“Then I don’t want a mark to be there,” he said forcefully. “The last thing we need is a child serial killer.”
“You mean, another one?”
“I know,” he said. “Already too many in this world. But we don’t need one here in Vancouver.”
She heard the morgue drawer being opened and a tray being pulled out.
“Left wrist?” the coroner asked.
“Left wrist, above the bone,” she said. “On the inside corner.”
He looked at it. “Hmm.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, something’s there,” he said, “but it’s pretty indistinct.”
“Can you take a couple good photographs of it?”
“Or you can come down here and take a look at it yourself,” he said. “I’ll take a couple photos too.”
“Done,” she said. “I’ll be there in thirty.” She hopped to her feet, grabbed her jacket, stuffed her phone into her pocket, and bolted out the door. As she got to the elevator, she heard Lilliana call out.
“What did you find?”
“Maybe nothing,” she said. “I’ll let you know if I can confirm it.” She would have taken the stairs, but the elevator was right here and empty. She dropped to the ground floor, then raced to the coroner’s office in the hospital, what was usually a twenty-minute drive away.
He looked up with a nod and said, “That was fast.”
“It’s important,” she said quietly.
He studied her face for a moment. “Well, you seem to be excited about it, but I sure as hell hope you’re wrong.”
“I do too,” she said. She followed him to the back room, thinking about all this short, rotund man with the wispy white hair had seen in his career thus far. Dr. Kerry Smidge had a little more than ten years to go in this industry before he retired, but he’d already seen it all. He had the demeanor of a leprechaun but the attitude of a junkyard dog, and somehow she appreciated both. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.
He walked over to the wall of drawers. He pulled out the one with Jason’s body on it. Already autopsied. He pulled the sheet back to show her the left wrist. Bringing out a camera, he took several more photographs.
She pulled a magnifying glass from her pocket and took a look. And whistled. “Goddammit,” she said, “it’s the same.”
“What are you thinking it is?”
“Originally I wondered if it was a wave pattern,” she said, “but do you see that little bit underneath, that half circle?”
“Yeah, what about it?” he asked. “And honestly it’s so faint here, I can’t imagine that it was done recently.”
“No, I suspect it wasn’t recent at all,” she said. “I think it’s supposed to resemble a set of lips. Like a kiss.”
*
Wednesday Morning
Simon woke upto the bright Wednesday morning, out of sorts and hemmed in. Craving fresh air, he dressed, grabbed his lightweight raincoat, and walked out. He waved at the doorman and headed down the front steps at a brisk pace. He took several deep breaths of the moist refreshing air. Applauding his decision, he picked up a coffee and took the next right. The constant misty atmosphere continued, but dark clouds threatened more. First stop was the nearest building he was rehabbing.
He strolled up to the front, stopped, and stared.
“Doesn’t look much better, does it?” said the general contractor, when he saw Simon.
“Didn’t really expect it to, did you? It’s one hundred years old and needs the work.”