Page 49 of Deadly Deception
“Pleasant fellow,” Boone deadpanned.
Henson finally stood, pushing his rolling chair back with enough force that it slammed into the wall. “What Simms is, is typical, and too damn common. Come on, time’s wasting, and I doubt you two want to spend the rest of October stuck in the Midwest.”
“Amen,” Boone agreed easily, hopping out of his chair with the grace of youth. I followed at a far more sedate pace.
Henson reached for the doorknob and said, “It’s really not that bad, the Midwest.”
“I haven’t seen enough to agree or disagree,” Boone said, following Henson out of his office. “All I know is that’s it’s a lot colder.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Henson agreed as we made our way to the morgue. “Dr. Scott should be waiting for us. I’ve got a better recording situation ready to go, so we don’t have to rely on my janky abilities.”
“You didn’t do a bad job last time,” Boone offered kindly.
“You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen the recording,” Henson replied. He placed his hand on the door to the morgue and said “Dr. Scott should have the bodies ready to go. Hopefully we can knock this out in—what the hell?”
I couldn’t see what caused the panic in Henson’s voice. The man was large and blocked the doorway. That scenario didn’t last long as he bolted forward and screamed, “Emily! Emily! What in the hell happened? Call 911.”
I had my phone out but an officer we’d passed in the hall heard the noise and came to investigate. They were way ahead of me and already had a 911 dispatcher on the line.
Rushing forward, I crouched next to Henson. Dr. Emily Scott was lying on the floor, blood pooling around a gash on the back of her head. I felt for a pulse, relieved when a thready one met my fingertips.
“She’s unconscious but alive,” I said. Boone dug through cabinets until he found the one with towels.
“Here, lay this over her. The room is cold, and she’s likely in shock,” Boone said while tossing towels at me. “I’m not sure if we should move her head or not. She might have a neck injury and we could make that worse.” Henson and I both had EMT training, but I could see that training had fled Henson’s brain. He cared about the woman lying on the floor and his brain was stuck on Panic Road. I knew that path all too well.
“We’ll put the towels around her head,” I decided.
Boone crouched down beside me, his hands buried in his pockets as he scrounged around for something. “I’ve got a lot of charms, but I don’t think any of them fit this situation and I’m not medically trained. I don’t want to make something worse. If she were awake, I’d give her a pain charm, but I don’t think that will do much good considering she’s unconscious.”
“Emily.” Henson’s voice was a lot softer. His fingers touched Dr. Scott’s pale forehead. “I will kill the fucker that did this.” Given the level of venom in his voice, I didn’t doubt Henson’s intentions.
“Franklin.” Boone’s tone was soft, but urgent as he tugged on my coat sleeve. When I looked at him, I noticed Boone wasn’t staring back at me, but looking around the room. “I think the bodies are missing.”
I straightened but kept my knees bent. My new height allowed me to look around the room. Boone was mostly right. We should have had eight corpses but there were only three. Five tables were askew with their sheets haphazardly tossed on the floor. The morgue didn’t look tossed, but too many things were out of place or tilted at an odd angle.
“Fucking hell,” I cursed, grabbing Henson’s attention. “The bodies are gone,” I stated flatly.
Henson’s jaw locked and every visible muscle twitched with tension. “Someone just made a big fucking mistake, O’Hare. I promise you that. You do not shit in my home, and someone just made a fucking mess of my house. Iwillclean this up, even if I have to take a flamethrower to the place.”
We were located deep enough in the precinct building that I didn’t hear the ambulance’s sirens. EMTs burst into the room, and we got out of their way. Henson backed up reluctantly, his hands constantly balling into fists of rage. The man needed an outlet, and yet there was none. Boone grabbed my hand, holding on tight as we became wallflowers, desperately trying to give the EMTs room to work.
Within a matter of minutes, Dr. Scott was on a gurney. She was probably the only live victim ever wheeled out of the morgue.
Boone and I remained quiet, blending into the background as Sheriff Henson exited the morgue, barking orders and cordoning off the morgue. I had a feeling he wouldn’t allow a single other officer in.
My eyes traveled the area, looking for clues and cameras. The recording equipment I assumed Henson brought in lay on the floor, broken. But there was a surveillance camera in the corner and given its angle, it appeared to cover most of the room.
I’d no sooner noticed the camera than Henson stormed back into the room. I don’t know if he saw where my attention laid or not, regardless, he said, “Damn camera’s been tampered with. We’ve got shit on video.”
Boone squeezed my hand and shuffled closer.
“I think you’ve got a bigger problem than you previously imagined.” I didn’t say that to be callous or mean. I said it as a point of fact.
Henson grunted, his hands fisted on his hips. “And I intend to weed out that problem. I’m a proud man, but I’m not tooproud to ask for help when needed. This is officially me doing so.”
I stared down at Boone, my silent question obvious.
“We’ll do what we can,” Boone said, answering for both of us. We might not know how that help would play out, but, as usual, we were on the same page.
