Free The Angel of Death by Alane Ferguson Page A

keep up. “Are you implying Moore actually likes me now?”

    “Tolerates. In my opinion he’s up to simple toleration. He respects what you did to help catch the Christopher Killer, but he’s not convinced that wasn’t a flash in the pan. And before you go getting discouraged,” Ben told her, “remember this: when you’re rating Moore’s opinions, simple toleration’s a good thing.”

    Patrick, his hand on the end of the gurney, helped steer the corpse down the narrow hallway. They pushed the gurney beneath the ceiling’s round lights, which reminded Cameryn of the ones in an operating room, the kind women gave birth under. But these had an entirely different purpose. These were birthing lights in reverse. She noticed, too, that in their glow, her skin took on a green cast.

    She’d been here before, and she remembered the used, hand-me-down feel of the place. Its brown carpet was worn in the center, like thinning hair, and the walls had been painted a flat, lifeless beige. There were several small rooms on both her right and her left, their doors ajar. As she sped past them, she got just a flash of what lay inside: feeble plants expiring, some wilting on shelves, others dying in corners, and plain chairs with metal legs.

    It was the smell, however, that let visitors know exactly what kind of building this was. It wasn’t a strong odor, but more like a hint in the air, wafting just beneath the scent of disinfectant. The charnel smell had fused into the paint, the walls, even into the very plants themselves, as though the corpses passing through had left a whisper of themselves behind, a scent that said, My body was here .

    “Are we taking him to X-ray first?” she asked Ben.

    “Uh-huh. I’ll pop him in for a quick film. The dragon master’s talking with the deputy and the sheriff in the autopsy suite, so you two go on ahead. Last I saw, they were into it pretty deep, trying to figure out what in the world could cause eyes to blow.”

    “Justin’s already here?” Cameryn asked, surprised that he’d made it ahead of them.

    “So it’s Justin now, is it?” Ben’s dark eyes twinkled.

    “Last time you were here it was ‘Deputy.’ Um-mm-mm. First time I saw the two of you together I thought I sensed something. Today Justin barely cleared the door when he asked, ‘Is Cameryn here?’ He looked mighty disappointed when I told him you weren’t. What has been goin’ on in Silverton, is what I want to know.”

    Her father stiffened. His white hair, still under the gel’s control, seemed to bristle with indignation as he growled, “My daughter is only seventeen. The man’s a deputy .”

    Ben smiled tolerantly. “Sorry. I was just making conversation. ”

    It seemed best to keep quiet, so Cameryn gave the gurney a hard push, as if she and Mr. Oakes alone were streaking for the finish line.

    “Slow down, Cammie,” her father called after her. “This isn’t a race!”

    She pretended not to hear, stopping so suddenly outside the X-ray room that Mr. Oakes’s body shifted forward; she had to place her hand on what she guessed was his knee to steady him.

    Opening the door to X-ray, she saw that the place was no bigger than a walk-in closet. A large white machine with a movable arm stood at the ready. Behind it, a revolving door led to the darkroom, painted black. Ben stepped neatly around her, his white shoes, mottled with red, squeaking on the tile. He pulled a heavy apron from a hook and shrugged it on, telling them to leave the room, please, because of radiation. “You two go on into the autopsy suite,” he instructed. “I’ll bring the decedent down in two minutes. You remember the way—first door on the right past the drinking fountain. You can’t miss it.”

    Back outside Cameryn heard a woman’s laughter echoing down the hallway, ending in an abrupt, “No way !” followed by a disembodied, “Are you serious ?” Life went on, even in the morgue.

    “Cammie, wait,” her