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"Yes. But . . ."
"Mr. Hutchinson." Vicki leaned forward. "That last word you used, trocar, what is it?"
"Well, Ms. Nelson, it's a long steel tube, hollow, you know, and quite pointed, very sharp. We use it to
draw out the body fluids and inject a very, very astringent preserving fluid into the cavity.''
"Your nephew didn't mention it."
"Well," the old man smiled self-consciously, "he was probably being a little more concise. I tend to
ramble on a bit if I'm not discouraged."
"He said," she caught his gaze with hers and held it, "that he'd just placed the incision sealant into the
jugular vein when he was called upstairs."
Mr. Hutchinson shook his head. "No. That's not possible. When I came down to finish-as the young
woman in the office was most insistent she speak with David-the trocar button had already been placed
in the abdomen, sealing off the entry wound."
The silent sound of conclusions being drawn filled the small office.
"I think," Detective Fergusson said slowly, "we'd better speak with David again."
David Hutchinson repeated what he'd said previously.
The elder Mr. Hutchinson looked confused. "But if you didn't aspirate the body cavity, and I certainly
didn't, who did?"
The younger Mr. Hutchinson spread his hands. "Chen?"
"Nonsense. He's only here on observation. He wouldn't know how."
"That would be Tom Chen?"
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Both of the Mr. Hutchinsons nodded.
"Before you're accepted into a program to become a funeral director," the younger explained, "you have
to spend four weeks observing at a funeral home. This isn't a job everyone can do. Anyway, Tom has
been with us for the last two and a half weeks. He was in the room while I prepared the body. He helped
a little. Asked a couple of questions ..."
"And was in the room when I came down to finish. He certainly seemed to indicate that you'd done the
aspirating, David."
"Well, I hadn't."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!" The word cracked the quiet reserve both men had been trained to wear and they turned identical
expressions of distress on the police office sitting across the desk.
"And Tom Chen is where?"
"Unfortunately, not here. He did work through the weekend," the elder Mr. Hutchinson explained,
regaining control. "So when he asked for the day off, I saw no harm in giving it to him."
"Hmmm. Jamie ..."
Fergusson's partner nodded and quietly left the room.
"Where is he going?"
"He's going to see if we can have a talk with Mr. Chen. But for now," Fergusson leaned back and tapped
lightly on his notebook with his pen, "let's just forget who did the aspirating, eh? Tell me what happened
next."
"Well, that was about it. We dressed the body, applied light cosmetics, just in case, placed the body in
the casket and, well, left it there. Overnight. This morning, we brought the casket upstairs to the chapel."
"Without checking the contents?"
"Nothing's ever happened to the contents before," the younger Mr. Hutchinson declared defensively.
"It must've happened during the night." The elder Mr. Hutchinson shook a weary head. "After the casket
comes upstairs, there's no possible way anyone could remove the body without being seen."
"No sign of a forced entry," Fergusson mused aloud. "Who has keys?"
"Well, we do, of course. And Christy Aloman, who does all our paperwork and has been with the
company for years. And, of course, there's a spare set here, in my drawer. That's strange." He opened a
second drawer and a third. "Oh, here they are."
"Not where you usually keep them?"
"No. You don't think that someone took them and made copies, do you, Detective?"
Detective Fergusson glanced back over his shoulder at the corner where Vicki and Celluci sat and lifted
an eloquent brow. Then he sighed. "I try not to think, Mr. Hutchinson. It's usually too depressing."
"All right." Celluci turned onto Division Street, one hand palming the wheel, the other grabbing air for
emphasis. "Why would Tom Chen steal the body?"
"How the hell should I know?" Vicki snarled. "When we find him, I'll ask him."
"You don't know he had anything to do with it."
"No? We're talking fake address and total disappearance the morning after the crime-that sure as shit
sounds incriminating to me."
"Granted."
"Not to mention the did-we-or-didn't-we shuffle that went on in the embalming room. That girl who
insisted on talking to the younger Mr. Hutchinson was probably a planned distraction."
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"Detective Fergusson and his partner are looking into it."
Vicki turned to face him as they pulled into the parking lot at the apartment building. "So?"
"So let them do their job, Vicki." Celluci parked and reached over the back of the seat for the bag of take-
out chicken. "Fergusson's promised to keep you completely informed."
"Good." She got out of the car and strode toward the building, the heels of her pumps making emphatic
statements in the gravel. "It'll make my job easier."
"And your job is?" He had to ask. He didn't need to, but he had to.
"Finding Tom Chen."
Celluci took three long strides to catch up and then one more to cut in front and pull open the door to the
apartment building. "Vicki, you do realize that Tom
Chen-the name, the person, the body snatcher-is probably as fake as his address. How the hell are you
going to find him?''
"When I find him ..." Her voice made the finding a fact not a possibility, and Celluci strongly suspected
she hadn't heard a word he'd said. "... I find my mother's body."
"Of all the lousy luck."
Catherine frowned as she unbuckled number nine's restraints and stepped back so he could climb out of
his box. "I suppose it is unfortunate," she said doubtfully, "but it doesn't actually have anything to do
with us."
"Yeah, right." Donald snorted. "Earth to Cathy: try to remember that we're the ones who walked off with
the body they're looking for. Try to remember that body snatching is a crime." His voice rose. "Try to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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