of human wreckage and see a pile of slowly cooling meat, valuableonly for the secrets it could reveal.
Ripley was a master at it. Could crackwise over an eviscerated torso while elbow-deep in viscera, and then go homeand sleep like a baby. But Ella had never quite managed that level ofdetachment. A small, stubborn part of her still saw the person behind thecorpse.
Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe thatlittle flicker of empathy, of humanity, was all that kept her from turning intothe very thing she hunted
Ella leaned back in the torture devicethat passed for a chair, wincing as her spine crackled like a glowstick.
‘If it gets too much, there’s no shame intapping out.’
Luca shook his head, jaw setting in a waythat was almost cute in its stubbornness. ‘No way. I can handle it. It's partof the job, right?’
Ella had to give him props for that. Intheir line of work, grit was more valuable than gold. The ability to stareunflinchingly into the horrors that humans could visit upon one another and notgo stark raving loony was a rare and precious thing. Maybe the kid had it.Maybe he didn't. Only one way to find out.
She was saved from having to respond bythe lack of sensible shoes on linoleum. The receptionist, a reedy woman with apinched face and the air of someone perpetually sucking on a lemon, appeared inthe doorway.
‘The coroner will see you now,’ she said,in a tone that implied they should be grateful for the honor.
Ella levered herself out of the chair.Luca sprang up beside her, probably running entirely on nervous energy. Theyfollowed the nurse down a long hallway that smelled of bleach. Ella breathedthrough her mouth, trying not to gag on the miasma of death andindustrial-strength cleaners. No matter how many times she did this song anddance, she never quite got used to the stench.
At the end of the hall, a set of swingingdoors loomed like the gates of Hades. The receptionist shouldered them openwithout ceremony, revealing a cavernous room lined with shining metal tables.Harsh white light blazed down from the ceiling, washing everything in a stark,pitiless glare.
‘Agents Dark and Hawkins?’ A reedy voiceemerged from behind a surgical mask. The coroner, presumably. A small,rodentine man with beady eyes and a wispy comb-over. ‘I'm Dr. Patel. I'll beyour tour guide through this mortal coil today.’
Ella bit the inside of her cheek to keepfrom laughing. Gallows humor was par for the course down here in the land ofthe dead. You either learned to laugh at the absurdity of it all, or you ateyour gun. Simple as that.
She glanced over at Luca, gauging hisreaction. The kid was pale but composed, his gaze fixed on the twosheet-covered bodies with a kind of grim fascination. Good. Better a morbidcuriosity than a sprint for the toilet bowl.
‘Thanks for seeing us, doc,’ Ella said.
‘You’re welcome. I just finished up onthis morning’s arrival. Where do you want to begin?’
‘Most recent victim first, please,’ Ellasaid.
Ella snapped on a pair of gloves. Besideher, Luca did the same, his movements stiff and overly precise. Nerves, nodoubt. But he'd settle. They always did, once the initial shock wore off.
Dr. Patel cleared his throat. He liftedthe sheet with a practiced flick of the wrist, revealing the horror showbeneath.
Georgia Bolton’s torso appeared. Ella tooka moment to pay silent tribute to the poor girl. She was pretty in agirl-next-door kind of way. Or she would have been, if not for the fact she wasdeader than disco and lying on a slab in the county morgue.
