Page 88 of Ground Truth

The call clicked several times while the cell towers connected. Eventually, it rang on the other end. After ten rings with no answer, Jarsdel gave up and tried the second pub on the list.

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Chapter 44

Atabei

Flint walked slowly past the two men still deep in quiet conversation. He glanced back toward Drake and ducked into the hallway.

On the right were the restrooms. At the end of the hallway was the exit to the parking lot.

Flint walked through and squinted against the bright sunshine which exacerbated the constant headache he’d been living with for days.

He slid his sunglasses on and propped the exit door open with a rock.

Half a dozen vehicles were parked in the flat gravel lot. Mostly small SUVs. A khaki panel van sporting the Atabei Crematorium logo rested in the shade at the end of the first row.

Flint fished his phone from his pocket and snapped photos of the van, the logo, and the Atabei plate on the back bumper.

He also took quick shots of the other parked vehicles and their license plates.

When he’d finished with the snaps, he dropped the phone into his pocket and walked around to the back of the panel van again. The doors were locked, as expected.

Flint removed his sunglasses and peered into the windows.

Inside the panel van were four long mortuary trays, two mounted on each side panel and two on the floor beneath. The shelves were shiny steel. The kind that could be washed down with a hose.

All four trays were occupied by black plastic body bags.

Flint couldn’t see the contents without opening the zippers, but from the shape of the bags it was obvious there were four bodies, one in each bag.

He gloved up and retrieved his knife from his pocket and went to work on the rear door lock. He manipulated the blade, popped the lock, and climbed inside. He pulled the doors closed but left a crack between them.

Flint’s head swam and his gag reflex choked on the hot, stale air inside the box. He folded his elbow across his nose and ignored the urge to retch as he approached the first body bag.

He tugged hard to open the zipper all the way.

“What the hell?” Flint murmured as he stared at the body.

The man was cold to the touch. The body had been stored long enough to freeze all the way through to the bones. More than a couple of days, for sure.

Even so, the body had begun to thaw. The skin was slimy and discolored, like a spoiled Thanksgiving turkey.

The most revolting aspect was the man’s gaping torso. The body had been opened by a sharp scalpel with the familiar pathologist’s wide and deep Y incision. Organs had been removed and the skin flopped down into the empty cavity.

Flint’s stomach heaved at the sight.

He clamped his jaw shut, grabbed shallow breaths, and kept going.

He opened all four bags and snapped photos of each body. Three men and one woman. All gutted in the same way. Two of the bodies were less decomposed. Maybe they’d died more recently.

Working as quickly as he could manage, Flint used the app on his phone to take fingerprints from each body. The prints were far from perfect. With luck, they could get partials.

Barely controlling the nausea overwhelming him from the stench and heat, he searched the interior of the van for a first aid kit.

He swabbed the open torso of each body with gauze and wrapped the gauze with tape.

Not as good as a DNA swab kit, but the best he could do at the moment.

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