It was still early and Brown stretched up his big arms, extending them as far as he could behind his head. Then he took his cup of strong coffee, but the phone rang before he got a chance for a sip.
“Brown speaking,” he said.
“Peter, it's Edward, you better hurry here, I've got some news for you.”
Brown frowned: Edward Solomon was the forensic pathologist the unit worked with, and there was no reason why he'd hear from him today. “Why, Eddie? Can't you tell me this over the phone? I'm kind of busy.”
“Bring yourself in here, it won't be long.” Eddy's voice was disconnected before Brown could utter further protests.
“Don't sit down,” he told Grimes, who was just arriving. “Eddie wants us down there. I don't know why,” he added before Grimes could say anything.
“Well, good morning Peter,” the young woman said. “No time for a coffee then?”
“Take mine, I haven't touched it,” Brown said looking back at her above his shoulder. “Just hurry!”
She put the lid back over the coffee and half-ran behind Brown, whose long legs brought him to the stairs fast enough despite his limping. They went down in a rush and met Higgins climbing up. “What's the matter, detectives?” the chief asked.
“We go to the morgue. Solomon called us down there.”
“Keep me updated,” she threw to their backs.
Once in the car, Brown told his partner about his encounter with Bobby Wilson, and she said she'd found no one at Cooney's place the evening before. They would have to go there later with a warrant.
There was a spot for the police officers in the parking lot, so they entered the morgue barely twenty minutes later. As he crossed the threshold of the building, Brown felt Grimes steel herself and so did he. He's seen lots of postmortem examinations through his career but he guessed he would never get used to the mess a human-being's body became, once at the mercy of guys like Solomon.
They passed through the lobby and went straight down the stairs to the 'real place'.
“Ready?” Brown asked a few minutes later before pushing the heavy door to Solomon's realm. He looked at Grimes, white from head to toe with a plastic overall, only her eyes visible over the mask.
She nodded, and they entered the cold, ominous room like two white ghosts.
On a metallic gurney, a body was hiding nothing from itself. No more a human being, no more a woman and–as Brown noticed when he approached–looking like Sofia's neighbor no more at all. He flinched, hardly recognizing the body he'd seen at the hospital the day before. It was only Solomon's piece of work at the moment. As it seemed, Solomon was half through the process, having opened the body and begun to remove some of the organs for further examinations later on. Brown saw that the liver, pancreas, stomach, and esophagus had been removed as a unit, and put on another gurney nearby, along with other organs that he did not want to recognize. The face was undisturbed so far and the woman, her eyes closed, seemed–was–indifferent to the damages her body was going through. Brown looked at Grimes: no worry on this side, he thought, Grimes was as used to this as he was.
“So what is it Solomon? What are we doing here?”
“Actually, it's more me needing you than the opposite today. I was told this was a poor woman, a writer, trying to help her invalid neighbor, and asphyxiated while doing so?”
“That's what we were told also, but we even don't know the woman's name at the moment, nor did we know she was a writer either. In fact, she's not the biggest of our interrogations right now.” Brown answered.
“Maybe she should be. Her name is Sybil Hatcher, or so it seems, according to the picture on the driving license that was found in her purse.”
“And so?”Brown was getting impatient, and in a big need of the coffee he had been deprived of. The sight of the poor woman sprawled and powerless in this sinister room, along with the lack of any food or drink that morning, was having a bad effect on his stomach, not that he wanted to think that Sybil Hatcher too had had a stomach at some point.
“So, this body doesn't tell me of a poor harmless writer at all, but rather of a very well trained soldier,” Solomon muttered. “That's why I wanted you to see her.”
Brown and Grimes exchanged a puzzled look.
“See these muscles and how fit the lady.”
“She could be a writer and a good jogger,” Grimes exclaimed pointedly.
“It takes more than only jogging to be this fit and this strong,” Solomon said, “but look at the x-rays behind, see? Several fractures, traces of several surgeries, lots of former physical injuries.”
“I guess she was a tomboy somehow,” Brown said, “ no offence, Grimes,” he added for he knew Grimes was some kind of a feminist.
“Look at the head and neck x-rays, what d'you see?”
Brown looked more closely at the radiography, putting it against a big fluorescent board. He closed his eyes, and sighed.
“What?” Grimes asked.
“Her hyoïd is broken.”
“There's that,” Solomon said, “ and nothing fits with asphyxiation, nor the colour of the skin, the lungs.”He stopped. “She was dead before the fire,” he added.
The detectives exhaled a long deep breath they had not noticed they were holding.
“And watch this!” Solomon said, as if he were a bad rascal rejoicing at telling the best part of a mean joke.
Brown bent down and saw behind the skull, the trace of a blow. He gave a low whistle.“It seems the neighbor had indeed a story of her own,” he said and looked at Grimes who silently nodded in assent. Brown straightened up and said, “Thank you for telling us all of this, Teddy, and keep us updated on anything else coming up.”
Solomon waved his gloved hand and bent toward Sybil Hatcher's body, all at his task again.
“Well!” Grimes said as they were putting their white overalls and masks in a special trash bin out of the room, “That was quite a surprise!”
“You can say that again, and now we have a new one to search about. Kind of busy day for––”
His cellphone rang and he took the call, raising his eyebrows at Grimes to let her kow it was an interesting one. His face then set in a grim mask as he said his goodbye.
“What is it?” Grimes asked.
“Bobby Wilson is dead,” Brown said, his voice short.

***

They had to be patient. The traffic was a big mess and Brown couldn't help from slamming the steering wheel in despair more than once before they arrived close to the bridge where he'd seen Wilson the day before. He strode to the sinister white sheet spread on the dusty ground, hoping against all hopes there'd be a mistake.
There was none. He saw that at once for he recognized Bobby's poor shoes protruding from under the sheet. He frowned in dismay and nevertheless lifted the sheet up to see Bobby's face.
“It's him,” he said, closing his eyes at the memory of the poor man, frail, old, but alive, whom he'd seen only yesterday. “Dammit!” he swore. “What happened?” he asked the policeman who'd welcomed them at their arrival.
“It looks like a massive heart attack,” the policeman answered. “Nothing suspicious so far, but we called you because he had your card in his pocket,” he added, handing it back to Brown.
The detective snorted. “I want the body straight to Solomon's morgue, it's no ordinary heart attack, let me tell you.” He added, “And I want the Forensic Unit right here and now, with a pathologist.”
“It's just a poor homeless guy who must be happier where he's now,” the policeman said imprudently.
“This is not for you to say.” Grimes said while Brown took a few steps away, about to lose his temper. “Do as we say. Thank you for calling” she added more gently, and the policeman took his cellphone, bewildered. She strode towards her partner. “It's not your fault,” she said, putting her hand on Brown's sleeve.
“It damn well is. I'm sure this has something to do with me talking to him yesterday. All this stinks, Chris,” he said, his voice hoarse with remorse, unusually using her colleague's first name. “Poor guy! What the hell did he know that he shouldn't have?”
The two detectives looked grimly at the form on the ground. The sheet had remained low on the poor man's chest: the eyes were closed, the mouth slightly open and an awful grimace of pain distorted the face.
“I'll find out what happened,” Brown said, as if he was promising this to the dead man, and he strode back to their car.
Grimes followed him into the car after giving a sorry look to the policeman.
Brown did not start the engine right away. He looked at his partner and regret was plain in his dark eyes. “I shouldn't have asked anything of him,” he said.
“He offered this, you did not ask. You told me so, and maybe his death has nothing to do with yesterday,” Grimes offered, but she saw Brown would not have it.
“Well,” he said bitterly. “Now, poor Bobby won't tell us anything.”
“Unless he speaks to Solomon,” Grimes said and added, “what do we do next?”
“Maybe we should see what we can find about Sybil Hatcher, what d'you think?” He started to drive away and saw in the rear-view mirror that the policeman was still speaking animatedly in his cellphone.
“We should, but first, I propose we go back to see Sofia's sister. Maybe she'll have some news for us. Anyway we said we'd keep her updated.”

***

They didn't call ahead of their arrival so it was a rather surprised Mary who opened her door. Surprised? Annoyed? Anxious? What was it? Brown wondered, searching the slender woman's eyes. She averted her gaze and motioned them inside, indicating they could sit down with a gesture of the hand. They did, saying nothing. The silence stretched a little and Mary said, “What can I do for you detectives?”
Her eyes would not meet his and Brown said without mercy, “Where is she, Mary? Where's Sofia?”
Mary's large, blue eyes opened wider and she shrugged, “I don't know”.
“The hell you don't!” Brown exclaimed.
She recoiled at this and her shoulders slumped a little. Her face went pale and he saw a bead of sweat on her upper lip. The poor woman was terrified. She said nothing though, so he pushed further, “ Your sister's on the run, and she's also a suspect in the arson of her building, plus now we know someone has been murdered at her place.”
Mary gave a small cry. Brown looked at Grimes who followed on the same stern tone of voice,
“ You must tell us what you know. We might have to go on about this at the BPD. This what you want?”
Mary seemed to crumble deeper into her chair and hid her face in her hands. Brown knelt down in front of her, “ You know something, Mary, what is it, did you happen to see your sister?” he asked, his voice gentle now.
The young woman shook her head but would not remove her hands from her face so he took one of them and looked deep into her teary eyes, “ You've to tell me. From what we know, Sofia could be in danger, you know.”
The turmoil in her mind was written all over her face. Brown could understand this well: whom was she to trust? Who would help her and her sister? He let go of her hand but held her gaze.
“She called me,” Mary said, “she called my cell phone yesterday.” She wiped her eyes impatiently.
“What did she say? When yesterday?”
“At night. I was so worried, and then she called. I was so relieved to hear her voice,” Mary said with a small smile hesitating on her lips, “But she said she had to stay where she was, someone was after her.”
“Mary.” Brown chose his words carefully. “I had someone, a poor homeless guy, who was looking for Sofia and her friend, the guy you saw on the computer, well, this poor guy's dead now. And Sofia's neighbor as well.”
Mary's face turned deadly white. “I knew nothing about this,” she said in a whisper.
“We fear that two murders could be linked to one or more of your sister's inquiries. And if you know about her, you could well be in danger too. What did your sister say, Mary?” Brown asked.
The young woman looked at the two detectives and breathed in deeply. “She said she was in trouble but she was with this friend, Cooney. They're hiding from bad people and she'd not say more over the phone. We're to meet this evening.”
“You must tell us where, Mary. Two people are dead already. We cannot let you go on your own.” Brown took Mary's hand in his again. She burst into tears.
“We're to meet at Loews theater, during a movie, in the restrooms there,” she said, sobbing, “We both know the place well,”she ended fighting her tears back.
“There, there, it's okay,” Brown patted her hand again and stood up, one hand on his aching back. He was getting old and no more fit to kneel in front of a distressed princess for too long, he reflected. “You understand you can't go there alone, do you?” he asked gently.