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“Would you like me to go in with you?” Decker asked as he helped me out of the cab.
I looked at Adler, who appeared not to have heard. He also appeared to still be irritated when he pulled his wallet out.
“What do I owe you?”
I rolled my eyes. Adler could be such a condescending prick sometimes.
“Not a thing,” Decker answered, motioning us toward the building’s entrance.
I took a deep breath, wishing I could be anywhere but here.
Once inside, Adler stepped up to the desk to let the receptionist know that we had arrived.
“Why did you ask if I wanted you to go in with me?” I asked the man still standing by my side.
“Can’t be an easy thing to do.”
“Have you ever had to do it?”
He shook his head.
“Your family…” I stopped myself. How many people had deaths in their family that required a body to be identified?
“I don’t have any family, ma’am.”
Neither did I anymore.
“I’m Sheriff MacIver,” another man said, coming out of a door and into the lobby. “Hello, Decker.”
“Mac,” he responded with a head nod before motioning me to follow the sheriff. He followed too, leaving Adler trailing behind us. Every so often, his fingertips would brush the small of my back. It dawned on me then that every time Decker had touched me, I hadn’t flinched.
“Right this way, ma’am,” the sheriff said, leading me through another door and down a hallway. I stopped when I saw the sign for the morgue.
“I’ll go in with her,” I heard Decker say as he grasped the handle and led me into the cold room. I turned to look for Adler, who the sheriff seemed to have engaged in conversation.
“Decker,” said an older man who I guessed was the medical examiner.
“This is Mila Knight.”
“I’m very sorry to ask you to do this, ma’am.”
Not knowing what to say, I followed him over to the table where a body lay covered by a sheet.
“Would you like some privacy?” the medical examiner asked.
I turned and looked into Decker’s eyes.
“I’ll stay,” he said, and I nodded.
He moved the sheet and stepped back.
My sister’s lifeless form lay eerily still. “It’s her,” I whispered, closing my eyes. When I opened them, I was grateful the sheet had been placed back over Sybil’s face. “How did she die?” I caught the look that passed between the man and Decker.
“I should have the preliminary results of the autopsy within twenty-four hours. Full results may take up to six weeks to prepare.”
“What now?” I asked.
“There’s nothing else to be done here,” the older man said.
