They’d done their homework on the business. It had been founded in 1940 by the current Douglas’s grandfather, then passed to his father. When the current Douglas had taken the reins, he’d joined up with Diaz, whose family had been in the funeral business in Cuba before coming to the United States.
The parking lot was almost completely empty, but it was early for viewing hours. The outer reception area was furnished tastefully in beiges and browns, with comfortable couches and chairs offering places for mourners to sit. The end tables all held large boxes of tissues, and there were three stations dispensing bottled water in sight.
As they stood for minute, letting their eyes adapt from the bright daylight to the dimmer artificial light in the room, a very pretty Latino woman in a blue high-button suit approached them and immediately offered her hand, “Geneva Diaz,” she said, and then, without waiting for them to introduce themselves in turn, went on. “Let me bring you right to my husband and Mr. Douglas. We received a call from your office, advising us that you were on the way.”
Signs along the hall told mourners whose wake was being held in each room. They passed by a door that said Staff Only. When they’d come in, Brett had noticed a sign pointing toward the “receiving entry,” and he was pretty sure that this door led to the embalming room.
Geneva Diaz rapped on the office door before entering. The room held two desks, one for each partner. A nameplate identified the desk to the left as belonging to Richard Diaz, while the second belonged to Jonathan Douglas.
“Gentlemen, we’ve already been apprised of this strange situation,” Douglas said, stepping forward. He was a tall man who seemed somehow colored by his occupation, gray in color from his hair to his skin. His face had bloodhound cheeks and wrinkles, and he looked as if he wore a perpetual mask of sympathy and sadness. “We’ve gathered everything we have for you. I can’t tell you how appalled we are.”
Diaz was a younger, shorter man, with bronzed skin, sharp dark eyes and handsome features.
“We can’t begin to tell you how upset we are by this situation. We have a reputation for providing exceptionally fine service at a family’s most terrible time, and this is just...unheard of. Sit down, please.”
He indicated two chairs in front of Douglas’s desk, then perched on the edge of it while Douglas returned to his seat.
Brett lifted his hands. “We’re aware of your sterling reputation, gentlemen,” he said. “So how could this have happened?”
Douglas indicated a file. “Here are our records. We made arrangements for pickup from the hospital. When Mr. Nicholson arrived, I met him at Receiving myself and had him brought straight to the embalming room.”
“So he was embalmed?” Diego asked.
Diaz glanced over at Douglas, and it looked as if he were uncomfortable. “The family requested that he not be.” He sighed. “There are laws that deal with embalming, but generally, in a case such as this, the family has a right to refuse. Sometimes funeral directors won’t even tell you that—especially if there will be an open casket at the viewing, but Mr. Nicholson’s casket was closed.” He shrugged uneasily. “Strange, we still call it a viewing when the casket is closed. Wake. I guess that’s the right word. Or visitation. At any rate, his service was held here the night Mr. Nicholson arrived, and he was buried the next day.”
“So no embalming and no open casket. Interesting. Where was the body held overnight?” Brett asked.
“It was refrigerated. But I can assure you, the body was in that casket when it was taken for storage after the viewing.”
“Can you explain how we opened an empty coffin, then?” Brett asked.
Both men stared back at Brett, looking both embarrassed and baffled.
“No,” Douglas said at last. “I accepted the body, so I know it arrived. He was bathed and dressed in the clothing the family gave us. Then he was placed in his casket and we closed the lid. The entire coffin was kept in what we call the cool room overnight. At ten the next morning, he was transported via the cemetery’s hearse to the cemetery and lowered into the ground.”
“No one saw the body after it was placed in the coffin on his day of the arrival and the lid was closed?” Diego asked.
“No. There was no reason to open it,” Diaz said. “But we are willing to accept responsibility if we are found negligent in any way.”
“Except that we weren’t,” Douglas said. “Whatever happened must have happened at the cemetery or on the way to it.”