Courting Death by Carol Stephenson Page A

its contents. An officer wearing a baffled expression stood in the doorway to the embalming room.
    Sam paused. “What is it, Hernandez?”
    The officer lifted his shoulder. “It’s the damndest thing, sir, but that table on the far side looks like it has a hydraulic base.”
    “What?” Sam knelt down and studied the table. I crowded behind him. Instead of rollers, the last table rested on a tube similar to those in a car shop. As the familiar band began to tighten across my chest, I forced myself to breathe deeply.
    But that insidious voice taunted, How could you miss something so important again?
    Sam pulled out a penlight, clicked it on and pointed the beam at the ceiling. The light skipped around before landing a rectangular outline in the ceiling. I’d missed that too but…
    I gripped his shoulder. “Sam. When we were outside, I noticed that this section of the building is higher than the front although there are no windows.”
    He rose and walked down the hallway, opening two other doors. At the third he paused. “Bingo.”
    Since his broad shoulders blocked my view, I stood on tiptoe to see around him. Shelves lined the cramped supply room but in the corner stood a metal staircase rising to the ceiling. Sam glanced at me. “Good catch, Red, but you stay here while we check it out. Hernandez.” He motioned for the officer to follow him.
    At the top of the stairs he pressed on a ceiling panel and moved it aside. The two men disappeared. Moments later I heard Sam’s distinct whistle. Spotting a box of latex gloves on a shelf, I popped it open and removed a pair. After snapping them on, I crept up the stairs. As soon as my head cleared the access space, a fetid odor rolled over me. While downstairs smelled of industrial strength bleach, up here the cloying smell of decaying flesh permeated the small chamber.
    I retreated to the storage room, grabbed several surgical masks and put one on. I climbed up once more. Officer Hernandez, now wearing gloves like Sam, found a switch and flicked it. Powerful operating room lights came on, throwing a garish gleam on steel supply carts that held surgical saws and knives. A freezer and a refrigerator hummed in the corner alongside stacks of empty coolers. White plastic gallon jugs lined another wall. Silhouetted like ghostly fingers were white PVC pipes of various lengths sticking out of a large paint bucket.
    The officer crossed to the bucket and rubbed his chin. “Why would they need PVC pipes up here?”
    I swallowed the lump of horror that lodged in my throat. “They’re for bones.”
    Sam and Hernandez swung around. “Christ, Nicole, I told you to stay put.”
    I ignored him as I carefully made my way over to the stack of pipes, careful not to touch anything.
    “I caught a television show on unusual crimes. There was an episode on an organ broker in Pennsylvania. In that case when there was an open casket viewing, a body snatcher would cut out the arm and leg bones, leaving the hands and feet intact, and then inserted the pipes in place so no one was the wiser.”
    “Here.” I handed the officer a mask. “Best put this on.” I gave the remaining one to Sam, who slid it over his face.
    “Shit.” Hernandez blanched. “Be right back, sir.” He staggered to the stairs and disappeared.
    I would have loved to follow him, but in my years as a prosecutor, I had seen all manner of savagery. Dead was dead, right? These particular victims never knew what hideous atrocities had been committed against them.
    I willed myself to look at the instruments crusted with unimaginable body waste. Plastic bags filled one bin and plastic food containers packed another. A stack of empty ice cream tubs sat on the floor. When I raised my head, Sam was studying me with an intent look. “You okay?”
    I realized I’d been holding my breath and gestured. “This is a body chop shop, Sam. Bones, body tissue, maybe even eyes were harvested here, but…” Disappointment swirled with