But am I abandoning it as well? Abe thought. Leaving Hellboy and Liz and the others to face these things on their own? It was an uncomfortable thought, and yet it did not trouble him as much as it should. Because somewhere, beneath the surface action and reaction that had ruled his day, he could perceive a deeper truth: Abby was still involved, and by following her he would be playing a significant role in events. All he had to do was work out how, and why.
As it stood he had no idea where Abby was going. He had suspected Paris, and Kate had mentioned London as a possible target for some sort of attack. Those two cities weren't a million miles apart, so at least he had the larger destination of northern Europe in mind. Once he was there, the situation might have advanced enough for him to pin down her location much more easily.
But first he had a dead werewolf to view.
"Take it easy, Abby," he said, pulling out onto the freeway. "Just take it easy. I'll be with you as soon as I can."
* * *
In the morgue of the Baltimore Medical Center, several policemen stood in a close huddle while Abe waited for the mortician to wheel out the body. They stared at Abe, whispering behind gloved hands, but he ignored them. He was used to the attention. If they got too annoying, he'd flare his gills. Give them something to tell their grandkids. The world today was full of bedtime stories in the making.
"Nothing weird, nothing wacky," the mortician said, pushing the trolley into the room ahead of her. Her name was Mary, and Abe had spoken to her before on several occasions. She had worked at the hospital for more than thirty years, and by her own admission she had seen many strange things, and a few beyond strange. "Just a dead guy with half his head blown away."
"I guess you see that all the time," Abe said.
Mary shrugged. "Enough to make it normal." She flipped back the sheet.
Abe glanced at the dead man's face. Witness statements said that Abby had pushed the pistol into his eye and pulled the trigger. Abe could believe that. The top of the guy's head had disappeared, and a flow of brain matter stained the gurney.
"Still traces of the silver bullet in his skull," Mary said. "That was strange. Cops said a few of the witnesses reckon he was the supposed werewolf that's been stalking Baltimore."
"Do you believe in werewolves?" Abe asked. Mary looked at him with such a strange expression that Abe went back to examining the corpse.
Even dead, the man seemed to have a smile on his face. If he'd died with Abby straddling his chest, Abe could maybe understand. He closed his eyes and shook his head, wished Hellboy were here to offer a wisecrack. Then when he looked again, he saw something.
"What's this?"
"Where?"
Abe pointed to a part of the spilled brain that looked as though it had been heated with a blowtorch.
"Powder burns is my guess," Mary said.
"Powder burns inside a head?"
"I'm thinking she pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. First bullet blew out the skull and left bits of itself embedded in the bones. Second one splashed the guys brains all over the road. Ballistics are still down there, scooping out the gutters to find the second bullet."
Abe shook his head. "It's the effects of silver. Melted the guy's brains as it opened up his head."
"Right," Mary said. It would have been difficult to inject more sarcasm into her answer, so Abe did not look up again.
He moved down the body, pushing the sheet to its feet. The postmortem wounds were roughly sewn. The man's chest was hairy but not unnaturally so. His nails were well manicured, his toes the correct length, and while he was well muscled, there was nothing here that could not be worked on in a gym.
But Abe saw what he was looking for straight away, and he could not believe what Mary had missed.
"Thanks, Mary," he said. He turned to leave, and the mortician called after him.
"Is that it? So what did you find?"
"Something not there," Abe said. The cops parted and let him walk between them. "Guys," he said. The morgue doors closed with a secretive whisper, and Abe made his way quickly from the building. It was dark and raining outside. He stood with his head up and his mouth open, refreshed.
He has no navel, he thought. The werewolf was never born.