Page 7 of Hart of Darkness
3
Dillon
Irang the buzzer on the door behind the hospital. A cat meowed somewhere nearby, and the stench of piss drifted up my nose as I rang the buzzer again. The late August weather was hot and humid, and with it came all kinds of odors that made my stomach churn, especially in the alleys of Boston.
Eddie answered with his white lab coat draped over his small shoulders. He peered out as though he didn’t want anyone to see him letting me in. Then again, he would get into trouble if his boss found out I was there. I had no official business with the morgue, especially not after hours. I’d met Eddie at some point during my search for Grace when I started visiting morgues. At first, he’d been reluctant, but he had a distant family member that had gone missing years ago so he had a soft spot for me. Although I did slip him some cash when he called.
Once inside, the sound of the clicking lock echoed. Eddie flicked his head toward the double doors before he hurried his short legs into a dimly lit hall then into the glaring lights of the morgue.
A chill curled up my spine as I followed him in. No matter how many times I’d been around dead people, I always got queasy, and not just from seeing dead people, but from the stainless-steel compartments on the side wall. I might have been crazy to think that those drawers would shoot out and a dead person would sit up and scare the fuck out of me. A psychiatrist would have told me that my fear stemmed from finding Grace in a similar position.
I sucked in lots of air when my gaze landed on the body laid out on the table in the middle of the room, covered by a sheet. I wanted to find Grace, but not in a morgue.
Sweat began to bead on my forehead as I got closer.Please don’t let her be Grace.As I took one step toward her body, acid swished in the pit of my stomach.
Eddie slipped on latex gloves. “I called you down because the girl has a birthmark underneath her ear.” He ponied up to the table across from me and pulled down the sheet.
My knees wobbled as I scanned her body with fine precision. Her brown hair was caked with blood. She was wearing jeans with holes up and down the legs, blood-coated tennis shoes, and a ragged T-shirt.
When I’d left for the merchant marines, Grace had been twelve years old with porcelain skin, silky brown hair, and a look of pure innocence. I’d sworn I would know her the minute I saw her, but eight years and puberty certainly could change a person’s appearance. I guessed this girl’s age to be about twenty, the same age as Grace.
Eddie turned her head. “Here’s the mark.” He moved her earlobe out of the way.
The light-brown spot was definitely a birthmark, but it was small and not the shape of Grace’s. My heart rate slowed. “Grace’s birthmark is lower on her neck and on the right side not left, and its shape resembles a broken star. Where’s the picture I gave you of Grace?”
“Sorry, someone cleaned out the desk,” Eddie said. “I can’t seem to find it now.”
I took a deep breath then let it out. “How did she die?”
Eddie lifted her T-shirt. “I would guess from this. I suspect she was a mule. I’m sure my examination will find traces of drugs in her stomach.”
I pressed a fist to my mouth to stave off the nausea that was a minute away from gushing out at the sight of how the girl’s stomach was sliced open.
Eddie ripped off his gloves. “I need to get to work on her. I’ll let you know if any other girls matching your sister’s description show up in here.”
The problem was that by then it was too late. I didn’t want to find Grace in a morgue or learn she’d been a drug mule. “Do you know who within the police department is working this case?” It had been over a year since I probed the cops, and with other morgues in the city, maybe they’d seen someone who resembled Grace.
Eddie shoved his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “A Detective Hughes. He’s head of the gang force. He called earlier. He wants us to alert him when the autopsies are done. I doubt he’ll tell you anything.” He got a faraway look in his gray eyes. “We’ve also had a reporter snooping around. She’s working on a story about sex trafficking.”
Holy hell.I certainly didn’t want to think that Grace had been sold to some fat fuck.
Eddie loped over to a small desk in the far corner. “Who knows? This reporter might have seen or even talked to a few girls along the way.” He picked up a card. “She works for theBoston Eagle.A Maggie Marx.”
The name Maggie conjured up a memory of a girl I’d known in my gang days—wild blond curls, pretty, shamrock-green eyes that sucked a person in. She’d been the only girl in one of our rival gangs. Despite her beauty, she was a hard girl to forget with the six-inch scar on her neck. Ogling her from across enemy lines was as far as I’d gotten. Her leader, Lou, would’ve shot me dead if I’d gone anywhere near her, and I’d been tempted a time or two.
“You look like you know her?”
I lifted a shoulder. “I knew a girl by that name once.” There was probably a ton of Maggies in the city. “What does she look like?”
“Curly blond hair, dark-green eyes, and a scar on her neck that she tries to hide with a scarf.”
I traced a line at the base of my throat down the center of my chest. “Here.”
Surprise swept over his face. “Yeah.”
Wow! Small world.“I know her.” I was curious if she would remember me.
Eddie wolf-whistled as he handed me her card. “Man, she is sexy as hell.”
