In Death 18 - Divided in Death

staging area. Bodies slated for transfer and disposal would be logged out from storage—and the records checked—by the AME on duty, and those records would be crosschecked to avoid any mistakes. The transfer team would take them to the staging area, log them out through another series of checks. This isn’t a matter of someone mistakenly slating Bissel for disposal and leaving one of the city jobs behind. I’ve got a damn body missing. The count’s wrong.”
    “I’m not thinking it was a mistake. Contact the crematorium first. See how many they did for you last night. And I want the names of the ones who transported the bodies. Are they still on site?”
    “Different shifts.” Looking more worried than angry now, Morris led the way out, resecured the door. “They’d have been off by six.” He walked quickly toward his office. He called up the previous night’s schedule even as he engaged his ‘link.
    “Powell and Sibresky. I know both these men. They’re big on jokes but they’re efficient. They’re careful. This is Chief Medical Examiner Morris,” he said into the ‘link. “I need to verify a delivery for disposal, city contract, made early this morning.”
    “One moment please, Dr. Morris, I’ll connect you with Receiving.”
    “Does anybody but me think this is kind of sick?” Peabody wondered. “I mean, Receiving. Yuck.”
    “Shut up, Peabody. Do a quick run on this Powell and Sibresky, get me pictures.”
    “I gave you pictures,” Morris objected. “People around here don’t just fry up any loose body. There’s a very exacting system in place to . . . Yes, this is Morris,” he said when Receiving got on the line. “We delivered a John and a Jane Doe early this morning for disposal. Order numbers NYC-JD500251 and 252. Will you verify?”
    “Of course, Dr. Morris. Just let me pull those up. I have those deliveries, and disposal was completed. Do you need the verification numbers?”
    “No, thank you. That’s enough.”
    “Do you need to verify the third delivery?”
    Eve didn’t need to see his stomach to know it sank. It showed by the way he slowly lowered his body into his desk chair. “A third?”
    “NYC-JD500253. All three were delivered and signed for by the Receiving supervisor, Clemment, at one-oh-six A.M.”
    “Disposal is completed?”
    “Oh yes, Doctor. Disposal was completed at . . . three-thirty-eight A.M. Is there something else I can help you with?”
    “No. No. Thank you.” He broke transmission. “I don’t know how this could happen. It makes no sense. The order is here, right here.” He tapped his screen. “For two, not three. There’s no third disposal order, no third body cleared from Staging.”
    “I need to talk to Powell and Sibresky.”
    “I’m going with you. I need to follow this through, Dallas,” he said before she could object. “This is my house. The guests may be dead, but they’re still mine.”
    “All right. Get Crime Scene in here, Peabody. And let’s get Feeney to pick us a hotshot from EDD to look at Morris’s unit. I want to know if any of the data’s been altered in the last twenty-four.”
    ———«»———«»———«»———
    They got a very irritated Sibresky out of bed. Though he mellowed a bit when he saw Morris, he still scratched his butt and bitched.
    “What the hell? Me and the old lady work nights. You gotta sleep sometime. You day people think everything runs on your clock.”
    “Real sorry to disturb your sleep, Sibresky,” Eve began, “and I’m real sorry you didn’t use a mouthwash before this little conversation.”
    “Hey.”
    “But the fact is I’m conducting one of those pesky daytime investigations. You took a delivery to the crematorium early this morning.”
    “Yeah, so what? That’s my fricking job, lady. Hey, Morris, what the fuck?”
    “Sib, this is important. Did you—”
    “Morris,” Eve interrupted, more gently than she might have with anyone else. “How many did you take in?”
    “Just the one run from the city morgue. We do ‘em in groups if it’s under five. Five or more, you gotta take it in two trips. More of that in the winter when the sleepers kick off from exposure and shit. Good weather like this, it’s pretty slow.”
    “How many in the run?”
    “Shit.” He poked out his bottom lip in an expression Eve gauged as concentration. “Three. Yeah, three. Two Johns, one Jane. Jesus, we went through the routine, the logs, the paperwork, the sign off,