I looked higher, and discovered several bruises on her shoulders and arms. Angry, oval shapes. Some had flesh missing.
Bite marks.
Her legs were splayed open, knees bent as if she were giving birth. I noticed some soft tissue damage to the vagina, felt my stomach becoming unhappy, and looked away.
'Where's her head?' I asked.
'Her head? Um, it was crushed in the wreck.'
'Shouldn't it still be here?'
'I cremated the head and vital organs earlier today. The family wanted her cremated.'
'Why didn't you cremate her as well?'
Rushlo scratched the back of his neck.
'I was going to do that later today.' One eye on me, one on Herb. 'The crematory is sort of on the fritz, and it works better in sections.'
'Where's the autopsy report?' Herb asked.
'The autopsy report? I have no idea. It should be around. You'd be surprised how often paperwork gets misplaced.'
He giggled, manic.
'Do you have a cell phone, Derrick?'
'Um, sure. Doesn't everybody?'
'Is it the kind that you buy phone cards for, so there's no contract with the provider?'
He opened his mouth, lips forming a yes, but he stopped himself.
'I think I'd like a lawyer.'
'You're not under arrest, Derrick. Why would you need a lawyer?'
He folded his arms.
'I'm not saying anything else without my attorney present.'
I glanced at the corpse, 90 percent sure it was Eileen Hutton. I recalled seeing a hairbrush when we'd searched her apartment. All I needed was one strand of hair with the end bulb still attached, and I could get a DNA match.
But, contrary to cop shows on television, DNA testing took weeks, even the rush jobs.
In the meantime, we couldn't arrest Rushlo for anything. I needed something immediately incriminating. We needed to find the TracFone.
'I'm going to call my lawyer now.'
He walked out of the room. I nodded at Herb, who followed. He'd watch who Rushlo called, making sure he didn't alert whoever his accomplice was.
I pulled on some latex gloves and began by searching the cabinets lining the rear wall. I found tubing, trocars, scalpels, a box of something called 'eye caps,' gallon jugs of various fluids, and a few extra scrubs.
The closet held a foul-smelling mop and bucket, some dirty rags, and several containers of bleach. Looking at the bleach, I thought of Davi's severed arms. Nausea be damned, I went back to the corpse and sniffed her cold hand.
Bleach. She'd been washed down, the same as Davi.
Several stained embalming books sat on the counter, along with a tray of sharp instruments. One drawer was stuffed with a large wad of cotton. Another had several unopened packs of large, curved needles.
In the final drawer, near the back, rested a small metal box with a wire handle. A cash box. It had a combination lock on the front.
I took it out, gave it a tiny shake. Something bumped around inside. Something that didn't sound like cash.
I picked up a clean-looking scalpel and spent about a minute trying to pry open the top. It held.
I left the prep room with the box, and found Herb and Rushlo in the arrangement office. Rushlo sat behind his desk, looking six kinds of nervous. Herb busied himself searching the bookshelves.
'What's in the box, Derrick?'
I tossed it onto his desk. The thud made him jump.
'That's private.'
'We have a blanket warrant. That entitles us to search anything we're interested in. Open it up.'
'I don't want to.'
'Did he contact a lawyer?'
Benedict nodded.
'Not cooperating with us is just making it harder on yourself, Derrick. Open the box.'
