vending machine, and fished out a leather case about three feet long. It was heavy, but the weight was comforting. He tucked the case under his arm, relocked the shed, then brought everything to his truck. Elroy was still pretending that he was trying to keep Coon off the girl's goodies, and here was the girl, red-faced and laughing, but not getting into her car. Frederick pumped two gallons of premium into the can (figuring the premium would burn hotter), loaded two cans of propane into his truck, then tooled away. Elroy never even glanced over to see.
A couple of miles along the road, Frederick pulled over and opened the case. A cut-down Remington 12-gauge pump gun was inside, already stoked with six rounds of number-four buck. Jammed in with the shotgun was a plain white envelope holding a thousand dollars in twenties and matching Illinois driver's licenses-both now out of date-but showing Frederick Conrad and Payne Keller with different names. Frederick jacked a shell into the chamber, tucked the shotgun under the front seat, then pulled back onto the road.
It crossed Frederick 's mind to stomp on the accelerator and rip out of town, but that would be like waving a red neon flag. If Payne hadn't ratted him out, running would be a major mistake-their mutual disappearances would be obvious to even the dumbest cops. Frederick had to find out what happened to Payne, and he had to get rid of the evidence.
Payne's place was only another mile ahead, all by itself and hidden by trees so no one could see what they did.
5
The Department of Coroner was split between two modern cement buildings at the edge of the County-USC Medical Center, across the river from the main jail. The north building housed administrative offices for thirty-five or so coroner investigators, and the south building housed the labs. The medical examiners parked their vehicles at the front of the buildings, but the bodies were delivered at the rear. Probably so the patients at the Women's and Children's Hospital wouldn't see the stiffs.
I parked across the street and met Diaz outside the main entrance. She had changed into jeans and a blazer, and was holding what looked like a gas mask with two purple cylinders jutting from its face.
I said, "What's that?"
"It's a particle filter. We have to wear them when we go down to the service floor with the bodies."
"Why do we have to wear something like that?"
"TB, SARS, Ebola-you wouldn't believe what these stiffs are carrying. This one's mine. We'll get something for you downstairs."
"Ebola?"
Ebola was the African virus that dissolved your cells so you molted into a puddle of goo.
Diaz shrugged as she turned away.
"They say wear it, I wear it. Let's get this done so I can get some sleep."
The receptionist gave us visitor passes, then we took the elevator down to the service floor. The smells of disinfectant and cavity blood hit me when the doors opened, and we stepped out into a lavender hall. An ultraviolet light burned high on one wall, and a bug zapper hissed as it cooked a fly. Germ control.
Diaz led me around the corner into another long hall where two steel gurneys were parked, each bearing a body wrapped in heavy translucent plastic. Red liquid pooled within the plastic.
"I thought we needed masks when we were with the bodies."
"You're not going to catch anything. Don't be a sissy."
I tried not to breathe.
The coroner investigator was a tall man with framed glasses and bushy hair named Dino Beckett. I had seen him at the crime scene, but didn't meet him until he emerged at the end of the hall and Diaz introduced us. He was wearing a cloth mask like doctors wear in an operating room, and handed a similar mask to me.
"Here, pull the elastic band over your ears and squeeze the metal strip across your nose."
I did like he said while Diaz pulled on her larger mask.
"How come her mask is bigger?"
"Her mask filters one hundred percent of the air, which is what you're required to wear if you go in the autopsy room like the homicide detectives. The mask we're wearing only filters ninety-five percent of the air."
"What about the other five percent?"
Diaz said, "Jesus Christ, Cole, don't think about it. Where is he, Dino?"
We followed him into a long narrow room where the air was cold. A rash of goose bumps sprouted over me, but not from the chill. Racks on the walls were stacked