Page 16 of So Bleak

“I don’t know yet. Possibly nothing. But it could mean something.”

He sighed. “Lovely.”

“Hey, don’t you get pessimistic after that lecture earlier.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fair enough. Where to next?”

“The coroner. I don’t want to wait for the tox screen to know exactly what happened to our victims.”

"Good idea. I don't suppose I can convince you to stop for dinner after that. All this food surrounding us is making me hungry."

“Let’s see what the coroner has to say, then go from there.”

“Sounds good.”

They started toward the Philadelphia Medical Examiner’s Office. Faith considered the connections they had so far. Two food critics dead before they could sample the meal they intended to critique. Something about stifling their voices perhaps?

It was frustrating not to have answers, even this early in the case, but Faith was somewhat more hopeful after talking to both chefs. This mystery might not be so tough to solve after all.

Then again, Faith had thought that before only to wake up to news of another victim. She had to caution herself not to be too arrogant. Overconfidence could mean more dead innocents.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Philadelphia Medical Examiner’s Office was nearly as busy as the kitchen at Cucina Toscana. That wasn’t very encouraging.

“Bad night?” Faith asked the receptionist, a harried-looking man of about thirty.

He sighed. “The summer heat has everyone acting grouchy. Eight homicides in the past seventy-two hours. That’s close to three times the average, and the average is already high.”

Michael looked on grimly as two orderlies wheeled a gurney covered in a sheet to the large elevator at the end of the hall. “Grouchy’s one way to put it.”

“Honestly, I think it’s the West case getting everyone worked up,” the receptionist said. “That guy was like a god to the criminal underworld.”

Faith frowned, and Michael cleared his throat. The receptionist looked between the two agents and blanched. His hand came to his mouth, and he said, “Oh God. You’re… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Faith said curtly. “We need to speak with Doctor”—she checked the file— “Spencer.”

“Yes, of course. Let me see if she’s available. I’m so sorry.”

Faith nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. The receptionist dialed a number and waited, looking nervously at Faith. After a moment, he said, “Dr. Spencer? I have two FBI agents here to see you. They’re here about the restaurant cases.” He paused a moment, then said, “Wonderful, I’ll send them down.”

He hung up and smiled at the agents. “You can go see her right now. She’s in room seven in the B2 level. I’m so—”

Faith spun on her heel and started off before he could apologize again. Michael and Turk hurried to catch up. Well, Michael hurried. Turk trotted easily, his four legs making it effortless for him to match his irritated handler’s pace.

She hated that she was so affected by the receptionist’s statement, but she couldn’t help it. Her biggest fear with West aside from her fear that he would kill people she cared about was that he would inspire more people to follow in his footsteps the way Trammell had inspired West to follow in his. To hear that West may actually have accomplished that galled her.

Michael waited until they were in the elevator to speak, then said, “Hey, Faith, he’s just a kid working reception here. He doesn’t know anything.”

“He’s almost my age, and he interacts with cops every day.”

“You know how many cops don’t know jack about the city?”

She sighed. “Please don’t try to make me feel better, Michael. I’ll get over it in a minute, but I can’t handle the fake bullshit rationalization.”

“It’s not fake, and it’s not bullshit. Spikes in crime happen all the time for any number of reasons. Maybe this has something to do with West, or maybe gangsters are just violent. If I were a betting man, I’d be putting my money on the latter.”

She sighed again. “Okay. Sounds good.” It most certainly did not sound good. Ending the conversation sounded good.

---