“Yes.” I wanted desperately to bathe and sleep. “But I'm sure you're way ahead of him.”
I reached out to touch her shoulder, but she stepped back and the hands found each other again.
“They fly with Lucifer in the face of divinity. They blaspheme.”
“Who does?”
“They've grasped the keys of Hades and of death. Just like it says in Revelations.”
“Ruby, please speak to me in plain English.”
Her eyes were wide, the nodes in the corners pink and shiny with moisture.
“You're from foreign parts so you can't be knowing.”
“Knowing what?” Irritation curled the edges of my voice. I was not in a mood for parables.
“There's evil here.”
The beer?
“Detective Ryan an—”
“Wicked men scoff at the Almighty.”
This was going nowhere.
“Let's talk about this tomorrow.”
I grasped the doorknob, but a hand flew out and clutched my arm. Calluses scratched the sleeve of my nylon jacket.
“The Lord God has sent a sign.”
She drew even closer.
“Death!”
Gently prying loose the bony fingers, I squeezed Ruby's hand and stepped back. I watched her through the gap as the door swung shut, her small body frozen, the sausage curl crawling her skull like a dull, gray serpent.
THE NEXT DAY HONORED SOMEONE. CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, I think. By midmorning it had turned into a nightmare.
I drove to the morgue through mist so thick it obliterated the mountains, and worked until ten-thirty. When I broke for coffee, Larke Tyrell was in the staff room. He waited while I filled a cup with industrial sludge and added white powder.
“There's something we need to talk about.”
“Sure.”
“Not here.” He looked at me a long time. The look meant something, and I felt a prick of anxiety.
“What is it, Larke?”
“Come on.”
Taking my arm, he propelled me out the back door.
“Tempe, I don't know how to say this.” He swirled his coffee, and iridescent clouds slid across the surface.
“Just say it.” I kept my voice low and level.
“There's been a complaint.”
I waited.
“I feel terrible about this.” He studied his cup a few more seconds, then raised his eyes to mine. “It's about you.”
“Me?” I was incredulous.
He nodded.
“What did I do?”
“The complaint cites unprofessional behavior of a nature sufficient to compromise the investigation.”
“Such as?”
“Entering the site without authority and mishandling evidence.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“And trespass.”
“Did you poke around that property we talked about?”
“It wasn't trespass. I wanted to talk to the owners.”
