Standing in front of a glass window so clean it was invisible, they looked around for a medical examiner or lab technician, but the room was empty of all living beings, quiet as a tomb. The only occupants were half a dozen bodies on steel gurneys, in various stages of decay. Even the pressed white sheets covering them couldn't hide the ravages of death on the human body-here a livid arm protruded, there a brown stain seeped through the pristine covering.
Lee looked away. At least Laura, when they found her, would be nothing more than clean white bones, none of this messy and gruesome horror. He looked at Kathy, but her face was grim and unreadable. Maybe she didn't like seeing corpses any more than he did.
Chuck Morton came walking down the long hallway with his cell phone to his ear. He waved at Lee and said into the phone, 'Look, I've got to go. I'll call you later.' He put the phone in his breast pocket and approached them with a rueful expression. 'Missing soccer again. Afraid I'm not much of a dad lately.' Seeing Kathy, he held out his hand. 'Chuck Morton, Captain, Bronx Major Case Unit.'
She shook his hand. 'Katherine Azarian, forensic pathologist. I'm just here to give my opinion, for what it's worth.'
'Oh, yes, I've heard of you. You're out of Philadelphia, aren't you?'
'Yes. I'm here testifying in the Lorenzo case.'
'Right, right-the skeleton that turned up in Queens.' He turned to Lee, his face apologetic.
'I'm sorry to call you here like this. It could be there's no connection, but I just thought-'
'It's all right,' Lee answered. 'I'm glad you called. Where is…' She? It? He couldn't bring himself to say either word, so his sentence trailed off into thin air.
'Elaine's just bringing the…uh, remains…from the main morgue.' Chuck also seemed to have trouble finding the right words.
Lee swallowed, his Adam's apple tight and dry in his throat.
A short blond woman with a tight pixie face came down the hall wheeling a metal gurney. Under the white sheet was the clear outline of a skeleton. Lee forced himself to concentrate on his breathing as the woman wheeled the gurney into the autopsy room. The three of them followed her, and Lee wasn't prepared for the smell as the door opened. In spite of the strong odor of disinfectant, as well as formaldehyde and various other laboratory chemicals, the stench lingered underneath, clinging to his nostrils with a noxious insistence, causing a deep, instinctive repulsion.
It was the smell of death.
'This is Elaine Margolies,' Chuck said, introducing the blond woman. 'She's chief assistant medical examiner.'
Elaine Margolies was all business. 'A couple of boys came across this in some caves in the woods in Inwood Park, called it in. Cops took photos of the scene and then brought it in.'
'I've seen the photos, and they're not very revealing,' Chuck Morton commented.
Kathy Azarian wasn't listening. 'May I have a look?' she asked Elaine.
Lee held his breath as Margolies lifted the sheet, revealing a nearly complete human skeleton, clean except for a few bits of dirt and leaves still clinging to it.
'Well, it's definitely female,' she concluded after a brief glance.
'And in remarkably good condition, considering,' Elaine Margolies agreed. 'Not much evidence of any molestation by animals.'
'Well, that makes sense-there isn't much in Inwood Park other than squirrels,' Morton remarked, glancing at Lee to see how he was taking it.
Lee looked down at the bones. If this really was his sister, he could handle it, seeing her this way-better this way than one of the bloated, oozing corpses on the other gurneys.
But Kathy Azarian shook her head. 'This isn't your sister.'
Morton frowned. 'How can you tell?'
'Development of the pelvic bone. This girl was no more than fifteen when she died. In more mature individuals,' she continued, 'there is considerably more development of the pelvic bone. Not only that,' she said to Lee, 'you told me that your sister had given birth?'
'Yes,' Lee said. 'She has-had-a daughter.' He remembered now talking incessantly on the bus all the way up First Avenue, rattling on as if filling up the air between them would make the ride go faster. He could barely remember what he had said, but he knew he had mentioned Kylie at least once, and the fact that she was living with her father.
'This is not the body of a woman in her twenties,' Kathy said, 'much less one who has given birth. Absolutely not.'
Chuck Morton rubbed a hand over his short buff of blond hair. Lee thought he looked relieved.
'Well,' he said. 'You're sure, huh?'
'Positive,' she replied.
The tension drained from the room like water from a sieve. Lee knew at that moment that he wasn't that different from his mother after all: as long as no body surfaced, in the back of his head there was still a tiny seed of hope, ready to burst into bloom.
He looked at Chuck Morton. To his surprise, his old friend was sweating.
Chuck's cell phone rang-a jaunty Latin melody that was a jarring contrast to the solemn surroundings.
'Hello?' He listened and then said, 'Okay, thanks for telling me.'
He hung up, his face grim.
'I'm afraid there's some bad news.'
'What is it?' said Lee.
'Father Michael Flaherty is dead. Hanged himself.'
'Oh, God.'
'There's a suicide note. He apologizes for his sexual behavior.'
'But that's it? No mention of-?'
'No.'
Neither of them said what they were both thinking: they were back to square one. And Lee had another uncomfortable thought: what if the bones on the table in front of him belonged to an even earlier victim of the Slasher?
Chapter Eighteen
The woods lay silent all around him, the tree branches hanging low over the winding stream, their leaves a lush canopy of gold and green, hiding him, protecting him from the inquisitive, prying eyes of people who might judge him.
He stood looking at the running brook, at the soft clear water burbling over the stones in its path. He was like the water, gliding over the rocks and pebbles in his path, smoothing them over time until they became rounded, the rough edges now as curved as the white limbs of the women he had rescued.
They had to be saved from the path they were choosing before it was too late. He was the only one who could save them-except the Master, of course. They both understood the importance of purity, and he had kept himself pure: unblemished, clean and clear as the water running so swiftly over the stones lining the brook. It was a heavy burden to bear-at times almost intolerable-but the importance of his work drove him onward.
He lay down upon the stones and let the purifying water flow over him. It was icy cold, but he didn't mind. It helped to quench the fire raging in his soul. He closed his eyes and let the pictures float through his mind like the running water over his skin. Whenever he closed his eyes, the images of their faces were there, in his mind's eye, one face melting into another, their features weaving in an endless tapestry of memory and desire…
He had conquered desire, overcome his own lust for these women by an act of willpower, to follow a purer impulse. The Master understood the importance of saving a soul, by stopping the sinner before she could sin again.
And what if they had desired him, these women with their soft white skin and doelike eyes, eyes that
