‘Who was she?’

‘Oh, well, her name was … oh, wait, hang on a second. You

don’t work here any more, do you?’

‘And there was a girl in Henry Martins’ coffin too, wasn’t

there?’

He nods. ‘You know all this, Tate. Stop pretending you’re only just figuring it out.’

‘You identify her yet?’

‘Almost. We’re taking what we know about the girl from last

week and making the same assumption. We’re figuring the girl in Henry Martins’ coffin went missing around the same time he was buried.’

‘Seems like a safe assumption.’

‘Safe, but not confirmed.’

‘And the other two?’

“The other two are going to be damn difficult to identify, and it’s not like we can just start digging up coffins for the hell of it.’

The elevator arrives and the doors open. I don’t move.

‘We could have made a difference,’ I tell him.

‘What?’

‘Two years ago. Remember?’

He stares at me for a few seconds, no expression at all, no

movement of his head, then slowly he starts to nod. “I know,’ he says.

‘You’re going to find more girls.’

He says nothing. He already knows.

‘We could have made a difference,’ I repeat.

As the doors of the elevator close, Schroder keeps standing

where he is, staring at me.

Instead of driving to my office, I take a detour to the morgue.

I figure if Tracey had noticed I’d stolen the ring she’d have called by now.

She’s a little rushed off her feet and doesn’t seem real glad

to see me. Nor does Sheldon West, the ME I spoke to at the

cemetery. But Tracey decides to accommodate me after I tell her things will be quicker for her if she helps me out rather than having me hanging around for the next two hours asking her the same questions over and over.

‘You’re a real pain in the arse,’ she tells me.

‘You just need to spend more time with me, that’s all. Get to

know me a little better.’

‘Less time, Theo. That’s why I’m agreeing to show you. Oh,

and by the way, that was a nice job you did last night. You should try to get a job on TV

‘That’s real funny’

She rolls Rachel Tyler out of a huge metal drawer and starts

pointing things out as if she were Death showing a prospective client a neat way to die.

‘It’s hard to pinpoint a time of death, but it’s around two

years ago,’ she says, ‘which falls in with when Henry Martins was buried. I would have guessed that she was buried in his place, but the shovel marks on the coffin suggest he was in the ground first.

However, I’d say she went into the coffin not long after he went into the ground. We’re close to ID-ing her. Landry has a name; we’re just waiting to confirm with dental records.’

There’s no point in telling Tracey I already know who it is.

It’ll only lead to awkward questions, and I’m going to be getting them as soon as Schroder makes a positive ID on the girl and

speaks to her family. Yesterday Rachel Tyler’s mother opened the door to hope. Today she’ll be closing it.

‘You know something, don’t you,’ she says, her lips forming a

thin scar as she stares at me.

‘How did she die?’

‘Who is she, Theo?’

‘Somebody who was too young to die.’

‘Aren’t they always?’

“I don’t know. Maybe.’ I glance over at another table where a

guy who looks as though he was around when those buildings

started getting built a hundred years ago is lying. I wonder if he thought he was too young to die, or if he couldn’t wait to get it over with. ‘But I’m going to help her. Can you tell me how she died?’

“‘Badly But I’m guessing you knew that from the moment

we opened up the coffin. Her hyoid bone was broken. She was

strangled.’

‘Sexual assault?’

‘Impossible to tell after this time.’

‘She was re-dressed after she died, right? What does that tell you?’

‘It doesn’t tell me anything. It only suggests.’

‘Dignity’

‘What?’

‘Something Bruce Alderman said to me last night. I’m still

trying to figure it out.’

Tracey shrugs. ‘That’s beyond my scope, Theo.’

I look down at Rachel Tyler with the huge Y incision cut across her mummified body. She hasn’t been stitched back together

because what is left is mostly skeletal. She doesn’t even look like a person any more. Just a shell. A husk. Something you’d kick to the kerb and throw out with the trash. If Bruce did this to her, then he got off lightly last night. I’d have done more than put a bullet in his head.

‘Nothing else?’ I ask.

‘What else are you expecting?’

“I don’t know. Something helpful, I guess.’

Tracey offers a small laugh and covers Rachel up.

‘Maybe we’d have had more luck if she had been found with

something. I don’t know — a piece of jewellery maybe. Perhaps even a ring.’

‘What about the other girl? Schroder said you’ve got another

one.’

‘I’m not at liberty to say’

‘She was strangled too, right?’

‘Good luck, Theo. Part of me hopes you find who did this to

her before the police do. Part of me wishes you wouldn’t even

try’

I pass the body of Bruce Alderman on the way out. It’s lying

naked on a slab of steel. There’s a hole in the bottom of his chin and another in the top of his head. For the first time it occurs to me to wonder where he got the gun from.

I hit the button on the elevator, and when the doors open

Landry is standing there. His suit is ruffled up as if he slept in it, and he hasn’t shaved since I saw him last night. Next to him is Sidney Alderman. He looks pale; his eyes are darting back and

forth as if he’s searching for something, looking past me. But then he seems to focus, to figure out who he’s looking at. He lunges forward, bringing with him the stench of alcohol.

‘You fucker,’ he yells, jumping out of the elevator and taking a swing at my jaw, but I step back, and Landry grabs the back of Alderman’s shirt and pulls him off balance. Alderman’s fist crashes into the wall, and a moment later so does his face. ‘You killed my son!’

‘That’s enough,’ Landry shouts.

“He killed my boy!’ Alderman pushes himself away from

the wall, but only as far as Landry allows him. His knuckles are bleeding. ‘Why isn’t he in jail? I saw the news, you son of a bitch, I saw what you did.’

“I didn’t kill your …’

‘Tate, why don’t you do us all a favour and get in the goddamn elevator.’

‘You fucking murderer!’ Alderman yells. Then, much more

quietly, ‘Why do you keep letting him get away with it?’

The shouting has brought both of the medical examiners into

the corridor. Sheldon looks bothered, as if the violence is about to escalate and include him in it. Tracey looks disappointed.

‘Get in the elevator, Tate,’ Landry repeats.

‘You’re a dead man,’ Alderman yells again as the doors start to close. ‘You hear me? A dead —’

I’m not sure whether I actually hear the rest, or whether my

mind just fills in the blank.

The drive to my office I spend in Alderman’s shoes, and I have a bad feeling that I’d be coming to the same conclusions he has.

I told him things were going to be hard for his son. That same night his boy ends up dead. And the following morning I’m all

over the news, looking like a damn killer.

Back at the office, I’m greeted by the onlookers who missed

out on last night’s show and try to supplement their lack of daily drama by staring at me as I walk up the corridor. They ask me

questions. They look deflated that I’m still not covered in blood.

There is police scene tape across my door. I screw it up into a ball, carry it inside and shut the door on my audience. All I can think about is how many of these people have seen the news and, thanks to a desperate reporter using desperate tactics to be noticed, now believe I pulled the trigger.