The sun was high and bright, dazzling off the glass and paintwork of the other cars on the highway. Even though it wasn't yet noon, the air above the tarmac rippled with heat and exhaust fumes. Up ahead the traffic slowed to a crawl, snarled round the flashing lights of emergency vehicles that were blocking one lane. A new Lexus was skewed across it at an angle, immaculate and sleek from the back, its front end a jagged mess. Some way from it was what had once been a motorbike. Now it was a crumpled mess of engine parts, chrome and rubber. The road surface around it was stained with what could have been oil, but probably wasn't. As we crept past, waved on by a stone-faced police officer, I saw onlookers crowding a bridge that spanned the highway, leaning on the railing to gawk at the entertainment below. Then it was behind us, and the traffic resumed its usual flow as though nothing had happened. Tom seemed more his old self on the drive back from the cemetery. There was a sparkle in his eyes that I knew meant he was intrigued by this latest twist. First fingerprints from a murder scene that belonged to a dead man; now the wrong body had been found in his grave. A puzzle like that was milk and honey to him. 'Starting to look like reports ofWillis Dexter's demise might have been a little premature, wouldn't you say?' he mused, fingers drumming on the steering wheel to the Dizzy Gillespie track playing on the CD. 'Faking your own death's a hell of an alibi if you can pull it off.' I pulled my thoughts back from where they'd wandered. 'So who do you think is in the casket? Another victim?' 'I'm not going to jump to conclusions till we know the cause of death, but I'd say so. It's just about possible that someone at the funeral home got the bodies mixed up by mistake, but under the circumstances that doesn't seem likely. No, much as I hate to admit it, I think Irving was right about this being a serial killer.' He glanced across at me. 'What?' 'Nothing.' He smiled. 'You'd make a lousy actor, David.' Normally I'd have enjoyed brainstorming with Tom, but lately I seemed to be too busy second-guessing myself. 'I'm probably just being suspicious. But doesn't it seem a little convenient that the fingerprint on the film canister led straight to another victim's body?' He shrugged. 'Criminals make mistakes like everybody else.' 'So you believe that Willis Dexter might be still alive? That he's the killer?' 'What do you think?' 'I think I'd forgotten how much you enjoy playing devil's advocate.' He gave a laugh. 'Just exploring the possibilities. For the record, I agree, it does all seem a mite convenient. But Dan Gardner's no fool. He can be an awkward cuss, but I'm glad he's handling the case.' I hadn't warmed to Gardner, but Tom didn't bestow praise lightly. 'What did you make of York?' I asked. 'Other than wanting to wash my hand after he'd shaken it, I'm not sure.' He looked thoughtful. 'He's hardly a glowing advertisement for his profession, but he didn't seem too worried about the exhumation. At least, not until he saw the condition of the casket. I don't doubt he'll have some awkward questions to answer, but I can't see him being so blase if he'd known what we were going to find.' 'Even so, it's hard to imagine how the wrong body could have been buried without someone at the funeral home knowing about
it: Tom nodded. 'Almost impossible. But I'm still reserving judgement on York for the time being.' He paused to indicate before changing lanes, overtaking a slow-moving mobile home. 'Nice work back there, by the way. I hadn't noticed the nasal cavity.' 'You would have if you hadn't been so mad at Hicks.' 'Being mad at Hicks is an occupational hazard. I should be used to it by now.' His smile faded as he saw my face.'OK, out with it.What's bothering you?' I hadn't planned on bringing it up, but there was no point ducking the issue any longer. 'I don't think my coming here was such a good idea. I appreciate what you're doing, but . . . Well, let's face it, it isn't working out. I think I should go back.' Until that moment I hadn't even been aware I'd made the decision. Now it seemed as though all my doubts had crystallized, forcing me to accept what I'd been avoiding so far. Yet part of me felt shocked at the admission, knowing there was something irrevocable about it. If I left now I wouldn't be simply cutting my trip short. I'd be giving up. Tom was silent for a while. 'This isn't only about what happened at the cabin, is it?' 'That's part of it, but no.' I shrugged, struggling to put it into words. 'I just feel this was a mistake. I don't know, perhaps it was too soon.' 'Your wound's healed, hasn't it?' 'I didn't mean that.' 'I know.' He sighed. 'Can I be frank?' I nodded; I didn't trust myself to speak. 'You tried running away once before and it didn't work. What makes you think it'll be any better this time?' I felt my cheeks burn. Running away? Was that how he saw it? 'If you mean when Kara and Alice died, then yes, I suppose I did run away' I said, my voice harsh. 'But this is different. It's like something's missing, and I don't know what.' 'So it's a crisis of confidence.' 'If you like, yes.' 'Then I'll ask you again: exactly how is running away going to help?' This time it was my turn to fall silent. Tom didn't take his gaze from the road. 'I'm not going to insult you by giving you a pep talk, David. If it's what you really feel you should do, then leave by all means. I think you'd regret it, but it's your choice. But will you do something for me first?' 'Of course.' Tom adjusted his glasses. 'I haven't told anyone this except Mary and Paul. But I'll be retiring at the end of the summer.' I looked at him in surprise. I'd thought he was staying on till the end of the year.'Is this because of your health?' 'Let's just say I've promised Mary. The point is you were one of my best students, and this is the last chance we're going to have to work together. I'd consider it a great favour if you gave it another week.' I sat there for a moment, admiring how neatly he'd trapped me. 'I walked into that, didn't I?' He smiled. 'Yes, you did. But you can hardly break your word to an old man, can you?' I had to laugh. Oddly enough, I felt lighter than I had done in ages. 'OK, then. A week.' Tom gave a satisfied nod. He tapped his fingers in time to the trumpet coming from the car speakers. 'So what do you think of Dan's new helper?' I looked through the window. 'Jacobsen? She seems keen enough.' 'Mm.' The fingers continued to beat out a gentle tattoo on the steering wheel. 'Attractive, wouldn't you say?' 'Yes, I suppose so.' Torn said nothing. I felt my face start to burn. 'What?' 'Nothing,' he said, grinning.
Tom had called ahead to warn the morgue that the exhumed remains were on their way. They'd have to be examined in a separate autopsy suite in order to avoid cross-contamination with the body from the cabin. Just the possibility of that could cause an evidentiary nightmare when the killer was caught. Assuming he was. Kyle was talking to two other assistants in the corridor when we arrived. He broke off to take us to the suite he'd prepared, glancing behind us as though expecting - or hoping - to see someone else. He looked crestfallen when he realized there was no one there. 'Is Summer coming in today?' The attempt at nonchalance wasn't successful.'Oh, I dare say she'll be stopping by later,' Tom told him. 'Right. I just wondered.'
Tom kept a straight face until Kyle had left the autopsy suite. 'Must be spring,' he said with a smile.'Gets the sap rising in everyone.' The casket from Steeple Hill was brought in just as we'd finished changing into scrubs and rubber aprons. It had been transported in a box-like aluminium container; one coffin nestling inside another like Russian dolls. Before anything else the body had to be X-rayed, so Kyle wheeled the whole thing into the radiography room on a trolley. 'Need a hand with this?' he asked. 'No, thanks, we'll manage.' 'Tom. . .' I said. The remains would have to be lifted from the casket to be X-rayed. Decomposition had reduced the body mass, but I didn't want him exerting himself. He gave an exasperated sigh, knowing what I was thinking. 'We can wait till Summer gets here. I've already gotten Kyle in trouble once.' 'Oh, it's all right. Martin and Jason can cover for me.' Kyle had perked up at the mention of Summer. He gave a shy grin. 'Besides, Dr Hicks isn't here right now.' Tom reluctantly conceded. 'Well, OK, then. You can help David lift the body out once we've taken photographs .'Just then his phone rang. He looked at its display. 'It's Dan. I better take it.' While Tom went into the corridor to speak to Gardner, Kyle and I unsnapped the big clips that held the aluminium lid in place. 'So you're British, huh?' he asked. 'From London?' 'That's right.' 'Wow. So what's Europe like?' I took a moment to wonder how t
o answer that as I wrestled with a difficult clip. 'Well, it's pretty varied, really' 'Yeah? I'd like to go someday. See the Eiffel Tower, places like that. I've travelled around the States, but I've always wanted to go somewhere foreign.' 'You should try it.' 'Not on my pay' He gave a rueful smile. 'So ... is Summer going to be a forensic anthro like Dr Lieberman?' 'I imagine that's the plan.' He kept his attention on unfastening the clips, trying to seem unconcerned. 'Does that mean she'll be staying in Tennessee?' 'Why don't you ask her?' The look he gave me was terrified. He quickly dropped his gaze. 'Oh, no, I couldn't. I just, you know. Wondered.'
I managed not to smile. 'I expect she'll be here for a while yet, anyway' 'Right.' He nodded, furiously, burying his head in his work. His shyness was painful to see. I'd no idea if Summer would welcome his attention, but I hoped he found the courage to find out. We were about to lift off the aluminium lid from the container when Tom returned. His expression was sour. 'Don't bother. Dan doesn't want us to touch the body for the time being. Apparently Alex Irving wants to look at it in situ! 'What for?' I could understand why the profiler had wanted to view the first victim's body in the cabin, but this one was laid out in a coffin. I couldn't see what he hoped to learn from it that he couldn't get from photographs. 'Who knows?' Frustrated, Tom blew out a breath. 'Hicks and Irving in one morning. Lord, this is shaping up to be one hell of a day. And you didn't hear me say that, Kyle.' The morgue assistant smiled. 'No, sir. Anything else I can do?' 'Not right now. I'll give you a call when Irving gets here. I'm assured he won't be long.' But we should have known that Irving wasn't the type to worry over keeping anyone waiting. Half an hour, then an hour, went by, and still he hadn't graced us with his presence. Tom and I occupied ourselves in rinsing and drying the remains from the cabin that had been left in detergent overnight. It was nearly two hours before the profiler sauntered into the autopsy suite without knocking. He was wearing an expensive suede jacket over a plain black shirt, his beard little more than a dark shading on the well-fleshed cheeks and softening jaw line. A girl was with him, pretty and no older than nineteen or twenty. She hung close behind him, as though for protection. He bestowed an insincere smile upon us. 'Dr Lieberman, Dr . . .' He made do with a vague nod in my direction. T expect Dan Gardner told you I was coming.' Tom didn't return the smile. 'Yes, he did. He also said you'd be here soon.' Irving raised his hands in mock surrender, giving what I imagine he thought was a disarming grin. 'Mea culpa. I was about to prerecord a TV interview when Gardner phoned, and it ran late. You know how these things are.' Tom's face said he knew very well. He looked pointedly at the girl. 'And this is. . . ?' Irving put a proprietorial hand on the girl's shoulder. 'This is, ah, Stacie. One of my students. She's writing a dissertation on my work.' 'That must be fascinating,'Tom said.'But I'm afraid she'll have to wait outside.' The profiler waved a hand, airily dismissing the notion. 'That's OK. I've warned her what to expect.' 'Even so, I'll have to insist.' The smile became set as Irving locked gazes with Tom. 'I told her she could come with me.' 'Then you shouldn't have. This is a morgue, not a lecture theatre. I'm sorry,'Tom added more gently to the girl. Irving stared at him for a moment, then gave the girl a regretful smile. 'Looks like I've been overruled, Stacie.You'll have to wait back at the car.' She hurried out, head bowed with embarrassment. I felt sorry for her, but Irving should have known better than to bring her without first asking Tom. The profiler's smile vanished as soon as the door had closed behind her. 'She's one of my best students. If I'd thought she might embarrass me I wouldn't have brought her along.' 'I'm sure you wouldn't, but that wasn't your decision to make.' Tom's tone ended the discussion. 'David, would you mind bringing Kyle to the radiology suite, please? I'll show Dr Irving where the changing room is.' 'That won't be necessary. I've no intention of touching anything.' The profiler's manner had ice on it now. 'Maybe not, but we're pernickety about things like that. Besides, I'd hate you to get your jacket stained.' Irving glanced down at his expensive suede jacket. 'Oh. Well, perhaps you're right.' Tom gave me a quick smile as I went out. By the time I'd found Kyle he and Irving were already in the radiography room, standing in silence on opposite sides of the aluminium box containing the casket. Irving had put on a lab coat over his clothes. He wore a pained expression, massaging either side of his nose with a gloved thumb and forefinger as Kyle and I began to lift the container's lid. 'I hope this won't take long. I have rhinitis and the air conditioning makes my sinuses -- God!' He hastily stepped back, cupping his hand over his nose as the lid came off and released the stench from inside. But to his credit he recovered quickly, lowering his hand and moving forward again as we opened the actual casket. 'Is, ah, is this normal?' 'The condition of the body, you mean?'Tom shrugged. 'Depends what you mean by normal. The decomp is in keeping with an interred corpse. Just not one that's only been buried six months.' 'I presume you have an explanation?' 'Not yet.' Irving contrived to look surprised.'So we've got two bodies, both mysteriously more decomposed than they should be. A pattern of sorts there, I think. And I understand this isn't the grave's rightful ownerr 'That's how it looks.This is a black male. Willis Dexter was white.' 'Someone at the funeral home taking colour blindness to new heights, perhaps,' Irving murmured. He motioned at the filthy cotton sheet that covered everything except the corpse's head. 'Can you . . . ?' 'Just a moment. David, would you mind getting a few shots?' Using Tom's camera, I took photographs of the body, then Tom nodded for Kyle to remove the sheet. The morgue assistant carefully took hold of the makeshift shroud. The fluids released by decomposition had made it adhere to the body, so that it came free only reluctantly. When he saw what was underneath he stopped, looking uncertainly at Tom. The corpse was naked. 'Oh, definitely a pattern here,' Irving said, sounding amused. Tom nodded to Kyle. 'Carry on.' The assistant pulled aside the rest of the sheet. Irving stroked his beard as he considered the body. It seemed a deliberate affectation to me, but perhaps I was biased. 'Well, leaving aside the, ah, unclothed aspect for the moment, a few things are immediately obvious,' he asserted. 'The body's been carefully arranged. Hands folded on the chest in the conventional manner, legs straightened as though this was an ordinary burial. Which it patently wasn't. But the body has been treated with evident respect, which is a clear departure from the first victim. Still, all goes to make life more interesting, doesn't it?' Not theirs. I could see that Irving's attitude irked Tom as well.'The body we found in the cabin wasn't the first victim,' he said. 'I'm sorry?' 'Assuming that this individual was murdered, which we can't say for sure until we know the cause of death, then he's been dead a lot longer than the man we found yesterday,' Tom said. 'Whoever this was, he died first.' 'I stand corrected,' Irving said, his smile glassy. 'But that only supports my theory. There's a definite progression. And if this Dexter character faked his own death six months ago, as looks likely, then that's hugely symbolic. I thought at first that the killer might be in denial about his sexuality, sublimating his suppressed sexual urges into violence. But this puts a different slant on things.The first victim was covered in a shroud and buried -- hidden away in shame, almost. Now, six months later, the body in the cabin is left on display for the world to see. It's shouting, "Look at me! Look what I've done!" Having "buried" his old self the killer's now coming out of the closet, if you like. And given such a huge shift in the way he treated these two victims, I wouldn't be surprised if there are some interim ones we don't know about.'