Secrets Never Die (Morgan Dane #5)(25)

“The body was pulled out of the Deer River.” The sheriff’s voice was scratchy and sounded weary. “It meets his rough description, but the ME has not yet officially IDed him. Evan’s fingerprints should be on file in AFIS, but they are not. It seems the original ten-print card was rejected by the Division of Criminal Justice Services, with a reprinting request.”

The automated fingerprint identification system worked well, but it wasn’t perfect. The system depended on good-quality original prints. The sheriff’s department had recently switched to using electronic live scan devices to record fingerprints. Until then, the sheriff’s department had been using traditional ink and physical cards. Evan’s prints had likely been kicked back by the DCJS because one or more of the prints had been smeared. Lance assumed no one ever followed up on the reprint request.

The sheriff continued. “There were several reporters at the body recovery scene. I didn’t want Mrs. Knox to hear about it on the news, so I came right over here. I explained that the medical examiner would notify her as soon as he identified the remains. But she insists on going to the morgue immediately.”

“I can’t blame her,” Lance said. “I wouldn’t want to wait either.” But part of him also didn’t want to confirm that Evan was dead.

“I know,” the sheriff agreed in a quiet voice.

Lance wouldn’t let Tina face the possibility alone. “We’ll meet you at the morgue.”

The Randolph County Medical Examiner’s Office sat in the middle of the county municipal complex. Twenty minutes later, Lance paced the commercial gray carpet in the waiting area. The smell of burned coffee soured his stomach. Morgan leaned on the reception counter, trying to get information from someone on the ME’s staff.

“Conference room two,” the woman behind the counter said.

A few minutes later, the door opened. Tina and Sheriff Colgate entered. The sheriff walked close to her. One hand hovered near her elbow, as if he were afraid she would fall down at any moment, with good reason. Tina’s face had drained to the color of skim milk. Her hands trembled, and her steps were shaky. She looked like she was walking to the gallows.

Morgan went to her side, took her elbow in one hand, and wrapped the other around her shoulders. Without speaking—no words could possibly bring Tina any comfort at the moment—Morgan led her down the hall.

Following, Lance nearly gagged. The air felt syrupy enough to choke him. The staff tried to contain the scents of decomposition and formalin to the autopsy suites, but they seemed to permeate the walls. Lance could smell death, although maybe that was all in his head.

They stopped in front of a door marked with the numeral 2. Lance and the sheriff followed close behind. They filed into the room, the silence as thick as the odors that wafted down the corridor.

Dr. Frank Jenkins came in dressed in clean scrubs. “Please sit down.” He waited for Tina to ease into a chair, her hands clenching the armrests. Then Frank angled another chair to face her. When he was at her level, he gave her his full attention. “First, let me say that I knew Paul. He was a good man. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Tina nodded. “What about—” She choked on the words, but they all knew what she’d been about to ask.

Frank nodded. “I’m trying to identify the body that came in a few hours ago. I can confirm that it is a young man in his late teens with short dark hair. He came in wearing jeans, Converse sneakers, and a black T-shirt.”

Tina’s breath hitched in her throat. “Just show me,” she croaked. “I’ll know if it’s my son.”

“I’m not sure you would,” Frank said gravely. “And I don’t want you to see him like this.”

When Lance had been on the SFPD, he’d worked with Frank. Lance had always thought the ME was a cold fish, but Frank had surprised him a few times lately. There was plenty of empathy on his face today. Maybe Lance hadn’t given Frank enough credit. Everyone in law enforcement became hardened as a survival technique. It was impossible to work with death on a daily basis without distancing oneself from it.

“I don’t understand.” Tina’s voice was as soft as a child’s.

Frank gritted his teeth. The ME needed to say something very unpleasant. “The young man’s face is not recognizable.” Frank paused, then finished in a soothing voice. “I believe he was hit by a car. We don’t have his fingerprints for a match, but we should be able to identify him by medical and dental records, which are on the way, and DNA.”

Tina gasped, a desperate sound. She collapsed into herself, weeping.

Morgan wrapped an arm around Tina’s shoulders and spoke to her in a low tone.

Lance jumped in. “Do you know how he died?”

“He had internal injuries but also a single GSW to the head.” Frank tapped his forehead.

Shot in the head, just like Paul. Grief pierced Lance right through the heart. He pictured Evan, his cheeks red with exertion, practicing slap shots on the ice, arguing about Game of Thrones in the locker room with his teammates, smiling when the team had won their first game. The memories overwhelmed him. Lance couldn’t reconcile the teenager he knew with a body on Frank’s table. His throat filled with a sadness so acute that he felt like he was swallowing sand.

Tina shook herself, straightened, and wiped her cheeks with her palms. Her eyes were bright with pain. “I can do it. I’ll still recognize my son without . . .” A sob cut off her words. Her lips flattened, and she took two long, steadying breaths through her nose. “I need to know.”