to let her die.
I closed my eyes and opened my heart, asking of the universe with every fiber of my being, believing without a doubt that faith and clarity of vision would answer my wishes. I constructed a vision board in my mind. It looked just like the one Ruby had instructed me to build back when my depression lingered and my game needed a serious publicity boost. I envisioned a corkboard covered in purple fabric. On it, I imagined pictures of Ruby and me together. I filled our future with kids, laughter, and love. I said my affirmation over and over again, seeking strength from above.
No matter what it takes, or how far I have to go, I’m not going to let her die.
At some point, my phone rang, not once but three times. I didn’t notice. I was too busy visioning. It was Agent Bob who tapped my shoulder to get my attention. I looked at the number and saw that Clegg was calling. I pressed to talk.
“We have a body,” he said.
CHAPTER 60
Clegg and I followed Doctor William Cartwright, a skeletal man with stooped shoulders and a horseshoe of wispy brown hair, down a long corridor located somewhere in the basement of Harvard’s medical school. Cartwright seemed a bit too titillated by the large police presence accompanying us for my liking—Clegg’s, too, I could tell.
“The medical students aren’t always prepared for gross anatomy,” Cartwright said in a breathy voice. “Some of them find it horrific to see a dead person. Imagine that, doctors afraid of the dead.”
“Imagine that,” Clegg said. I could tell Clegg was annoyed, but Cartwright seemed oblivious.
“We’ll have to scramble to get a replacement cadaver, as we don’t keep a surplus of bodies,” Cartwright continued. “Fortunately, we’re still able to comply with Mrs. Grayson’s request.”
“Well, we’re awfully sorry for the inconvenience we’ve caused, Doctor, but I thought you might be glad to help save a woman’s life,” Clegg said.
Cartwright cleared his throat, fanning out his long, thin fingers and then closing them into a tightly balled fist, one finger at a time. “Well, I’m speaking without a filter,” he said. “I’m glad to be of help, though less pleased to be back here at midnight, Officer.”
“Detective,” Clegg said.
“Is the plan for us to receive the body after you . . . do what has to be done?”
“That’s the plan,” Clegg said. “The medical examiners will contact you when the body needs to come back.”
Cartwright said, “From what I understand of this plot, the body will need to be cremated as it will no longer be of use to our students.”
“Speaking of students, you know you can’t talk about this to anybody,” Clegg said. “It would be considered obstruction of justice.”
“Of course,” Cartwright said, somewhat indignantly. “I was well informed of my obligation on this sensitive matter. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.”
Cartwright nodded his good-bye and shuffled on ahead, moving quickly to catch up with the medical examiners wheeling the stretcher that would carry out Ruby’s only hope for survival.
“He’s trying to help us, David,” I said, wanting to settle him, though not at all surprised by Clegg’s harshness. When agitated, Clegg could be downright ornery, and we were all highly agitated. I, for one, was definitely ready to snap. But I dug deep, finding the strength to keep moving ahead, one foot in front of the other.
Chief Higgins wasn’t faring much better, at least according to Clegg. Apparently, even with the task force working nonstop and bulletins cast out to every law enforcement organization from here to Fresno, nobody had been able to locate Carl Swain or Edwin Valdez, aka the purse snatcher.
Clegg and I passed through a set of double doors that opened into a large room kept meat-locker cold. Racks of bagged bodies entombed in white plastic shells, four long rows worth, rested atop metal trays. Rollers beneath the trays made body retrieval easier. The overpowering smell of preservative, formaldehyde perhaps, hit me like a sucker punch, causing my eyes to water, my breath to quicken.
“Now, that’s a scent only a mortician could love,” Clegg said as we caught up with Cartwright at the end of a row of dead people.
“This is yours,” Cartwright said, rolling out the tray on which the cadaver rested. “We’re going to arrange for cremation, but you have instructed the widow that she’ll need to pick up the remains, have you not? We can’t ship human ashes, you know.”
“Yup, that’s all set. Thanks, Doc,” Clegg said. “We’ll