Page 20 of Lost Kingdom

“That. And when you grab her arms or legs, the skin will probably peel away from her bones. We want to minimize damage. So…”

“Towels.” He spins on his heels, a little green in the face, and darts toward the door. “I’ll get towels. Thank god this isn’t homicide.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.” But I set my bag on the chair beside the bed. It’s almost like a real hospital room, with a visitor chair on the left and a tall bedside table on the right where one would store a pitcher of water and, perhaps, a jug where they might pee. “I said it’s possibly natural causes. But we can’t know until?—”

“Aubree?”

I jump and wrench my head around, thermometer in one hand and a scalpel in the other, to find Tim at the door. His perfect stare, burning me where I stand. His eyes, glinting and serious. His nose… well, it’s not twitching nearly as much as Fletch’s was. “What are you…” Panicked, I grab the recorder and switch the damned thing off, then I shove it into my coat pocket and growl when he takes that as an invitation to enter. “What the hell are you doing here? This is a crime scene.”

“Looks like a natural causes scene to me.” He folds his arms, a silent promise, I like to think, that he won’t touch. “Stinks in here.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious. Is there something specific you needed, or are you continuing yourlet’s annoy Aubreecrusade?”

“Little bit of A,” he shrugs, soooo friggin’ casually. “Little bit of B. How’s your day going?”

“It just started! Why are you awake? I’ve come to rely on the fact you won’t stalk me until at least after noon.”

“Still on New York time.” He steps back when Fletch swarms into theroom. One might think, ‘Hey, Tim is mafia—ex or current, it hardly matters—and Fletch is a cop, and we’re inside a closed scene. This might mean I can get rid of the former.’ But no. I’m not so lucky, because Fletch is friendly with Tim, too. The entire police force is crooked, if only a teeny, tiny little bit. “How long until you’re taking your DB back to the George Stanley?”

“So odd,” I sigh, turning back to my decedent and looking her up and down. “I could almost forget I’m an independent, single woman, and actually answer you. But then I remember…” I glance back, “I don’t have to answer you.”

“It was a simple question.” He watches Fletch with curious, probing eyes, so I see the way he thinks. Processes. Documents. “Towels?”

“Aubs said her skin is gonna peel off the second we try to move her.”

“Actually, I said this is a closed crime scene and Timothy Malone has no right to be here.” I meet my colleague’s eyes and lift a challenging brow. “I fail to understand why you so willingly sully your case by answering his questions.”

“For fun, mostly.” He flashes a grin at an amused Tim and steps around to the other side of the bed. Immediately, his smile dissolves just as surely as her skin. “I can see her brain.”

“What’s left of it.” I feel awful for the woman who lived alone. Died alone. She existed in filth, and in the end, ate herself to death. “I’ll require a list of all prescribed medications before I can rule natural causes. And we’re gonna need a lot more hands in here to lift her. Expect there to be a lot of sloughing. I’ll need to photograph the scene thoroughly, because once we move her, she won’t be put back together the same way. Her fatty deposits long ago turned to liquid, and when we lift her, the skin covering her back and rump will split and spill, if it hasn’t already.”

“Officer Clay?” Fletch turns back to the door and shouts across the apartment. “We need more hands in here.”

“I’m gonna call transport.” I don’t bother cutting into the woman’s torso to make sure she’s dead. Policy or not, when you can see someone’s half-eaten brain, it’s a reasonable bet to assume they’re not coming back. “Most importantly, I need photo-documentation. And get this civilian out of the apartment.”

Playfully, Fletch peeks over to Tim. “Are you the civilian, Mr. Malone?”

“I might be.” He brings his eyes my way, even while, in his pocket, his phone blasts an annoying ringtone. “I’m not leaving. I’m gonna take this call, Doctor Emeri. But I’m staying on site, and when you can clear a minute, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Sounds kinda serious,” Fletch sniggers. “Can Tim help lift the body? Civilian or not, if I can trade with him…”

“No.”

7

TIM

UNFINISHED BUSINESS

Anger beats in my blood and makes my pulsethump, thump, thumpin the back of my head. Not because of Aubree’s brash treatment. Never because of her. But because of the name that flashes on my screen when I wanted so badly to stand by and watch her work.

I can’t take this call and risk her overhearing. So I step out of the apartment building and glance left, then right, to catalog every person who stands around and stares. Where there are cop cars and ambulances, there will always be people who come out to see the drama. Where there is a medical examiner—and Aubs looks the part, considering her jacket that literally hasMEDICAL EXAMINERin bold type on her back—means the looky-loos will pull up a seat and wait the authorities out.

Soon enough, a dead body will come out the front door and the neighbors will get their morbidity fix.

Exhaling, knowing I have to deal with shit that should never have come to my attention, I swipe my thumb across the screen and accept the call. “Yeah?”

“Boss. He’s back at Sarge’s. And he’s already causing a ruckus. His credit ran out a long time ago, but he’s not taking a hint to stay gone.”

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