Page 106 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes

“I’m beginning to seriously worry about Sam,” Danny grumbles. “For an ex-copper, he really seems to be embracing his criminal alter-ego with relish.”

“You got to admit, the man’s got skills,” Dusty says as we approach the doors.

“What?” Sam grins as Danny gives him a very judgemental look.

I pluck the keycard out of his grip. “You two can bicker about it later,” I mutter and press the card to the pad at the door.

T-Minus 2 Hours, 30 Minutes…

“Are you sure this is the right one?” Danny says and I nod emphatically.

“Definitely. One hundred percent.”

“That’s what you said about the last two rooms,” Sam mutters and I glare at him.

Pressing the keycard to the pad on the wall to the right, I push the door open a fraction and stick my head inside.

“Okay, this is it.” Hearing voices from the corridor, I hustle them inside. “Hurry!”

I slip inside behind them and close the door, then stop to listen for a moment, but I can’t hear the voices anymore. Breathing a sigh of relief, I turn to the fairly decent-sized space. It’s softly lit, and the light has an almost bluish cast to it. All of the walls are lined with shelving units, each of them holding lines and lines of smallish, neatly labelled storage boxes. Although the boxes are made from transparent plastic, they have a kind of frosted effect to them, so it’s not entirely clear what’s in them, but given their location, I can hazard a pretty accurate guess.

In front of the wall opposite the door is a large rectangular unit which looks like a kitchen island. It has a smooth work surface and contains more storage shelves along each side underneath, and each of those holds archive boxes of paperwork, judging by the labels.

“This is it?” Sam says, a little disappointed. “I mean… when you said skeletons…”

“What were you expecting? Pirates of the Caribbean?” I roll my eyes and turn to Danny. “Keep an eye on the door and let us know if you hear anything.”

He nods and limps over to stand guard, resting heavily on his crutches.

“Bruce?” I ask. “Any suggestions where we start?”

“Over there.” He lifts his chin toward the wall of boxes behind the island. “They’re somewhere there. I can feel them.”

I hurry along the wall, scanning the labels until I reach one in particular. I pull it down and heft it onto the island, levering off the lid.

Sam and I stare down at the bones piled neatly in the box.

“That’s him? That’s Bruce?” Sam says.

I nod. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“Huh…” Sam’s brows rise. “I didn’t recognise him without the shorts.”

“How do we know it’s definitely him?” Danny asks from across the room.

“It says so on the box.” I lift it for him to see.

“But is there any way to know for sure?” he replies. “What if it’s been mislabelled? I’d hate for the world to end because of a typo.”

“That’s a good point,” I mumble, looking down at the empty eye sockets of the skull staring back at me.

“I got this.” Sam pulls up his sleeves and reaches into the box. The second his hands touch the bones, his eyes close, his eyelids flickering like someone in REM sleep, or like he’s watching a film reel of images. When he finally opens his eyes, he lets out a heavy breath.

“Wow.” He swallows tightly. “That packs quite a punch. It’s definitely him. I saw his last few moments.”

“Mr Stone,” Bruce says dryly, “will you please take your hands off my coccyx?”

“Oh.” Sam whips his hands out of the box and actually flushes. “Sorry.” He clears his throat. “Should’ve asked permission first.”