Sara felt guilty that she hadn’t reacted the same way when Tessa had mentioned her plans. “It’s a lot to learn.”
“Anybody can memorize a textbook. Look at me. You can’t learn compassion, can you? It’s either there or it’s not.”
“You’re right.”
Brock laughed. “You’re the only woman in my life who ever tells me those words. Come through.”
He opened the door to the main part of the warehouse. The pungent stench of formaldehyde hit Sara like a rock to the face. The chemical was the main ingredient in embalming fluid. She counted at least thirty embalmers leaning over thirty bodies. Most of the workers were women and all of them were white. The funeral business was notoriously segregated.
Sara stepped over a long hose snaking across the floor. A sucking sound came from the drains. Thirty pumps chugged as they forced fluid into thirty carotid arteries and blood out of thirty jugulars. The final handling took place at the loading docks. Caskets were either loaded into waiting mortuary vans or boxed for shipment.
Brock said, “I just came from a meeting about Honey Creek Woodlands. They’re really taking a bite out of us.”
Sara had read about the green burial movement. Looking around the warehouse, she understood why people were opting to forgo embalming and choosing to place their loved ones in a more natural setting. She said, “There’s something to be said for ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“That’s blasphemy in this building.” Brock laughed good-naturedly. “Thank goodness for Macon-Bibb County. They passed an ordinance requiring leak-proof containers for every burial. We’re hoping we can get legislation passed on the state level.”
“Speaking of vaults.” Sara was grateful for the opening. “I’ve got a possible exhumation on a victim from three years ago. According to the funeral home, she was placed in an air-sealed vault.”
“Composite or concrete?”
“Not sure.”
Brock opened the door to his corner office. Florescent bulbs offered the only light. The two windows looking out at the warehouse were covered by dark wooden shutters that were tightly closed. The room was spacious, or at least Sara thought it might be. Brock had never been a tidy man. Stacks of papers and books were everywhere. His filing cabinets were overflowing.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I’ve lost two secretaries in the past three years. I can’t blame the first one, but the second one liked a nip at lunch, and you know how I feel about that.”
Brock’s father had been a high-functioning alcoholic, an open secret that the town kept because drinking had only made him more pleasant.
Brock asked, “Do you want coffee or tea?”
Sara wanted a hot shower to rid herself of the formaldehyde. “No, thank you. I’m still technically on the clock.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.” Brock cleared off a space at a small table for Sara to sit down. He took the other chair. “Now, I’ll spare you the legal mumbo jumbo about there being no guarantee that the body will be preserved. You and I both know the odds are good, especially since it’s air-sealed. Unless the vault is concrete. That might be a problem. We’ve seen some degradation over the years, especially on the coast where the water table is higher.”
“The body is in Villa Rica.”
“Your odds just got much better. That’s some good soil around there. There’s three homes servicing the area. They all use composite and they know how to air-seal. Villa Rica is in part of my stomping ground.” Brock pointed to the map of Georgia taped to the wall. Sara gathered that the shaded blue counties were serviced by AllCare. She saw White County, where Alexandra McAllister had been found, was outside Brock’s area.
He said, “I’m a little confused, Sara. We don’t do the digging. That’s the local funeral home. Do you need me to reach out on your behalf?”
“Oh, no, that’s not what I’m here for.” She explained, “Two older cases have come back up. Rebecca Caterino and Leslie Truong.”
The smile disappeared from his face. He looked as horrified now as he had eight years ago. “God forgive me, I haven’t thought of those poor young women in quite a while. They’re the reason I resigned from the coroner’s position.”
“I know.”
“Goodness.” The shock did not abate. “I guess it’s been about ten years. Is that girl, Rebecca, still in a wheelchair?”
“Yes.” Sara spared him the details. “The exhumation I told you about is tied to their cases.”
“Oh no, don’t tell me they let that fella out of prison?”
“Daryl Nesbitt, and no, he’s still in prison. But there is evidence that possibly exonerates him. At least as far as the attack and murder are concerned.”
“Evidence? Well, that’s—” Brock went silent. He looked around his office as if the books and piles of papers could explain how this happened. “You know I don’t like to be contrary, Sara, but it seems to me Jeffrey caught that Daryl fella dead to rights. No one in town was surprised it was a Nesbitt. Daddy always said those Dew-Lollies killing each other over a chicken bone is what kept our doors open during the economic downturn. I just can’t see how Jeffrey could’ve been wrong on this one.”
“He was,” Sara said, which felt like a betrayal but was still the truth. “The GBI has uncovered new information that indicates the killer might still be active.”
“Active?” The color had left his face. “There are more victims?”
“Yes.”
In the silence, Sara could hear the pumps working outside.
“Are you sure it’s not somebody who’s trying to look like the bad guy?” Brock shook his head, dismissing the possibility. “That’s a pretty bad guy, Sara. I feel sick about this. What did we miss?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Of course. You’ll need my coroner’s report. I’ve got your autopsy notes, and the labs, and—” He went to his desk. He found a ring of keys in the drawer. “Everything’s at the U-Store. Unit 522. I just
