The Last Sister (Columbia River) by Kendra Elliot

Author:Kendra Elliot [Elliot, Kendra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781542006705
Published: 2020-01-13T16:00:00+00:00

20

Zander slipped on the clear face shield and checked out his partner in her shield. Ava’s eyes crinkled at the corners, indicating she was grinning behind the blue mask over her mouth.

“That’s a good look for you, Zander.”

He looked down at his gown and booties, feeling slightly claustrophobic in the protective gear. Part of him wanted to rip them off and head into the hallway for fresh air.

Fresher air, he corrected himself. As soon as they’d entered the medical examiner’s building, they’d encountered its unique smell. It wasn’t like a hospital smell or a funeral-home smell—both of which he’d experienced too many times.

It was a combination of professional-strength cleanser, refrigerated meat, and an underlying hint of decomposition. His nose had already grown used to it, noting that the odor didn’t bother him as it had at first. He’d learned early in this job that he could handle most odors—death, excrement, rot—if he toughed out the first ten minutes or so. He also knew to shower afterward as soon as possible and immediately dump every scrap of clothing in the laundry. Today he’d left his coat in the car, not wanting it to soak up any odors.

He and Ava stood in the autopsy suite. There were four stainless-steel tables, each with a sink at one end. A large hose and nozzle hung over each table, along with strong lights and a scale. Two assistants went about the suite, setting out instruments and getting things organized for the examiner.

On the closest table, Nate Copeland’s corpse silently waited for Dr. Rutledge.

Zander felt like a voyeur; he didn’t want to see the dead man, but it was his duty. The medical examiner had already done the Y incision from chest to groin but hadn’t removed the ribs. Ava fidgeted, and she lifted her shield to wipe her eyes. Usually she had no problem with autopsies, but she’d warned Zander that this one would be tough for her, given that she’d talked to the man the day before. At the Copeland house she’d held it together, but here the explicit details of the young man’s horrible end were laid out under the harsh lights.

A stark contrast to the very alive young deputy she’d interviewed—actually she’d grilled and guilt-tripped—about the Fitch crime scene.

Zander had told her not to feel sorry for doing her job.

“I’d convinced myself that the person he’d been is gone. This body is an empty shell,” Ava whispered. “But then I see that.” She pointed at a tattoo on Copeland’s deltoid. “He’s suddenly very human again.”

Zander understood. The tattoo represented something everlasting that Copeland had selected to carry with him. It symbolized a decision, a love, a permanence.

The tattoo remained, but the person was gone.

Copeland’s skin was pale, but along the edges of his lower back and legs, a dark bruised shade indicated he’d died faceup. Blood followed gravity after the heart stopped, and the livor mortis was in the right places for a man tipped back in a recliner. The dark color would also cover his backside.

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