Page 19

‘ Evaline Williams, 7 months, omega. ’

The corridor fell silent.

Blake’s throat went dry when he realised the hatches ahead had gotten significantly smaller.

Horrific memories from his time in Child Protection threatened to invade his brain, the sensation all but repelling him back down the corridor.

There was nothing quite so disturbing as witnessing a post-mortem on a baby.

Turning on his heel, he strode towards the reception desk, almost tripping into a run as the corridor seemed to go on forever.

Then, he smelled it. A soft, sweet scent drifting through the heavily conditioned air.

He stalked forwards, his wolf’s ears pricking and making his feet move of their own accord.

“Oh!” Pember jumped as Blake crashed around the corner.

Reaching out, he gripped Blake’s arm, holding it tight. His eyes were like two planets as they stared up at him. Blake hadn’t noticed before, but in the bright light of the morgue he saw there were flecks of gold interspersing the green. His wolf whined and pushed against his skin.

The omega was utterly gorgeous.

With barely a blink, Blake trained his expression back into indifference and moved out of Pember’s grasp.

“Hello!” Duncan said, hurriedly scribbling their details into the staff book. “It’s chilly in here, right? Anyone else cold? I’m freezing, like freeeeezing.” Pember and Blake stared at him as he finished signing the book with a flourish. “Morning, Sergeant. Beat the traffic?”

Blake nodded, slipping off his coat and handing it to the woman behind the reception desk. He always beat the traffic.

“Morning, gents!” a familiar sing-song voice called from within a little side room.

A grin split Blake’s mouth as he dipped around the door. “Morning, Chichi,” he said, eyeing the middle-aged omega as she changed the filter in her ancient-looking coffee machine. “Long time no see.”

Chichima Zabu was hands down one of his favourite pathologists, not to mention an excellent professional witness at court. She was a petite Black woman with tight braids pulled back into a large bun on top of her head. She smiled widely, her dark eyes running up and down his long frame.

“Looking good, Blake, looking good. How’re Rebecca and the baby? She’s gotta be, what? A year old, now?”

Blake exhaled, giving her a hard look. “We aren’t together anymore.”

Chichi’s eyebrows dipped slightly, before passing him a clipboard. “I see.” She had enough grace to drop the subject immediately.

Blake sucked his teeth and pushed a bundle of paperwork into the clipboard. “How’s Kofi?”

Chichi’s smile faltered and she absentmindedly rubbed the bite mark on the side of her neck.

“He’s alright. Lungs still won’t clear, but you know how it is.

Ah! And who do we have here?” she said, expression brightening as Pember shuffled in behind Duncan.

“Someone new? My God, you are so precious!” She threw her hands wide and took a few steps towards them.

“Thanks,” Duncan uttered, blushing.

Chichi chuckled before shoving him out of the way. “What’s your name, sweetie?” she said, grabbing both of Pember’s shoulders.

“O-oh, I… er, it’s Pember. Pember McArthur.” He glanced up at Blake, with an expression akin to a fish out of water.

“How sweet. Are you nervous?”

Pember blushed. “I… well, a little.”

“Ah, don’t be my angel.” Chichi jerked her head towards Duncan, giving him a scathing look. “So long as you don’t knock the brain off the workbench, you’ll be absolutely fine.”

Duncan withered. “I didn’t… It was an accident?—”

“First Home Office PM?” Chichi continued.

“Yes,” Pember replied, back straightening.

“Ah, well, nothing to worry about. Just follow mine and Blake’s lead.” She flicked her eyes towards him and winked.

Pember gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Okay, thank you.”

“No, thank you for coming. I was worried we were going to have to watch Maya and David make doe eyes at one another all morning.”

Blake chuckled at that, because gossip of Maya and Chichi’s assistant’s romance had even reached the ears of the Major Crime Unit.

After completing the first round of paperwork, they followed Chichi and David through the morgue.

“You get suited up in there.” She pointed towards a dingy little room containing various lockers and shelves.

“David and I’ll get scrubbed up. Any issues with the suits, just let one of the techs know. ”

All three of them nodded, and Blake dressed quickly in the white forensic suit, pushing back his wayward hair, slotting the protective goggles over his glasses and drawing up the hood.

A loud clattering sound followed by groaning echoed through the room. “Ew! They’re still wet!” Duncan cried, holding up a pair of white Wellington boots. “Nothing worse than soggy socks.”

Pember chuckled, offering Duncan a tissue as he quietly pulled on his own boots from a rack behind the door.

Running his finger along the shelves, Blake had no such luck in finding a pair to fit.

He needed a size eleven but only found nines.

Not wanting to linger in the morgue any longer than necessary, he huffed and pulled the smaller boots off the rack.

“Want me to ask one of the techs for a bigger size?” Pember said, eyeing him from beside the lockers.

Blake shook his head. “These’ll be fine. I heard toes are a luxury anyway.”

Pember chuckled and pulled up his own hood. “If you say so.”

“Phew, let’s get this show on the road!” Duncan said, stretching towards the ceiling and making the seams of his suit pop. He handed Pember the camera and picked up a large sack of sample tubes.

The morgue was, for all intents and purposes, a conveyor belt of death. A parade of corpses tightly lined up in a large, brightly lit medical bay. The white linoleum walls made the LED lights shine even brighter, and Blake squinted as he followed at the back of the group.

He’d come to realise a long time ago that there was no dignity in death, no sweetly singing choir as one ascended the ivory steps to heaven’s gates.

Only piss, shit and the scalpel. A dozen pathologists worked on a dozen more corpses, ripping and slicing the flesh with practiced precision.

Most bodies were old, but some were young.

Some were in wolf form, others not. Regardless, all of them were treated like slabs of meat on a butcher’s block.

Blake’s gaze slid to Pember. The omega kept his head down and eyes towards the door at the far end of the bay. He had the sudden urge to lurch forward and tuck the omega under his arm, but resisted, only tightening his grip around the clipboard.

“Right!” Chichi said, ripping off the yellow tape on the sealed room. “X-ray first, then we’ll get started.”

David huffed and puffed as he wrestled the wayward gurney through the double doors, straight through the examination room and into another room at the back.

Blake set his clipboard down on a stainless-steel table and walked after them. He was about to cross the threshold to the dimly lit X-ray room when he felt a soft, warm pressure around his wrist.

Pember stared up at him, his bright eyes filled with concern.

“Is it okay for you to go in there?” he said, eyebrows pulling together.

“I mean… because of your… you know.” He glanced around the room and tapped his own sternum.

Blake cocked a brow as Pember leant up on his tiptoes. “Your pacemaker,” he whispered.

Blake huffed out a laugh and rested a hand on Pember’s shoulder. It felt warm and a little bony under his palm, and his fingers almost drifted to the nape of his neck.

Almost .

“It’s not a pacemaker,” he said, holding the omega’s gaze until the white double doors swung shut.

“Everybody ready?” Chichi said, gaze flicking around the room.

Blake nodded, handing her a continuity form, which she signed and handed back. The overhead lights hummed and David unfurled the body bag.

Zayne Steward looked small on the surgical table, his large alpha frame all but diminished in death.

His broad chest was made concave by the brutal slashes cutting away the flesh over and over again.

His skin was stained with blood, the open wounds on his arms and stomach reduced to a milky mess of flesh.

All the vitality had drained out of him into the shag-pile rug in the middle of his living room, leaving only a sallow sack of meat behind.

Blake’s eyes dropped when David began cutting away the clothes, as though averting his gaze might somehow comfort the dead man.

Blake was unbelievably glad that he’d sent the other detectives out on enquiries that day.

Witnessing a post-mortem felt oddly sacred, like sharing the person’s most intimate final moments.

It could have been anyone on that table. It could have been him, based on the alpha’s height and build.

David laid the clothes out next to the body, and although they’d taken extensive forensic swabs at the scene, Pember and Duncan worked quickly and meticulously to take even more.

When they were done, Pember folded the clothes and placed them in an evidence bag. He slid them in carefully, as though he was frightened of damaging them further. He walked quietly towards Blake, head bent low as he handed him the bag.

“Hey,” Blake whispered, drawing Pember’s gaze. “Alright?”

Pember gave a small smile, and whispered back, “Yeah. You?”

Blake nodded and turned his attention back to the table.

David hummed softly as he powered up the industrial-strength shower, and Blake couldn’t help but notice how he glanced at Pember every now and again. Without a word, he washed away the dried blood and bodily waste, and after a few moments the victim’s true face came into view.