Page 46 of Killer Clone

The attempt to cover the man’s nakedness impressed Hagen. The deceased couldn’t possibly mind, but Murray did. Even in death, he wanted to protect his client’s modesty.

“We can step outside if you want.”

“I can’t leave the decedent.” He paused, as though expecting the body to tell him it was perfectly fine. He wasn’t going anywhere. The deceased said nothing. “Not in the middle of a procedure.”

Ander pushed his hands into his pockets. Hagen couldn’t blame him. The room was uncomfortably cold.

“This won’t take long. Can you tell us when Otto started working for you?”

“It’s so awful.” Murray returned to his seat. “He started here about…oh, two and a half years ago, maybe three. He just helped out at first. But he started mortician school, finished his training about eight months ago, and I took him on full time. It was Father Ted’s idea.”

“Father Ted?” They knew who he was but wanted to hear what Murray had to say.

“Father Ted Barlow. Over at Saint Aloysius up in Idlebrook.” Murray frowned. He seemed to search for a memory, recalling something long gone. “He asked if I had space for an apprentice. It’s really not easy to find staff, not in this business. I told Father Ted I was happy to take Otto on, if he was interested.” When he checked the pump’s pressure gauge, he seemed satisfied.

“Was he?” Hagen stepped back as the pipe twitched. “Interested, I mean?”

“I think so. Yes.” The mortician took a deep breath. “A lot of people…they struggle with this work. They think they’re going to be okay. But at the first sight of a dead body, they…well, they faint or turn pale. It’s not an easy job. But Otto didn’t flinch. Not at all. He stood over the decedent, respectfully, and listened to the instructions. And he asked questions.”

“About?”

“Well, that’s a good question in itself.” Murray turned off the pump. The hum died away. He reached for the tube sending embalming fluid into the dead man’s artery but changed his mind. “Once, he wanted to know how I was sure the deceased was dead. I’ve never been asked that before.”

Ander rested an elbow on the stainless steel counter that ran around the room. “What did you tell him?”

“Honestly? I don’t recall. Some wisecrack about trusting the death certificate, I think. That was probably it.”

Hagen eyed the end of the tube in the artery, the cut on the man’s neck. Murray would probably remove it when they left the room and then sew up the opening. Dressed, no one would know the old man had been opened and bled.

“Was Otto a good learner?”

“He was…” Murray sighed. He folded his hands in his lap. His plastic apron crinkled. “Otto was an eager student, and he flourished. Like I said, this isn’t an easy job. There are a lot of chemicals to study, some biology, and more than a little practical hands-on craftwork. But he was sharp. He had an instinct for the carotid artery, for example, and he never struggled with a trocar.”

“A trocar?”

Stella had mentioned a trocar when she spoke about her experience after her brother Jonathan died. Here was a chance for an illustration.

“It’s a kind of…here.” Murray reached behind him and took what looked like a long steel needle from the counter. “This is a trocar. Three cutting edges in a single tube. We insert the tip below the navel and use it to remove gases and fluids from internal organs.” He lifted his chin toward his client. “I won’t show you.”

Hagen had rarely felt more grateful. “And Otto was comfortable using that? What else was he skilled at?”

“All of it.”

“Right.”

Hagen pulled out his phone and brought up the picture of the alley where Patrick Marrion was found. Widening his fingers, Hagen zoomed in until all that was visible was the cut above the victim’s clavicle. He showed Murray the screen.

“What do you make of this?”

Murray put the trocar back, pulled off a glove, and took the phone.

“It looks like the cut we make for arterial embalming. It’s what I’m doing here. See? I make a cut so I can reach the jugular vein and the carotid artery.” The mortician showed Hagen a cut identical to the one on Patrick Marrion. But after pulling on a fresh glove, Murray took it a step further. “I put the embalming pump here.”

“That’s the carotid?” Hagen didn’t really need to ask. He had learned a lot about this particular anatomy from Dr. Brennan.

“Correct!” Murray sounded like a proud teacher. “And the drain tube goes here. That’s the jugular.” He demonstrated, setting the tube in place. “And voilà”

For a moment, Hagen thought the mortician was going to turn the pump on. He was not prepared for that.

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