Page 34 of Manner of Death
“Good memory.” Bashir couldn’t resist, and he said with a perfectly straight face, “What you’re actually smelling, though, is Febreeze.”
That earned him skeptical looks from both Felix and the officer.
Bashir smiled. “It just smells like formaldehyde when it mixes with decomp.” Both men gagged, and Bashir chuckled. “That’s a joke. People in our business—well, now you know where the term ‘deadpan’ comes from.”
The officer snickered, rolling his eyes. Felix just glowered. And grimaced some more.
“Anyway.” Bashir cleared his throat. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Daughtry?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m…” Felix took a deep beath, something he instantly regretted. He managed to collect himself, though, and pushed his shoulders back as his earlier entitled bravado returned. “I’m with the Stab in the Light Podcast. We’re investigating a string of murders where you did the autopsies, and I want to interview you about some details.” The challenging look he shot Bashir suggested he meant “interview” in the same way cops did—“We’re not interrogating you, but we’re absolutely interrogating you.”
A mix of wariness and irritation tightened behind Bashir’s ribs. True crime podcasts hit him up all the time, usually about cold cases. “String of murders” wasn’t something he could apply to very many situations in his career, though, which made him think this was about a case that was anything but cold.
Guard fully up, he said, “All right. Why don’t we come back in here?”
He led them deeper into the morgue. There were chairs in his office, and though it was small, the three of them would be able to sit comfortably and have a conversation. That was where he conducted interviews with most podcasters, grad students, writers, and whoever else came his way with a list of questions and a voice recorder.
Felix had Bashir on edge, though, and Bashir fully intended to level the playing field by returning the favor.
So, instead of sitting in his office, they’d stand.
In the autopsy room.
Felix swept an uneasy glance around the room. His gaze landed on the cabinet doors along the far wall. Most crime podcasters had at least a passing familiarity with morgues, so he probably knew exactly what he was looking at—the cooler. Maybe wondering how many bodies were behind the various doors. For as much as people like him loved doing deep dives into violent crime, many going as far as hunting down photos and even videos of the crime scenes and victims, a surprising number of them were incredibly squeamish about being in the presence of death.
That wasn’t a discomfort Bashir made a habit of exploiting, but he’d heard of Felix’s podcast. The pun in the title wasn’t just to get around the fact that there was already a Stab in the Light podcast; it was him being an edgelord peddling in “we don’t just refuse to accept what they tell us—we take what they tell us and slash it apart until all the lies and coverups are exposed.”
The show was a mix of anti-government conspiracy theories and almost masturbatory descriptions of the horrible things people could do to each other. He was like the true crime version of a shock jock—in it for the notoriety and the shock value more than the analysis and pursuit of justice that were the genre’s usual hallmarks. If Bashir had to guess, Felix would come down a peg on his hunt for a juicy tabloid exposé if he spent the interview backed into a corner by his own revulsion toward death.
Bashir leaned against the table where he’d been discovering the truth about Carla’s death less than an hour ago. “So.” He clasped his hands together and kept his professional smile firmly in place. “What would you like to know?”
“Oh. Um.” Felix stammered a bit, then seemed to remember the binder he’d been holding. He took it out and flipped it open. “I wanted to ask you about your autopsy on Gilroy Upworth.”
Bashir tensed. “I can’t really discuss an ongoing—”
“The news is still saying it was an accident,” Felix steamrolled over him, “but you found a bullet in Upworth’s spine. Correct?”
Bashir’s own spine prickled. “I’m sorry—where are you getting this information?”
Felix met him with a sarcastic look and a haughty huff. “Don’t try to gaslight me or cover up the truth.” He stepped closer and thrust the binder at Bashir. “Or is that not your signature?’
Bashir took the binder, and the prickle turned to a full-body chill. His head snapped up. “Where did you get this?”
Felix sniffed indignantly. “That’s a public health document, Dr. Ramin. You know that as well as I do.”
“I do, yes.” Bashir fought to keep his voice calm and professional, and that was a chore when panic was snaking along his nerve endings. “But documents like these are not made publicly available until any criminal proceedings have been adjudicated. I’ll ask you again—where did you get it?”
“I don’t have to name my sources,” Felix snapped. “I’m a journalist. I’m not turning over my sources to the fucking cops.” He threw a sneer in the officer’s direction, earning him an eyeroll.
Bashir dropped any pretense of politeness. “Mr. Daughtry, you being in possession of this document means it’s been leaked illegally.” Felix tried to shout over him, but Bashir had not only had it up to here with everyone and everything today, he’d also inherited his father’s ability to bark anyone into silence. “I am not done.”
The podcaster’s teeth snapped shut, and he stared at Bashir with wide eyes. Even the cop looked a little alarmed.
Bashir lowered his voice to one that was quieter, but no less effective at shutting people right up. “This is information that could compromise the investigation and prosecution of a murderer. Do you understand, Mr. Daughtry?” He held up the binder. “Do you understand that your need to be first on the scene and break something shocking could contribute to a murderer walking free and potentially killing again?”
He thought Felix had paled at the smell of the morgue, but the kid was almost translucent now. “I… But it’s…” He was trying like hell to bring back his chest-puffing arrogance, but Bashir had him off-balance. Exactly where he wanted him.
“I need to know your source,” he said through his teeth. “And I need to know what other information you have about this case.” He paused, remembering Felix’s comment about “a string of murders.” “I also need to know what you have about any other active cases.”