Page 24 of Detectives in Love
“Sounds like something you’d read in a company brochure,” Xavier says, unimpressed.
“I’m afraid I can’t be more specific, Mr. Ormond.” Katie shrugs. “Company confidentiality.”
Xavier shoots me a sidelong glance, mild irritation flickering across his face, but I ignore it.
The elevator slows to a stop, and the doors slide open onto the fourth floor.
“This way.” Katie leads us through a busy hallway packed with people in white lab coats, then down a glass-walled gallery overlooking the snow-covered gardens below. The view is striking, but I barely take it in before we reach the end and turn right, stopping at a steel door tucked into a small alcove.
“This is where I found Henry,” she says.
Xavier and I step closer, peering through the small window in the door. Inside, the lab is lined with metal tables, equipment, and glass vessels, the whole space looking sterile and untouched.
“Open it,” Xavier says.
Katie frowns. “Mr. Ormond, this is the Blue Laboratory. It’s about minus thirty-five Celsius in there.”
“We’ll manage. Open it.”
She hesitates for a moment, then swipes a keycard over the sensor. A low hum sounds, followed by a click, and the door unlocks.
The second we step inside, the cold cuts straight through me. Even through my clothes, it’s sharp and biting, raising goosebumps on my skin.
“He was over there, by that table,” Katie says, pointing toward a far corner. “We believe there was a security malfunction. The doors wouldn’t open, and he was trapped in here for twelve hours.”
“The coroner’s initial report mentioned frostbite from direct contact with a cryogenic liquid,” I say, rubbing my hands together for warmth. “Was he handling it?”
Katie nods. “His hands were severely frostbitten. We think he broke one of the containers while working. When liquid nitrogen touches clothing, it freezes instantly. That, combined with being trapped in a room this cold, would have sped up the frostbite. We think that’s what killed him.”
“But he didn’t die from frostbite, according to the toxicology results,” Xavier mutters, his gaze sweeping over the room. “He suffocated.”
Katie blinks, caught off guard. “What? Suffocated how?”
“He died from inhaling gasoline vapors,” I explain.
“Gasoline?” Katie’s expression twists in confusion. “But there’s no gasoline here.”
“Exactly,” Xavier says, giving the lab one last look before turning for the exit. “Let’s go, Newt.”
“Already?”
“We need to re-examine Wakefield’s body.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Katie says, following as we step back into the gallery.
I frown. “Why not?”
“He’s scheduled for cremation tomorrow. All the paperwork has been signed.”
Xavier scoffs, his mouth twisting with disdain. “We’re investigating a murder. The cremation can be postponed for at least a few hours.”
Katie shakes her head. “The police have already done their analysis, Mr. Ormond. Henry will be cremated tomorrow—the body’s already been transferred to the crematorium.”
Xavier doesn’t even hesitate. He just smirks. “Don’t worry, Miss Fairfax. We’ll work something out.”
For a few long seconds, Xavier and Katie just stare at each other, locked in silence. Then I clear my throat, pointedly. Katie folds her arms across her chest.
“I’ll escort you downstairs,” she says.
