Page 117 of The Skin Collector (Lincoln Rhyme 11)

'Getting something?'

'It ranges from food at the reception afterward to selling insurance or financial programs. Attorneys too.'

'That a fact?'

'It is.'

Pulaski remembered he was supposed to be playing the tough guy. Instead of looking nervous and saying that was terrible, he snapped, 'What's that got to do with me? Who are you?'

'I'm Jason Berkowitz. Associate director. The family in there thought your behavior was a little suspicious. You were claiming to know the deceased.'

'What's suspicious? I did know him.'

'You claim you worked with him.'

'Not claimed. I did.' Pulaski's heart was pounding so hard he was sure the man could hear it. But he struggled to play the wise guy.

'You don't seem like the sort who'd work with Mr Ardell.'

'Who?'

'Blake Ardell.'

'And who's that supposed to be.'

'Not supposed to be. He is, was, the man whose service you're crashing.'

'Crashing? What the hell does that mean? I'm here about Richard Logan.'

The assistant director blinked. 'Mr Logan? Oh. My. I'm so sorry, sir. That's Serenity.'

'Serenity?'

'The name of the room across the hall. This room is Peace, Mr Ardell's service.'

Goddamn. Pulaski thought back. The fellow at the front door had told him to turn right. He'd turned left.

Shit, shit, shit. Fucking head injury. If this'd been a drug set, he might be dead now.

Think smarter.

But act the part. 'One of your people, I don't remember who, sent me to that room.'

'I'm so sorry. Please accept our apologies. Our fault entirely.'

'And names? I've never heard of naming rooms in a funeral parlor. You ought to have numbers.'

'Yessir, it's a little unusual. I'm sorry. I do apologize.'

'Oh, all right.' Pulaski grimaced. He nodded back. Then paused, recalling the curious expression on the faces of the mourners when he'd mentioned working with the deceased.

'One question. You said I didn't seem like the sort who worked with this Ardell. What'd he do for a living?'

'He was an adult film star in the seventies,' Berkowitz whispered. 'Gay. The family doesn't like to talk about it.'

'I'd guess not.'

'That's the room with Mr Logan's remains.' He pointed to a small doorway.

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