Page 32 of Manner of Death
But the snap of dress shoes on the hard floor told him it wasn’t Tami or Boyce.
No, it was much worse than that.
“Bashir?” Sawyer’s voice echoed through the morgue.
Bashir closed his eyes, sighed behind his mask, then called out, “I’m in here. Body on the table.”
The footsteps faltered slightly, but only for a second. Bashir pulled up a sheet to cover Carla to the collarbones; she may have been mid-autopsy, but she still deserved dignity.
Sawyer came in, and he halted, his shoe scuffing on the floor. “Oh. Shit. I thought… I figured you meant the other body.”
“No.” Bashir tipped his head toward the cooler. “He’s already done. Unfortunately, other people don’t stop dying just because somebody was murdered.” That came out a lot bitchier than he’d intended, which just made him more aware of his raw, brittle mood. “Sorry. Sorry. I…” He exhaled, suddenly feeling even more exposed than the poor woman on the table. “It’s been a long morning.”
“Apparently so. Do you, um… Do you want me to come back?”
Yes. No. Please get out of here. Please don’t go.
God, he was a mess.
He sighed and lifted his gaze to meet Sawyer’s, finding nothing but empathy and concern. “Is this business or personal?”
“Business,” Sawyer said quietly. “I, um… I mean, personal, too. But…” He chewed his lip. “There’s a new development you might be interested in.”
Oh, that was just what Bashir needed on this shit sundae of a day—a “new development” cherry on top. Especially since, from Sawyer’s grim expression, this wasn’t a they-found-the-killer-dead-beside-a-full-signed-and-notarized-confession new development.
“Okay. Uh.” Bashir glanced down at Carla. To Sawyer, he said, “Give me another hour and a half or so to finish with her.”
Sawyer nodded. “All right. Text me when you’re free.”
There was a part of Bashir that wanted to tersely suggest that Sawyer could just send him a text—or, if it was lengthy, an email—explaining the new development. But there might be a reason he wanted to discuss it in person. Every written word was considered evidence. Bashir knew a cop who’d written something on his hand during an investigation, and he’d had to photocopy his hand so the note could be admitted into evidence. It was possible Sawyer wanted to discuss this off-the-record.
Because that wasn’t an unsettling thought.
And… Bashir also kind of wanted an excuse to be in Sawyer’s presence. Even if it was strictly professional and discussing this horrible string of murders, it sounded far more appealing than being alone in this morgue with his thoughts and the remains of innocent people.
“Sure,” he said. “We’ll talk soon.”
Sawyer flashed him a quick smile—pleasant and friendly, not flirtatious—and then disappeared out of the morgue.
After the door had shut, Bashir exhaled. He wondered what fresh hell Sawyer was about to reveal to him.
But right now, Carla was his priority.
The autopsy itself only ended up taking another hour, and the report was a relatively quick process. He’d winced as he’d read it over.
Preliminary autopsy findings pending toxicology analysis.
Lowry, Carla M.
Manner of death – Suicide
He kind of hoped her family had already known that suicide was a possibility. It would still be devastating, but he couldn’t imagine grieving his partner or his parent after an apparent heart attack, only to discover they’d actually died by suicide. The guilt. The questions.
He shuddered, submitted the report, and pulled out his phone with every intention of texting Sawyer.
Then his desk phone rang.
On the other end was the desk sergeant. “Dr. Ramin? I’ve got a gentleman here demanding to see you. I can either send him your way or I can stick him in a holding cell for—”