Shamed (Kate Burkholder #11) - Linda Castillo Page 0,38

slide toward the doors that will take me to the medical side of the morgue. “He in there?”

“He’s waiting for you.”

I barely notice the smell of formalin that rides the air as I pass through the doors. The autopsy room is ahead. The niche where the biohazard protective gear is stored is to my right. Left is Doc Coblentz’s glassed-in office. The mini blinds facing the hall are open. Inside, Doc and a second man clad in royal-blue scrubs are staring at the laptop on his desk.

“Kate.”

Doc Coblentz is a corpulent man, about my height, with a balding pate and bushy salt-and-pepper brows. This morning, he’s wearing his usual hunter-green scrubs with high-end sneakers and a blue apron that ties in the back.

He looks at me a little too closely as he offers his hand for a shake. “Looking a little worse for wear this morning,” he tells me.

I frown, hoping it looks more good-natured than it feels. “Long night,” I murmur. “Sorry I’m late.”

The other man in his office rises. He’s African American, with a tall frame, thinning hair the color of steel wool, and keen, intelligent eyes.

“This is Dr. Larry Blake,” the coroner says. “He’s the deputy medical examiner for Cuyahoga County and specializes in forensic pathology.”

Blake and I shake. His grip is firm, but not crushing. He smiles easily and I wonder how it is that these men can spend so much time with the dead yet remain upbeat and optimistic.

“I’m here at the behest of BCI,” Dr. Blake tells me. “I understand you’ve got a missing child on your hands.”

I give him a condensed version of the case. “I’m hoping we’ll learn something today that will help us find her.”

Doc Coblentz motions toward the alcove where the biohazard supplies are stored. “In that case, let’s get started.”

The three of us leave his office and walk to the alcove where Carmen has laid out individually wrapped protective gear. A paper apron for me. Face mask. Shoe covers. Hair cap. Disposable gloves. Quickly, I tear open the packages and gear up. The men don’t wait for me. I watch them saunter down the narrow hall and go through the double doors that lead to the autopsy room. Once I’m dressed, I draw a couple of deep breaths and follow.

No matter how many times I make this pilgrimage, no matter how many times I assure myself I’m prepared, the dead are quick to prove me wrong. The air thickens and cools, melding with a darker odor that brings the familiar quiver to my stomach. I think about Elsie and I pray to God I don’t have to walk this hall again because her little body is laid out on a gurney.

I’ve seen many a tough guy cut down to size because he can’t bear to look at the body of a child and not think of his own. It’s the people who can keep all that outrage and disgust under lock and key that I don’t quite trust.

The room is so cold, I half expect to see a coating of frost on the gray subway-tiled walls. I take in the rest of the details while trying not to look too closely. Stark fluorescent lights. Stainless-steel counters cluttered with white plastic containers, gleaming instruments lined up on trays, dual sinks with tall, arcing faucets, and a scale that hangs down, ready to weigh things I don’t want to contemplate.

Ignoring all of it, trying hard to keep a handle on my quivering stomach, I follow the men to the gurney where I see a body draped with a pale blue sheet. Doc Coblentz pulls on a headset with a small mike and recites the date and time, nine-digit case number, the names of everyone present, including his own, and the name of the deceased.

He pulls the cover down to her pubis. “Sixty-year-old female Caucasian. One hundred and fifty-three pounds. Five feet, four inches in height.”

Mary Yoder’s body is mature, etched with years and the scars of life. I see a round, slack face. A nose covered with freckles. Eyes at half mast. Long brown hair streaked with silver. I see flesh that rarely saw the sun. But her hands, face, and neck are tanned. I didn’t know Mary Yoder, but I’ve no doubt she was a modest woman. She wouldn’t want anyone to see her like this, and I find myself silently assuring her that it will be over soon. That I will do everything in my power to find the