Page 31 of Edge of Honor

“Yep. And now we’re doing it. Here,” said Carolan, opening the bag wider, and lifting up the man’s left arm, which was covered in a sleeve of tattoos from his shoulder to his wrist. “Hold this so I can get some photos.”

Fields shook her head. “This is why Black people always die first in horror movies. They listen to the White people,” she replied, pulling out her phone. “Youhold the zombie’s arm up. I’ll take the photos.”

As she began snapping pictures, the young ME staffer informed her, “The other FBI agents already did that. They had proper cameras and everything.”

Without missing a beat, she responded, “Somebody must have screwed up because they sent us to retake them all.”

“But they had proper cameras, lenses, all that. You’ve got what? An iPhone?”

She ignored his question and instead gave him another task. “As soon as you’re done unzipping those bags, I need you to come back over here and help my colleague roll John Doe number six onto his side.”

“Looking for more pornography?”

Fields smiled at him. “Sometimes it hides in interesting places.”

The young man wasn’t thrilled to be put to work, but the quickest way to get on with his day was to help the two FBI agents wrap up their examination and move along out his door.

They were on the second-to-last corpse when one tattoo in particular caught Carolan’s attention.

“Make sure you get a good picture of this,” he said.

Fields looked at it and snapped two photos, just to be sure. It was on this John Doe’s upper right thigh and appeared to be a half sword, half tree.

“What is it?” she asked.

Her boss shook his head. “I don’t know, but I think I’ve seen it before.”

“Where?”

“I don’t remember. And if you don’t stop asking me questions, I’m not going to tell you which of the bodies I just saw move behind you.”

Fields briefly glanced over her shoulder before raising her left hand, palm out, as if to say, “I get it. No more questions.”

They finished with the final corpse, thanked the young staffer, and exited the morgue back into the garage.

“Hungry?” Carolan asked.

Fields looked at him like he had grown a second head. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“No, I’m serious. I ran out of the house without breakfast this morning. All I’ve had is coffee. The low blood sugar is killing me.”

“You couldn’t pay me to eat right now.”

“Come on. We’re a nine-iron from the Wharf. There’s got to be over a dozen restaurants down there. Just pick one.”

“Are you buying?”

“If I’m the only one eating. If not, we split like we always do,” Carolan replied. “There’s the Grill, Bistro du Jour… I don’t care. I just need something.”

She looked at her watch. “Okay, we’ll go to Hank’s.”

“The oyster bar?”

“They have some of the best damn fries in the city.”

“So now you’re eating?”

“Listen, it’s Hank’s or nothing. Your call.”