He seemed collected, his smooth stride giving nothing away. But he didn’t fool me. He was wearing the suit from the day before.
I couldn’t contain my snicker. He glanced over his shoulder, his locks falling across his forehead and begging my fingers to brush them back into place.
“Something funny, Ms. Montreat?”
“No. Nothing. Not a thing, Mr. Granade.”
We made the trip to the morgue without incident, though my dread grew with each block. What if I passed out? What if I vomited, which actually had better odds than ever before?
“It’ll be fine.” He pulled into a parking spot marked law enforcement outside the hospital’s back entrance. I liked his style.
Another car pulled up next to us, and a middle-aged man with a nearly bald pate stepped out. Dr. Snider. I’d taken him the wooden pieces earlier in the week. He was brilliant, but he was a talker. It took me an hour just to extricate myself from his presence. I feared today would be worse, since we were in his wheelhouse, so to speak.
“Try to give me some advance warning if you’re going to eat it, okay?” Wash smiled at me.
I didn’t find his joke amusing, mainly because of the real risk of just such an occurrence. We got out and shook hands with Dr. Snider before walking through the automatic doors and heading down to the basement.
“Any news on the blood testing?” Wash asked.
“The presumptive test was positive for blood, but we haven’t gotten the types or any other indicators yet. It’s not as easy when the blood has been dry like that for so long. As long as there are still some white blood cells intact, we should be able to extract DNA for comparators. Just going to take some effort, is all. We’ll do everything we can.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
The doors opened, and we entered a secured area where we had to check in. At least we weren’t searched.
Dr. Snider led us down the hallway, clearly knowing his way around. He took a left and pushed through a set of swinging doors. We followed.
The smell was almost instant. It wasn’t strong, but it was everywhere. Something dead, something rotten. It’s the sort of smell that makes some part of your primitive brain wake up and tell you to run. Death. There was no other word for it.
Dr. Snider kept marching forward, as if oblivious to it.
“You can do this.” Wash took my elbow and led me forward through another set of doors, metal this time.
The smell grew stronger. We were in a room with a few rows of metal litters, all thankfully empty. Along the back wall was a counter with neat rows of tools and instruments that I knew for a fact I never wanted to see in action.
A hospital worker was washing up in the sink. She turned when we entered. “Hi. What’s up, Dr. Snider?”
“Morning, Cindy. We’re here to see the Bayou Butcher victims.”
She finished washing and adjusted her high ponytail, making it painfully tight. “They’re in the deep freeze. You know where it is?”
“Sure, you know the bays?”
“No, I’ll get them for you. Hang on.” We followed her, my heels sliding across the slick tile floor. I tried not to look at the drain in the center or wonder what was in there.
We followed her to a wide metal freezer door. Cindy pulled a clipboard from the wall next to it and flipped a page. “They’re in seven through thirteen. Looks like sequential from estimated time of death. Here. I’ll make you a copy.” She left and came back in a moment with a copy of the manifest.
“Holler if you need me. I’ve got to do some check-ins from last night.”
“Will do. Thanks, Cindy.” Dr. Snider gripped the long door handle and looked back at Wash and me. “We ready?”
I tried to calm my racing heart.
“It’s going to smell worse. Just brace yourself. Be strong. You can do this.” Wash’s voice in my ear gave me strength to nod.
“Here we go.” Dr. Snider pulled the door open.
A blast of cold air and the smell hit me in the face. I was certain my face was green, because my stomach churned and threatened to upend itself all over my shoes.
“Just stand here for a minute.” Wash’s hand tightened at my elbow.
I peered through the swirl of frosty air and saw racks of black body bags. They were stacked like catering trays, but instead of food they were full of lost lives. Dr. Snider disappeared to the back of the space, and I heard a rolling metal-on-metal sound.
“Got the first one. Taking some pics. Come on in when you’re ready. Some interesting stuff,” he called.
“We’ll wait here as long as we need to.” Wash dropped my elbow and wrapped an arm around my waist. “It’s just a part of the job, Caroline. I’m sorry. I wish I could save you from it. But this is what we do.”