to the van and returned with a small hacksaw.
I nervously looked around the lot. I didn't especially want to get caught hijacking a meat truck. "Isn't there a better way to do this?" I stage whispered over the rasp of the saw. "Can't you just pick the lock?"
"This is faster," Morelli said. "Just keep your eyes peeled for a night watchman."
The saw blade lunged through the metal, and the lock swung open. Morelli threw the bolt back and pulled on the thick, insulated door. The interior of the truck was stygian black. Morelli hauled himself up onto the single-step bumper, and I scrambled after him, wrestling my flashlight out of my shoulder bag. The frigid air pressed against me and took my breath away. We both trained our lights on the frost-shrouded walls. Huge, empty meathooks hung from the ceiling. Nearest the door was the large trim barrel I'd seen them roll out earlier in the afternoon. The empty barrel stood nearby, its lid slanted between the barrel and the truck wall.
I slid my spot of light farther to the rear and dropped it lower. My eyes focused, and I sucked in cold air when I realized what I was seeing. Louis was sprawled spread-eagle on his back, his eyes impossibly wide and unblinking, his feet splayed. Snot had run out of his nose and frozen to his cheek. A large urine stain had crystallized on the front of his work pants. He had a large, dark dot in the middle of his forehead. Sal lay next to him with an identical dot and the same dumbstruck expression on his frozen face.
"Shit," Morelli said. "I'm not having any luck at all."
The only dead people I'd ever seen had been embalmed and dressed up for church. Their hair had been styled, their cheeks had been rouged, and their eyes had been closed to suggest eternal slumber. None of them had been shot in the forehead. I felt bile rise in my throat and clapped a hand over my mouth.
Morelli yanked me out the door and onto the gravel. "Don't throw up in the truck," he said. "You'll screw up the crime scene."
I did some deep breathing and willed my stomach to settle.
Morelli had his hand at the back of my neck. "You going to be okay?"
I nodded violently. "I'm fine. Just t-t-took me b-b-by surprise."
"I need some stuff from the van. Stay here. Don't go back in the truck and don't touch anything."
He didn't have to worry about me going back into the truck. Wild horses couldn't drag me back into the truck.
He returned with a crowbar and two pairs of disposable gloves. He gave one pair to me. We snapped the gloves on, and Morelli climbed up the step bumper. "Shine the light on Louis," he ordered, bending over the body.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm looking for the missing gun."
He stood and tossed a set of keys at me. "No gun on him, but he had these keys in his pocket. See if one of them opens the cab door."
I opened the passenger side door and searched the map pockets, the glove compartment and under the seat, but I didn't come up with a gun. When I went back to Morelli he was working at the sealed drum with a crowbar.
"No gun up front," I said.
The lid popped off, and Morelli flicked his flashlight on and looked inside.
"Well?" I asked.
His voice was tight when he answered. "It's Carmen."
I was hit with another wave of nausea. "You think Carmen's been in Sal's freezer all this time?"
"Looks like it."
"Why would he keep her around? Wouldn't he be afraid someone would discover her?"
Morelli shrugged. "I suppose he felt safe. Maybe he's done this sort of thing before. You do something often enough, and you become complacent."
"You're thinking about those other women who've disappeared from Stark Street."
"Yeah. Sal was probably just waiting for a convenient time to take Carmen out and dump her at sea."
"I don't understand Sal's connection."
Morelli hammered the lid back on. "Me either, but I feel pretty confident Ramirez can be pursuaded to explain it to us."
He wiped his hands on his pants and left smudges of white.
"What's with all this white stuff?" I asked. "Sal got a thing with baby powder or cleanser or something?"
Morelli looked down at his hands and his pants. "I hadn't noticed."
"There was powder on the floor of the boat. And now you picked some up from the drum and wiped it on your pants."
"Jesus," Morelli said,