I was in the car, driving back to the funeral home, when I realized I had left my cell phone in Milt’s office. The daylight was waning fast, but I doubled back, eager to retrieve my phone and, perhaps, get a verdict from Blanch. I rounded a turn, skidded slightly, but decided to visit the forensic lab first.
All of the candy-stripe clouds had dissipated in the cold and, from the look of the sun beginning to set in the horizon, a new front was emerging in the west—a gray pall that was threatening to cover the night in yet another wave of winter. I considered the ironies of mercury, and hoped the needle wouldn’t dip too low before Lance and I could rendezvous to warm each other.
Christmas was still hanging in the air, too—a kind of festive translucence that offered hope in the darkness. So even in the cold, there was hope looming in the lights around the circle on Meridian Street, and there were, rising occasionally in the streets, warm tufts of vapor from underneath the manhole covers. And as I approached the lab, I realized that Christmas was not yet over—nor the New Year yet begun. Sandwiched between the old and the new, I too felt the pinch of embracing the possibilities while leaving behind the past. Now, so near to discovery, I truly wanted to experience another miracle.
Hurried and worn, I knew I was wearing out my welcome with Blanch—and, as Lance has noted, also stretching the limitations of my coroner’s role. I slid into the forensic lot, parked, and scurried through the back door as soon as Blanch opened it, the warmth inside pressing over me like a blanket.
“Good God,” Blanch said, shutting the door behind me. “You don’t know when to quit.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, shivering in my boots. “But I just had to see if you’ve had a chance to analyze that ice from the factory. I don’t want us to be in the middle of a health scare.”
Blanch plucked the unlit cigarette from her lower lip and slid it neatly back into the pack. “Relax,” she said, “that David character told me how important it was. What’s his deal?”
“He’s a bit excitable,” I told her, “but you can trust him.”
Blanch motioned for me to follow her into the bowels of the lab. “Let’s get out of this cold foyer,” Blanch said. “Let’s get in here with the dead bodies where it’s warmer.”
I laughed, appreciating her sense of humor, and her inside joke. She was beginning to appreciate my work, too—even if it involved bringing her the dead. We padded through another set of doors and stood around one of the dissecting tables, among vials of formaldehyde and test tubes filled with cobalt blue chemicals and red dyes. There was an odd aroma in the air—a mixture of organics and synthetics, of perfume and rot. Not much different than the odors in my embalming room, I felt at ease in the cloud.
“It doesn’t take long to test water, not if you know what you’re looking for,” Blanch began. “And I had a pretty good idea of our sources.”
Blanch pointed to my plastic vial, still poised on the counter-top next to her microscope and a few drabs of testing compounds. “It’s a small sample,” she added, “but I can say with assurance that it’s clear. No Listeria here. No mercury.”
“Thank God,” I said.
“Is that what you were hoping for?”
“Yes,” I said. “And no.”
Blanch lifted an eyebrow.
“At least there’s no health risk, nothing in the ice going outside the plant. That helps me narrow the field a great deal.”
Blanch nodded, another piece of her law enforcement background showing through her hardscrabble grit. “Narrowing the field is good,” she said. “That’s what I do.”
I shook Blanch’s dry, leathery hand. “Thanks for everything,” I said. “I feel like I’ve been consuming your time these past two days.”
“Not really,” Blanch answered. “It’s been slow . . . although, I can’t wait for Corey and some of the guys to get back. These Christmas breaks can be hell, but it was my turn to take the shift. But if Corey doesn’t bring me back some Florida sunshine, I’m going to be pissed.”
I laughed, shook her hand again, and then headed for the door.
“Mary,” Blanch blurted out before I could exit. “Do you want your sample kit?”
I stopped, my hand pressed against the door. “No,” I answered, “just hang onto it. I’ll get it later.”
Blanch smiled, her canine teeth yellow from the Camels. “I can believe that,” she said. “I guess there will always be a later in your line of work . . . and mine. Let’s just hope it’s not too soon.”
“And Mary,” Blanch hurried, “tell that David character that he needs to dress more warmly in the winter. He’s too worried about appearances.”
“Will do,” I said as I leapt, once again, into the jaws of winter.