Creepers by David Morrell

carefully. No one got into the city morgue unless he belonged there, unless he was on the city payroll.
    "That's where I usually work," the doctor admitted happily. "I still think they were wrong to bring the center of operations up here, but you know what the bureaucracy is like."
    "So that's why Slade is here." Corelli gave vent to his thoughts. Geary stared at him for a moment, then began to chew his lower lip nervously. Frank saw at once he'd said too much; the doctor was getting suspicious. The best move now was to change gears, get back to Slade. "Let's have a good look at him," he said, nodding toward the cadaver.
    Geary pulled the shroud back to Slade's pubic bone; that was enough for Corelli. Slade looked like he'd been put through a meat grinder. Worst of all was his face. From the hairline to the chin, from ear to ear, Slade's face was gone. Frank forced himself to examine the grisly mess, noting as he did that the edges of the wounds were clean.
    "It was done with a knife or something similar," Geary hypothesized. "Then his face was just ripped off--like a goddamned mask. But, hell, it ain't even Halloween."
    "Save the jokes," Corelli said sourly. Geary's gallows humor was just plain twisted. "What do you make of these wounds?" He pointed to the upper arms, where the biceps had been severed.
    "Same thing, a knife, maybe." Geary's manner had changed almost imperceptibly. He was wary now, scared. Each time he spoke, his voice betrayed the feeling he might be saying more than he should--and saying it to the wrong person. Geary thought that because Corelli had found the whereabouts of Ted Slade's body, he knew the rest of the story as well. Now it was quite apparent that he knew nothing. If the others found out he'd talked to Corelli, they'd have his balls for it; on the other hand, if he didn't tell them . . . No, it would be just as bad . . . maybe worse.
    "A knife, huh? What kind of a sicko would do something like this?" Corelli examined Slade's body as if it were a side of beef hung in a butcher shop. The dead eyes staring out from the ravaged remains of his face no longer bothered him. Corelli was too interested in what had happened to let his own queasiness interfere. Slade's torso had been carved up with care; the biceps were neatly removed, as were the latimus dorsi on both sides. In fact, most of the thick muscles of the back were gone. "Whoever did this had some knowledge of anatomy," he finally said. "Let's see the rest of him."
    "Don't you think you've seen enough already?" Geary's eyes were shifting nervously around the room.
    "The rest, doctor, or I'll have a court order in here so fast your head will spin."
    Geary angrily disengaged the rest of the shroud. Corelli looked and felt a fountain of bile erupt into the back of his throat. Not only were Ted Slade's penis and testicles missing, but the upper fleshy parts of his legs had been torn away; what was left of his legs was covered with circular lacerations.
    "Jesus . . ." Corelli gagged, then turned his head. "What the fuck happened to him?"
    "We don't know yet," Geary said testily as he covered the body and slid it back into the refrigerator.
    "No subway train did that to him." The TA report on Slade said exactly that.
    Geary smiled at the thought. "No?" Any other cop might have let the doctor get away with this ignorant act, but Corelli wasn't just any cop. It was exactly one week since Penny Comstock had disappeared at Fifty-third Street; Lisa Hill had been gone for two days. Any other cop might not have seen the significance of these two puzzles even when combined with the ravaged body of Ted Slade. But Frank Corelli did.
    "Who's your boss, Dr. Geary? Who are these big boys you've been talking about?" Geary swallowed hard. "Why?"
    "Slade was brutalized, and I want to know why. I also want to know how he was killed so maybe I can find the maniac who did it. You know, Geary, it's about time City Hall begins to look at the TA as something other than a