Body Movers Books 1-3

“And he asked your opinion on the M.E.’s report.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So what’s up with that?”

Coop stretched in his seat and Wesley thought it was another one of those questions his boss would avoid.

“I used to be a doctor,” Coop said finally.

“Used to be?”

Coop shot him an impatient look. “Yeah, as in I’m not anymore.”

“What happened?”

The man’s profile hardened and he seemed to turn inside himself. “Long story,” he said, mimicking Wesley’s response of a couple of days ago when Cooper had probed about his family.

“Some other time, then,” Wesley said.

“Yeah. We’re here,” Coop said, pulling the van into the parking lot of the city morgue.

Wesley looked at the nondescript building, the third time he’d accompanied Coop to the place. They pulled around to the back where two guys in scrubs were just finishing a smoke break and going back into the building.

“Working in a morgue, you’d think they’d know better than to smoke,” Wesley said.

“Yeah,” Coop replied, “but sometimes the people who know better have the worst vices of all.”

Something in his voice made Wesley think once again that Cooper Craft had secrets and maybe a shady past. And the set of the man’s mouth told him that something about this body pickup had bothered him more than usual.

When Coop parked, Wesley jumped out to help him unload the body from the van and place it on a gurney. They rolled it up a ramp where Coop pressed a button on a call box and identified himself and their “delivery.” A few seconds later a buzz sounded, unlocking the door.

A slender, suited man, maybe in his fifties, met them just inside the door, a thundercloud on his bushy brow.

“Hello, Dr. Abrams,” Coop said pleasantly.

The man didn’t acknowledge the greeting. “Is this the Ashford body?”

“Yes.”

“My medical examiner just phoned in. He said he ruled the death an accidental drowning.”

“He did,” Coop said.

“So why is she here?”

“Detective Jack Terry told me to bring her here after he interviewed the husband,” Coop said, his voice even. “The M.E. had already left, Bruce.”

The chief medical examiner’s expression changed to one of suspicion. “And I suppose you had nothing to do with the detective overriding the M.E.’s report.”

Coop lifted his hands. “Just following orders.”

The man expelled a long sigh and jammed his hands on his hips. “You’re putting me in a hell of a spot. I extended the transport contract for your family’s funeral home because we go way back, and in spite of everything, I respect you, Coop. But I can’t have you on the scene second-guessing my people.”

Coop frowned. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to if your people would do their job. The guy barely looked at the body before writing the report and taking off. He didn’t even talk to the next of kin, only the maid.”

Dr. Abrams made an exasperated noise. “Coop, you of all people know how it is—everyone here is overworked and underpaid. We’re lucky to fill the entry-level jobs, and we got bodies stacked up in here.”

“Then one more won’t matter,” Coop said, his voice challenging.

The older man’s expression hardened and his chin went up in the air. “No, Coop. That’s not the way things are run around here anymore. We follow the rules to the letter.”

Coop’s mouth tightened, and then he shook his head, his eyes full of disdain. “That’s why you’ll never be a great M.E., Bruce.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “You arrogant son of a bitch. You have the nerve to criticize me after the disgraceful way you behaved?”

Wesley took a step back. The men obviously had history.

Coop set his jaw and looked away. When he turned back, his expression was contrite. “I’m sorry, Bruce. You’re right—I was out of line. You don’t have to do an autopsy, but I’ll have to leave the body here while I make another run. I’ll pick it up when I make the next dropoff in about—” he looked at his watch “—two hours. Okay?”

Dr. Abrams drew back, his eyes still wary despite Coop’s apology, his chin stubbornly set. “Take her to the crypt for now.”

Coop nodded in acquiescence and told Wesley where to turn once they reached the end of the hall. He seemed to know his way around the place.

The morgue was a cold, sterile building with industrial surfaces and a hushed, echoey atmosphere. At this time of day, the corners were dark, the glaring overhead lights ruthless. They passed workers wearing scrubs, their eyes and shoulders sagging in fatigue. A few of them recognized Coop and murmured hello, although their body language seemed awkward and their eye contact furtive.

Wesley slid his gaze sideways to his boss. The man was indeed a mystery, but he had a feeling now wasn’t the best time to ask questions.

As they rounded a corner, the body shifted in the gray body bag they had transferred her to. Wesley jumped back and Coop smiled as they repositioned her.

“Relax, man, she’s not going to hurt anyone.”

Even in the voluminous body bag, her breast implants were obvious, jutting up, pushing the plastic taut.

“It freaks me out a little because she was so young,” Wesley said.

“Unfortunately, you’d better get used to that.”

“But she’s, like, my sister’s age.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So you don’t think her drowning was an accident?”

Coop pursed his mouth and resumed pushing the gurney. “As a matter of fact, it probably was an accident. I have a tendency to look for a devious angle even where there is none.” He smiled. “I can be rather morose, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I guess this job will do it to you.”

“Yep.”