I Am Death

Eleven

The main facility of the Los Angeles County Department of Coroner on North Mission Road was an impressive building, both in size and architecture. Showing hints of Renaissance and neoclassicism, the large hospital-turned-morgue was fronted by terracotta bricks with light-gray details. Old-fashioned lampposts flanked the extravagant entrance stairway, and from the exterior alone one would be forgiven for thinking that the inspiration for such lavish design had come from the old town of Prague, or the historic universities of Oxford.

Garcia parked in the area reserved for law enforcement officials and both detectives took the stairs up to the main building in a hurry. They pushed open the large glass doors that led into an awfully busy, but pleasantly air-conditioned, lobby and stepped inside.

Neither Hunter nor Garcia were too surprised as to the number of people mingling around the reception foyer. As the busiest coroner in the whole of the USA, the Los Angeles County Department of Coroner could receive anywhere up to one hundred bodies a day. The LACDC was also the only department of coroner in the country with an official gift shop, where one could purchase sweatshirts, baseball caps, mugs, skeleton bones and a multitude of other items, all carrying the legitimate logo of the Los Angeles morgue.

Hunter and Garcia zigzagged their way through a group of Japanese tourists and approached the main reception counter. The middle-aged African-American woman behind it looked up from her computer screen, removed her reading glasses and gave them a smile that was both warm and sorrowful at the same time.

‘Hello, gentlemen, how can I help you?’ She spoke in the same tone and volume as a librarian.

Morgue receptionists’ greetings were pretty much the same all over the USA. They never greeted anyone with the words ‘good morning’, ‘good afternoon’, or ‘good evening’. Usually, a person visiting a morgue would struggle to find anything good about the day they were having.

‘LAPD Detectives Hunter and Garcia to see Doctor Carolyn Hove,’ Hunter said, producing his credentials. Garcia did the same.

‘She’s expecting us,’ Hunter added.

The receptionist allowed her eyes to hover over both detectives’ badges for a moment before reaching for the phone on the counter in front of her, but before she was able to dial the heavy metal door on the east wall was pushed open by Doctor Hove herself.

‘Robert, Carlos,’ she said. ‘You guys made it in good time.’

Doctor Hove wore a white lab coat with a photo card clipped to her left pocket. She was holding a blue file in her right hand.

‘Hey, Doc,’ Hunter and Garcia said at the same time, greeting her warmly.

Doctor Hove was a tall and slim woman with deep penetrating green eyes. Her long chestnut hair was bundled up into a bun and tucked under a factory-style hairnet. A surgical mask hung from her neck.

‘Once again,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure if this really applies, but... welcome back, both of you.’ She paused and her eyes narrowed a fraction as she looked at Hunter. ‘Though, I must add that you don’t look like you just came back from a break, Robert. Are you sure you’ve been away?’

‘Oh, I’m sure.’

Garcia stifled a smile.

‘So,’ Hunter asked, his eyes focusing on the file in her hand. ‘What have you found, Doc?’

She didn’t follow his gaze. Instead, she tilted her head in the direction of the door she’d just come out of.

‘I think you both better come with me.’