CHAPTER 31 MATT

31

Matt

EVEN THOUGH IT WOULD have been a straight shot down Main, Matt took side streets to the coroner's office at the rear of Furber's Funeral Home and backed his cruiser in the space between two hearses near the narrow loading dock at the rear of the building. The last thing he needed was someone spotting him as he unloaded the lifeless body of Norman Heaton from the trunk of his car.

At the top of the ramp, he went to the double doors and pressed the buzzer.

When there was no answer, he pressed it again.

Matt glanced around nervously. "Come on, Ger."

Gerald Furber lived alone in the three-bedroom apartment above the funeral home, same place he grew up. Forty-seven now, he'd never married. He'd inherited the family business when his parents passed and tended to keep to himself. He'd once told Matt he preferred the company of the dead over the stupidity of the living. Unsure how to respond to that, Matt hadn't said anything at all, but he was fairly certain he understood why the man was still single.

When nearly a minute went by, Matt tried the door and found it unlocked.

He stuck his head inside and called out, "Ger? You in there? It's Matt."

Wired to motion sensors, overhead fluorescents ticked on down the length of the hallway, filling the space with harsh bright light and a low buzz. Several steel gurneys lined the wall on the left; Matt grabbed one and wheeled it back to his car.

After another look around, he opened the trunk.

Still wrapped in the blue tarp, Norman Heaton had shifted slightly and his legs had caught under the tire jack fastened to the side wall. It took a moment for Matt to wrestle him free, longer still to lift him from the trunk to the gurney, and by the time Matt finished, he was sweating.

He wheeled the gurney up the ramp and back through the doors, half expecting to find Gerald Furber waiting for him inside. The hallway was still empty, though.

Matt reached around to the buzzer and pressed it three more times. He knew it rang in the coroner's office, the funeral parlor, and the residence upstairs. Unless Gerald was in the shower or something, he would have heard it. He didn't own a car, only the two hearses, and with both in the lot out back, he couldn't have gone far.

Still nothing.

He couldn't wait on him—not with all the craziness happening around town. He'd get Norman tucked away in the freezer and track down Gerald later.

Following the hallway, Matt maneuvered the gurney to the exam room on the far end.

As in the hall, the lights came on automatically.

Large and with white tile covering the floor and extending up the walls, the room was bright. The light glistened off the various metal surfaces. There was an exam table in the center, designed to drain down into the floor. The counter to Matt's right was filled with neatly arranged tools and trays. There was a video camera and several scales, a box of latex gloves, and matching gowns. The cabinets were filled with bottles and gallons of various chemicals ranging from bleach to fluids with names Matt couldn't pronounce any more than he wanted to understand their purpose. Although meticulously clean, the space smelled harsh, and Gerald kept it so cold Matt wouldn't be surprised if he saw his breath. As cold as the room was, Matt knew from bringing in past bodies it wasn't cold enough to preserve a corpse. He couldn't leave Norman Heaton out here; he had to put him in one of the lockers at the back.

There were fifteen in total, three rows of five. Several had names written on tape in Gerald's neat script; the rest were empty. Matt positioned the gurney next to one of the doors on the second row and tugged it open with the heavy handle. Cold air rushed out in an icy cloud. Matt shivered, vaguely remembering Gerald told him once bodies were stored at fourteen degrees Fahrenheit.

He pulled out the large tray, positioned the wheeled gurney next to it, adjusted the height, and slid Norman over with a grunt. He debated whether he should remove the tarp, then decided he'd leave that to Gerald on the off chance it was preserving some kind of evidence.

Matt couldn't imagine this going to some kind of trial—Eisa had killed her husband in full view of at least half a dozen people, including himself. When the time came, she'd either plead guilty or claim some kind of temporary insanity, most definitely self-defense. Whatever happened, this would never go to trial.

He pushed the tray holding Norman back inside the drawer, closed the door, and went over to the counter to write a note for Gerald. He was about halfway down the page when he heard moaning coming from behind him.