Into the Light (The Light, #1)(6)

My stomach sank. “Oh, God, h-have they, have they found her?”

“The medical examiner called for you, over an hour ago. She said she tried your cell. I tried your cell—”

“The damn battery died. I plugged it in at my desk as soon as I got here.”

“She’s not sure if it’s Mindy. She only said it’s a female meeting Mindy’s description.”

“Where did they find her?” I asked, afraid of the answer. “Was this body found in the river too?”

Bernard shook his head. “No. This one was found in an abandoned building in Highland Heights.”

“Highland Heights?” I sucked my lower lip between my teeth and fought the bubbling nausea. “Mindy wouldn’t go to Highland Heights.” It was one of the worst parts of Detroit, riddled with gangs, crime, drugs, and poverty.

“I know,” he said. “It doesn’t make sense.” He leaned forward. “Listen, I’m due on the set in a few. If you wait, Foster can go with you. You shouldn’t go to the morgue alone. I know how hard it was last time.”

“No, thanks, Bernard. I can handle it. I need to do it for Mindy and for Mr. and Mrs. Rosemont. I promised them I would.”

“Are you sure you can drive? It’s almost rush hour and . . .”

I lifted my hand. “Please, just let me go. I’ve already wasted time. The sooner I go, the sooner we’ll know.”

“Call me and let me know what you learn. Don’t worry about coming back here tonight. There’s nothing that can’t wait, but call me.”

Nodding, I stood and rushed to my cubicle. Turning off my computer, I grabbed my partially charged cell phone and purse and headed out, all the while avoiding my coworkers’ eyes. I hoped it looked as if I were heading out to chase another lead, not to possibly identify the body of my missing best friend.

Skipping the elevator, I hurried down the back steps to the garage and got in my car. As I drove toward the Office of the Wayne County Medical Examiner, my mind filled with memories of Mindy. It was almost the end of July, and she’d been missing for nearly two weeks. I did what I’d done a thousand times since the morning she hadn’t shown up for work—I remembered.

My mind flashed back to our freshman year of college nearly ten years before. She’d been sitting across the aisle from me in a journalism seminar. As I thought back, I believed that one reason I’d noticed her was that we looked alike: blonde hair and similar build. I remembered her chewing on the cap of her pen, reading our assignment, and I’d thought I had her beat. I’d already read it. That was still my approach to everything, always sizing up my competition.

Little had I known, Mindy had already read our assignment. She was rereading, because that was who she was. It turned out we were made to be best friends. Fate paired us for our first group project and sheer determination kept us together. During the next five years we were roommates, classmates in college and a master’s program, friends, enemies, and everything in between. Though we’d do anything for each other—and had, many times—it was our competitive spirit that continually pushed us through the long hours of classes and studying, and on to our internships. Together we celebrated success and mourned loss. No matter what life threw at us—asshole professors, scumbag boyfriends, dreaded hangovers—we knew that the one constant was each other. Of course, that closeness never stopped our siblinglike rivalry, the one that drove us to be the best. We vied for the top GPA, and through it all, neither one of us backed down.

After graduate school we went our separate ways to follow our dreams. It wasn’t until Mindy landed her job at the WCJB TV station that we found our way back together. At the time I was working for a big law firm in downtown Detroit as an investigator. I’d had an internship in a crime lab as an undergraduate student and one with Homeland Security during graduate school. Those experiences had taught me how to delve into people’s personal business and spot inconsistencies. At our firm a client’s innocence or lack thereof was never at issue—finding the evidence to substantiate their innocence was my job. In only a short time, I became one of the people on whom the partners depended to find answers.

Then, when Mindy introduced me to the people at WCJB, our friendship opened the door to my current position working for Bernard Cooper, the lead investigative journalist at WCJB. Not only did Bernard work for the top TV station in Detroit, but he also was well known in the industry. His stories were often picked up for national broadcasts. The mere mention of his name inspired fear and respect. Because of him politicians unexpectedly withdrew from elections and corporations faced millions of dollars in fines. Corruption on any level was his to expose. Whether it was a scandal involving mob bosses, gangs, or the dangers of contaminated lemons at a local restaurant chain, no story was above or beneath him. Stories were everywhere—we just had to find them.

Since Mindy’s parents lived in California, they’d authorized me to make visual confirmation should her body be found. Of course, they’d come here after her disappearance, but there was no sense summoning them each time a body matching Mindy’s description surfaced.

My reminiscing ended as I entered the county government building and took a deep breath. I’d been here only a week before, asked to identify a bloated body that, thankfully, hadn’t turned out to be Mindy. However, memories of the stench-filled examination room and the unnatural color of the body’s stretched skin brought back a rush of nausea. Swallowing the rising bile, I steadied my steps and willed my investigative mask of indifference in place.