Page 17 of Manner of Death
Bashir fought the urge to roll his eyes. “They’re investigating this case.” He gestured at Christopher’s body. “I need to talk to them.”
This time, interest sparked in her eyes. “Ooh?” She picked up her phone. “Another weird one?”
“Yeah,” he said, almost more to himself. “You could say that.”
“Do you want them here in the morgue? Or just to call you?”
Bashir thought about it. An irrational part of him wanted to tell her they needed to come to the morgue. Specifically, that Villeray needed to come to the morgue.
Because I’m a fucking idiot, that’s why. Jesus Christ.
He cleared his throat. “Just have one of them call me.”
That was the safer option. The more professional one. The one that guaranteed Bashir wouldn’t say or do something stupid, purely because he was lonely, and frustrated, and stressed the hell out from two weird deaths in less than twenty-four hours, and—
“Okay,” Tami chirped. “Done.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” She flashed him a quick smile before she got back to work. At least yesterday’s bad mood was forgotten, and anyway, she was always good about making calls or sending texts or emails for him when he was up to his elbows in things no one wanted on a phone or keyboard. He did the same for her whenever the need arose. Just one of those things that came with working in a morgue.
And given Tami’s attitude about Detective Villeray, he didn’t need to check to see if she was clear about how he needed to call, not come into the morgue.
Yet, maybe twenty minutes after she’d called, no phones rang and no text tones went off. No, the detective himself strolled into the morgue, coffee cup in hand.
“Um, I believe I was clear that Dr. Ramin wanted you to call him,” Tami said testily. “He’s very busy.”
“Uh.” Villeray halted, eyes flicking between Tami—who was practically in his face now—and Bashir, who was still taking some tissue samples from the body.
“Let him in,” Bashir said. “I need to talk to him.”
Tami turned her irritated look on him, but then she rolled her eyes and got out of Villeray’s way, stomping out of the morgue and out into the hall.
Villeray didn’t move for a moment. He watched Tami leaving, eyes wide. Then he faced Bashir and took a tentative step closer. “Is, um… Is this a bad time?”
It was, but it also wasn’t. Bashir should not have been pleased to see the detective, nor relieved he hadn’t brought his partner.
Am I losing my mind? I’m losing my mind.
Sure he was blushing and with absolutely no way to explain why, he muffled a cough. “No. It’s not a bad—you didn’t have to come all the way down here, though. We could’ve done this on the phone.”
Villeray came a little closer, his smile far more endearing than it had any right to be. “I was upstairs when she called, and Kurt was getting…” He trailed off, holding Bashir’s gaze. Then he was the one blushing, and he looked away. “Um. Anyhow. You wanted—” His gaze landed on the body Bashir had been working on, and he sobered. “Is this about…?” He gestured at Christopher.
Bashir nodded. “I… Look, I don’t know if there’s a full moon or what, but two incredibly weird and unnatural deaths in twenty-four hours is…” He shook his head. “Especially since I can’t see how they’re possibly related except for being weird.”
Villeray eyed him. “Wait, you think this is related to the Upworth case?”
“I…” Bashir considered it. “I don’t know. Maybe? There’s literally nothing connecting them as far as I can see except the timing. But it’s weird as hell to have two bizarre deaths in a row where it looked like the cause of death was one thing, but on closer inspection, it’s something else.”
The detective’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “So he didn’t drown?”
“No.”
Villeray pursed his lips, an expression that was also annoyingly attractive. “What do you think happened?”
“Poisoning.” Bashir glanced at Christopher. “Without going into a ton of detail, the symptoms are consistent with yellow oleander ingestion.”
“Oh. Shit.” The detective’s gaze slid toward the body again. “Were you able to find any? Like in his…” He gestured at his own stomach.