Page 72 of Wife Number One

He herded her toward the van, and the original two members who’d been guarding the door followed. They both shot me dirty looks when they passed.

I ignored them, watching Kara disappear into the dark interior of the van, my gaze clinging to hers until the very last second the shadows ate her up.

Leaving only Hawk to glare at me as he slammed the sliding door.

I stood there watching until the tires spun out on some loose gravel at the top of the drive before finding traction again.

“You okay, sir?” one of the cops asked me.

I hadn’t even seen them leave the building or been aware they’d been watching the altercation.

I forced a smile at him. “Sure.” I cleared my throat because I absolutely was not okay. Not even a little bit.

His partner eyed me. “The morgue is closed for the night.”

Ron called out from inside, the overhead lamps shining on his balding head. “It’s okay, Officers. We have a meeting. He can come inside.”

The officer nodded, and I passed him with a mumble of thanks.

Ron kicked out the stopper and closed the heavy glass doors, locking them from the inside. We both raised a hand in farewell, the officers climbing inside their cars.

Ron turned to me. “You’re early,” he accused, leaning one hand on the countertop like he needed it to hold him up.

I checked the cops had actually left the parking lot. “I came as soon as I finished work, like I always do. I didn’t know you’d have cops here. What did they say?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, as usual. They’re being very tight-lipped about it all.”

“But you think it’s our guy?”

“No doubt in my mind. You want to see her?”

I nodded and followed him down the hallway.

Ron pointed at a door halfway along. “She’s still in the viewing room. That was the family.”

I glanced over at him with interest. “The men or the women?”

“Women. They were the victim’s sisters.”

That explained her tears. I swore low under my breath as we entered the viewing room. Ron flicked on the lights, and a sickly yellow glow washed over the sheet-covered victim on the table.

The dead girl was way too much like her sister for my comfort.

It took me a second to put my doctor’s hat on. This wasn’t my area of expertise, but I’d been through med school. I knew enough.

Ron was a talker and commentated on everything he knew while I studied the body without touching her.

“There are strangulation marks on her neck. Restraint marks around her wrists and ankles.”

“She’s dark-haired. Late teens or early twenties, I’m guessing. Just like the others,” I added.

Ron agreed.

“Where did they find her?” I asked.

“In a city dumpster. Some poor schmuck from a café found her when he was taking out the trash this morning.”

I shook my head, anger filling me. “Dumped her like she didn’t mean anything.”

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