“The crucible of fire. I like that. I might use that.”
I laughed. “Glad I was helpful.”
I wouldn’t exactly call this a high-stress situation, but she wasn’t handling it all that well.
The lights kicked on, and the elevator moved with a jolt.
We resumed our descent, and Elana breathed easier. She fanned herself, having grown quite uncomfortable.
I smiled. "See, I told you we'd be out of here in no time.”
"Are you always right?"
"Most of the time."
She rolled her eyes. "Typical."
"Excuse me?”
"Oh, nothing," she said innocently.
We reached the lobby, and the doors slid open.
"It was nice to meet you, Deputy…?”
"Wild. Good luck with your speech.”
She lifted crossed fingers and stepped off the elevator. I held the door for her, then followed. She went one way, and I went the other. I hustled back across the lobby and stepped outside. With my head on a swivel, I climbed into the squad car, tossed the briefcase onto the passenger seat, and fired up the engine.
My next stop was the county morgue to see if I could get the dead man to open his briefcase.
5
It was a gruesome sight. Laid out on a gleaming metal slab in the autopsy room, Steve Davidson wasn’t recognizable. The exit wound on his face ensured a closed casket. The pale green fluorescent lighting wasn't helping his situation either.
The room had that sterile antiseptic smell, mixed with the traces of death. Formaldehyde and bleach. The sloped epoxy floor had several drains. Brenda kept the place spotless, despite all the carnage. There were scales, sinks, and hoses. Scalpels and bone saws. A portable X-ray machine. All kinds of chemicals. Masks, boxes of gloves, and everything else you needed to keep the horror show rolling.
I felt a little weird about doing it, but I wrapped the dead man's hand around the case handle and pressed his thumb onto the biometric scanner pad.
I gritted my teeth when it didn't unlock. A wave of frustration pulsed through me.
I tried several times, to no avail.
"Are you sure that's his briefcase?" Brenda asked.
I shrugged. "I'm not sure of anything. This scanner probably has temperature and pulse detection.”
“We can try heating his hand up?”
I grinned. "I like the way you think.”
"Brenda grabbed a hairdryer, plugged it in, and used it to heat up the man's hand. Then I wrapped it around the handle again and pressed his thumb on the biometric pad.
It still didn't open.
I held my thumb on top of his, hoping my pulse might give the impression of life to the scanner.
No dice.
