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The Laughing Corpse :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 164 из 213You're only in trouble ifthere are a lot of them. If there is a crowd, you're pretty much cooked.
I flashed my ID at the guard. "Hi, Fred, long time no see."
"I wish they let you come down here like before. We've had three get up this week and go home. Can you believe that?"
"Vampires?"
"What else? There's going to be more of them than of us someday."
I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. He was probably right. "We're here to see the personal effects of Peter Burke. Sergeant Rudolph Storr was supposed to clear it."
Fred checked his little book. "Yeah, you're authorized. Take the right corridor, third door on the left. Dr. Saville is waiting for you."
I raised an eyebrow at that. It wasn't often that the chief medical examiner did errands for the police or anybody else. I just nodded as if I had expected royal treatment.
"Thanks, Fred, see you on the way out."
"More and more people do," he said. He didn't sound happy about it.
My Nikes made no sound in the perpetual quiet. John Burke wasn't making any noise either. I hadn't pegged him as a tennis shoe man. I glanced down, and I was right. Soft-soled brown tie-ups, not tennis shoes. But he still moved beside me like a quiet shadow.
The rest of his outfit sort of matched the shoes. A dressy brown sport jacket so dark brown it was almost black, over a pale yellow shirt, brown dress slacks. He only needed a tie, and he could have gone to corporate America. Did he always dress up, or was this just what he had brought for his brother's funeral? No, the suit at the funeral had been perfectly black.
The morgue was always quiet, but on a Saturday morning it was deathly still. Did the ambulances circle like planes until a decent hour on the weekend? I knew the murder count went up on the weekend, yet Saturday and Sunday morning were always quiet. Go figure.
I counted doors on the left-hand side. Knocked on the third door. A faint "Come in," and I opened the door.
Dr. Marian Saville is a small woman with short dark hair bobbed just below her ears, an olive complexion, deeply brown eyes, and fine high cheekbones. She is French and Greek and looks it. Exotic without being intimidating. It always surprised me that Dr. Saville wasn't married. It wasn't for lack of being pretty.
Her only fault was that she smoked, and the smell clung to her like nasty perfume.
She came forward with a smile and an offered hand. "Anita, good to see you again."
I shook her hand, and smiled. "You, too, Dr. Saville."
"Marian, please."
I shrugged.
I flashed my ID at the guard. "Hi, Fred, long time no see."
"I wish they let you come down here like before. We've had three get up this week and go home. Can you believe that?"
"Vampires?"
"What else? There's going to be more of them than of us someday."
I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. He was probably right. "We're here to see the personal effects of Peter Burke. Sergeant Rudolph Storr was supposed to clear it."
Fred checked his little book. "Yeah, you're authorized. Take the right corridor, third door on the left. Dr. Saville is waiting for you."
I raised an eyebrow at that. It wasn't often that the chief medical examiner did errands for the police or anybody else. I just nodded as if I had expected royal treatment.
"Thanks, Fred, see you on the way out."
"More and more people do," he said. He didn't sound happy about it.
My Nikes made no sound in the perpetual quiet. John Burke wasn't making any noise either. I hadn't pegged him as a tennis shoe man. I glanced down, and I was right. Soft-soled brown tie-ups, not tennis shoes. But he still moved beside me like a quiet shadow.
The rest of his outfit sort of matched the shoes. A dressy brown sport jacket so dark brown it was almost black, over a pale yellow shirt, brown dress slacks. He only needed a tie, and he could have gone to corporate America. Did he always dress up, or was this just what he had brought for his brother's funeral? No, the suit at the funeral had been perfectly black.
The morgue was always quiet, but on a Saturday morning it was deathly still. Did the ambulances circle like planes until a decent hour on the weekend? I knew the murder count went up on the weekend, yet Saturday and Sunday morning were always quiet. Go figure.
I counted doors on the left-hand side. Knocked on the third door. A faint "Come in," and I opened the door.
Dr. Marian Saville is a small woman with short dark hair bobbed just below her ears, an olive complexion, deeply brown eyes, and fine high cheekbones. She is French and Greek and looks it. Exotic without being intimidating. It always surprised me that Dr. Saville wasn't married. It wasn't for lack of being pretty.
Her only fault was that she smoked, and the smell clung to her like nasty perfume.
She came forward with a smile and an offered hand. "Anita, good to see you again."
I shook her hand, and smiled. "You, too, Dr. Saville."
"Marian, please."
I shrugged.