The Dead Will Tell: A Kate Burkholder Novel

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m trying to solve two homicides, get a killer off the street, and maybe keep you safe in the process.”

 

 

“I had nothing to do with that.” His lips peel back, exposing small, artificially white teeth. “How dare you accuse me of—”

 

“I didn’t accuse you of anything.”

 

From two feet away, I can hear his molars grinding. “This is outrageous. I ask you for help, and you come into my home unannounced and start making wild accusations, all because you haven’t the slightest clue how to do your job! I’m a sitting member of the council, for God’s sake.”

 

“Norm, I need you to level with me. If there’s anything you’re not telling me, you need to come clean. Right now.”

 

He stares at me, his mouth open, his chest rising and falling. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

 

“I’m not going to let this go,” I tell him. “Do you understand?”

 

A quiver runs the length of his body. In the periphery of my vision, I see his right hand curl into a fist. And I know he’s struggling to control a temper run amok. That if he loses the battle, I’d better be prepared to defend myself. I’m not sure what it says about me, but I’m pretty sure I’d take a hit for the opportunity to arrest him.

 

“You fucking bitch. I’m sick and tired of your incompetence. First my daughter is killed because of you and now this. I swear to God, I’ll have your job for this.”

 

I try hard to let the words roll off me, especially the insinuation about my being responsible for the death of his daughter. But I don’t quite succeed. My heart is pounding; I can feel the pulse of it in my neck. Adrenaline jigs in my midsection, powerful enough to make my hands shake.

 

“You do what you have to do,” I tell him. “This isn’t going to go away.”

 

He strides to the door and opens it. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

 

I stand there for a moment, looking at him. “Watch yourself, Norm. I mean it.”

 

He snarls another expletive at me as I go through the door and step into the pouring rain.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 15

 

 

I’m nearly to the station when my phone erupts. I check the screen to see that I’ve received a text from the coroner: Michaels autopsy complete. Will be at my office until noon. Groaning inwardly, I make a U-turn and head back toward Pomerene Hospital.

 

No matter how many times I make this journey to the morgue, it never gets any easier. Dread is a dark and silent presence that steps onto the elevator and rides with me to the basement. The doors swish open to a tiled corridor. My boots echo as I pass a yellow and black biohazard sign and a plaque that reads: MORGUE AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL. At the end of the hallway, I push open dual swinging doors and traverse a second hall to the clerk’s desk, but Carmen is nowhere in sight. Early lunch, I think, and I’m reminded that I’ve yet to have coffee.

 

I go through a second set of swinging doors. The autopsy room is straight ahead. To my right is a small alcove, where the biohazard protection supplies are stored. I glance to my left and through the mini-blinds of his glassed-in office, I see Doc Coblentz sitting at his desk, eating a burger the size of a small tire.

 

I enter his office. “Sorry to interrupt,” I tell him, relieved he’s not eating in close proximity of a dead body.

 

“This is the only place I can enjoy red meat in peace.” He blots his mouth and rises. “My wife has me eating rabbit food. Beets and carrots.” He extends his hand and we shake.

 

“You work all night, Doc?”

 

He nods. “The dead are blissfully quiet.”

 

“Okay.” But I can’t help but grin. “You finished the Michaels autopsy?”

 

He sobers. “We just received Julia Rutledge.”

 

“Any idea when you might get to her?”

 

“As soon as I can.” Taking a final bite of the burger, he motions toward the alcove. “You know the drill.”

 

I go to the alcove, where his assistant has set out disposable shoe covers, a blue gown, hair cap, and latex gloves. Doc Coblentz is waiting when I emerge and, I find myself wondering how he does what he does. No matter how well prepared I think I am, I’m never ready to witness this cold and clinical side of death. While the blood and bodily fluids have been rinsed away, the incised skin hidden from view, there is no eradicating the hideousness. I can’t look at a body without thinking of the life that person lost or the loved ones he left behind.

 

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