Page 34 of Holmes, Margaret and Poe

“Like, five thirty? I mean, I didn’t go in. I saw him through the window. He was on the couch sleeping.”

Davis looked from Plum to us. “I didn’t wake up until halfway throughMonday Night Football. And the Ravens were playing. Can you imagine it, Fiona?”

“Impossible,” Plum said, then gazed at me. “So you know Captain had to have been one sick puppy.”

CHAPTER 32

BREE STONE EYED HERboss’s haggard face and said, “Are you up to this, Elena? You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t slept, and no, I’m not up to this,” she said. “But it’s something I have to do.”

Bree put on a disposable mask and handed one to her boss. “You might want it for the smell,” she explained.

Martin puffed out her cheeks but put on the mask. They walked inside the Fairfax County medical examiner’s building, one of six in the area that had accepted the remains of the passengers on AA 839.

The ammonia-based disinfectant failed to hide the unmistakable scent of widespread death; Bree could smell it even with her mask on. Martin put her hand to her face and shuddered.

“Don’t breathe through your nose if you can help it,” Bree said, and she went to the clerk at the front counter, whomshe knew from her days working homicide. “How are you, Chantal?” Bree said, tugging down her mask.

Chantal Ryder smiled. “God bless, and good to see you, Chief Stone.”

“Former chief.”

“Heard that,” Ryder said. “How can I help?”

“We’re here to identify one of the crash victims. Maggie Fontaine. I was told her remains were here.”

“If it’s her,” Martin said. “I’m her oldest friend. She doesn’t have any relatives here. Her mother’s in Ireland.”

“Let me see,” Ryder said, typing on her keyboard. After a moment, she looked up and said, “She’s here. You’re one of the lucky ones. Maggie Fontaine appears to be in one piece. This says she was found still strapped to seat two A.”

Behind her mask, Martin choked, then nodded. “That’s good. If it’s her, I mean.”

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll have her brought to where you can identify her,” Ryder said, typing. “And if it is her, I am deeply sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Martin said. “I mean, if it’s her.”

“We’ll know soon enough,” Bree said.

Five minutes later, Ryder led them down a short hall to a small room with green drapes pulled closed over a large window. She drew back the drapes.

Two masked workers in green smocks wheeled a gurney to the window.

“You ready?” Bree asked Martin.

Martin nodded.

One of the workers drew back the sheet. Bree, Martin, and Ryder all recoiled. The body’s clothes had been removed. From the chest up, it was hard to tell she was a woman.

“Oh God!” Martin gasped. “Oh God! No!”

Every bone in the woman’s upper body appeared shattered. From her neck to her fingers and down the torso to her navel, her skin was grotesquely bruised and swollen, split, and gashed in places. Great hunks of her hair and scalp were gone, as were her ears. Her face was battered beyond recognition.

Martin spun around, tore off her mask, and vomited.

“Did you know she looked like that, Chantal?” Bree demanded.

“No, Chief, I swear!” Ryder said. She triggered the microphone and told the workers to cover the body. “I’m so sorry. There are just so many of them here right now and I can’t keep track of their condition.”

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