Really, what’s the point of coming here?” asked Doyle. “That’s what he said,” said Amanda.
Doyle looked aghast at Amanda, then gave her a high-five. “Nice,” he said.
“Thanks,” said Amanda.
They stood outside the doorway to the Nisswa morgue, which was actually a small room inside the Nisswa Municipal Hospital. The morgue was located in the rear of the building so people driving by wouldn’t know it was there. Dead bodies weren’t something one usually liked to associate with small town living.
“But seriously, why are we at the morgue?” asked Doyle. “We know he was shot in the head. It’s not like the last case where we didn’t know if it was an overdose or murder. I think this one’s pretty self-explanatory.”
“That may be true, but you never know what evidence you might find,” said William. “Without a thorough examination, we won’t have all the evidence. Even if we find nothing, at least we’ll have covered all our bases.”
“Fine,” said Doyle. “But I’m not looking at the body.”
“You have to,” said William. “How else are you going to find any clues? Are you just going to run your hands all over him like a blind person?”
Doyle looked ill. “No, I’m not going to do that, either. I’ll stand outside the door.”
“That’s if we even get in,” said Amanda. “It’s dark inside. I bet dollars to donuts this door is locked.” She reached out and pulled.
“Yup,” she said.
“Can we go through the main entrance and get to it that way?” asked
Doyle. “If the morgue’s closed up, maybe someone can let us in.”
“It’s worth trying,” said William.
They walked around the building which took all of two minutes.
“Do they only have a dozen rooms in there?” asked Doyle.
“Shush, it’s a small town,” said Amanda. “I bet people rarely come here, anyway. Brainerd’s not that far away.”
“That begs the question,” said William. “Why is the body here and not Brainerd?”
They approached the receptionist. She was a small, plump black woman with green scrubs on.
“Excuse me, are you a nurse?” asked William.
“Sometimes,” she said. “For the next two hours I’m the receptionist.”
“That’s a little odd, isn’t it?” said William.
“Not really. We have a staff of three tonight,” she said.
“That’s not much,” said Doyle.
“We’ve had less,” she said.
“Really?” Doyle said.
“Mmmhmm,” the nurse/receptionist said. “Now what do you lovely people want this late in the evening?”
She eyed the group up and down. Her gaze landed on William in particular. Doyle wondered what she must think. His scruffy face, his white dress shirt only partly tucked in, red blood stain on the chest from the scuffle with Eva.
“Just so you know, we only give valid prescriptions for legitimate ailments, which must be signed by an M.D. We have one on staff tonight, and I assure you he does not hand them out like candy.” William seemed confused, but Doyle decided to jump ahead.
“Is the morgue open?” he asked.
The nurse/receptionist seemed taken aback. “What kind of sick, twisted people are—“
“We’re nothing of the sort,” said William, who glanced at Doyle and then added, “Mostly. You see, we’re private detectives working on the Wilde case. We need to see the body to search for evidence.”
“He was shot in the face. What kind of evidence could you possibly need?” she asked.
“Told ya,” said Doyle, nudging William in the side.
“We just need to look. To be sure,” said William. “Can we get access to the morgue?”
The nurse/receptionist shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said.
“He’ll still be there in the morning. You should probably come back then.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but this is extremely urgent. We cannot waste any time,” said William. “Please, if you can, we truly need access to that morgue. You can watch us the entire time to assure we don’t tamper with anything.”
“Well, it has been rather boring in here tonight, and it would be something to do,” she said. “But I still don’t think so. I want to keep my job.”
“Oh, really,” said Doyle, reaching into his pocket. “Well, let’s see what my good friend Abe Lincoln has to say about the matter.” He dropped the bill onto the nurse/receptionist’s desk.
“Five dollars?” she asked. “You want me to risk my job for five dollars?”
Doyle coughed. “Sorry, I thought that could go pretty far in a small town like this.”
The nurse/receptionist grimaced at Doyle. “That’s not very funny,” she said.
Amanda apologized. “Really, he’s not trying to be funny. He’s just not all there.”
“Hey …“ Doyle said.
“Just kidding, sweetie,” she said, then looked at the nurse/receptionist and mouthed, “I’m not.”
“I tell you what,” the nurse/receptionist said. “If I let you in there for a few minutes, while I look on,” she emphasized, “then will the three of you get the hell out of here and stop bothering me?”
They three detectives looked at each other. “Okay.”
“Sure.”
“Yup.”
“This way, then,” she said.
She led the detectives down a wide hallway past a few empty rooms and a corridor that led to the emergency operating room.
Doyle realized how eerily quiet it was for a hospital.
“Excuse me, miss … umm …” Doyle began.
“Babbit,” she said. “Just call me Gina.”
“Miss Babbit … Gina, thank you. Are there any, you know, patients here?” he asked.
“I’m guessing you’ve seen all the empty rooms. To be honest, we haven’t had any patients here in the last three days, except for a couple kids who caught a stomach bug. Other than that, half the townspeople of Nisswa have already left for warmer temperatures. God forbid they see a single snowflake fall to the ground.”
“So it’s been quiet everywhere in town, not just the hospital?” asked William.
“Exactly. In fact, speaking of quiet,” Gina said as she tapped the metal door behind her. “Here’s the morgue.”
As she said it, the door behind moved just a bit from her tapping.
“That’s weird,” said Gina.
“What’s that?” asked Doyle, already feeling the heebie-jeebies he normally got whenever he was anywhere near blood, dead bodies, or clowns.
“Well, normally this door is locked when no one’s attending to it. For some bizarre reason, it’s open.” Doyle gulped.
Gina pushed the door open further, reached her hand within, and flicked a switch. Fluorescent lights illuminated the white linoleum tiled room. In the middle of the room stood a metal slab.
Doyle was shocked that a sheet-covered body was lying on the slab overnight. Doesn’t flesh usually decay if it’s left out overnight? Like a carton of milk? Doyle thought.
Then Doyle noticed, to his horror, that the sheet—the chest—was moving up and down in a rhythmic pattern.
“Oh, my God,” said Amanda. “Is Wilde … alive?”
“Zoinks,” said Doyle. “Let’s get out of here.”
Gina walked fearlessly into the room. “That can’t be right,” she said. “The body’s supposed to be in the fridge. Let me check this out.” With abundant confidence that Doyle could barely imagine having, Gina approached the body, raised a forefinger, and poked it in the side.
A brief sputter was followed by a very vocal, “OW!”
There was an audible gasp as all three detectives were surprised by a noise coming from the obviously not-so-dead body.
“Dammit, Dewey—is that you?” asked Gina.
An arm appeared from under the sheet, reached up towards its face and—Doyle whimpered—pulled the sheet completely off its body. In the spot where Doyle was expecting to find a decaying, zombified corpse, a scrawny, silver-haired old man in green scrubs sat up suddenly.
“I wasn’t sleeping, Gina, I swear to God in Heaven, I wasn’t! I was working security, making sure no one busted in to the place.”
Dewey looked around the room, dazed, as if he had just awoken from a long slumber.
“Oh, really? Is that a fact?” asked Gina.
“A couple hours ago, ya know, someone tried breakin’ through the window there. Didn’t break it or nothin’, just tried to push it open. And I says, ‘Hey, you burglar, you can’t come in here,’ and the person turned right around and left. Scared ‘em off, I did. I’d do the same darn thing this very moment, if it came up,” said Dewey, rubbing his eyes.
“Then why did I hear snoring?” said Gina.
Doyle had been too scared to hear it before, but now that she mentioned it …
“I thought you were a zombie!” exclaimed Doyle. Everyone in the room immediately turned to Doyle, a mixture of uneasiness and worry on their faces.
“Well, not literally …“ said Doyle, back-pedaling.
“I’m not dead yet,” said Dewey. “But I guess I did nod off there for a second or two …”
“Dewey, you can’t be—“ Gina began before William cut her off.
“Excuse me, Dewey,” he said, “but could you describe the person who tried to get in here? Male/female, body shape, hair color … anything you can remember. Even shoes—shoes can be very important.”
“Couldn’t tell ya. He was wearin’ all black. Top to bottom.”
“So, it was a man, then?” asked William.
“Not positive,” said Dewey. “Man-ish.”
“What would you say about body shape?”
“Pretty average, I guess. Not chubby or nothin’.”
“Anything peculiar or strange that you remember?” William asked.
“Nope … no, sir. This was an all-around average looking burglar.
Yessir.”
William grimaced. He wasn’t getting much help.
“Did he or she say anything to you?” he asked.
“Nope, ran off pretty quick. I can be pretty intimidating, I suppose,” said Dewey.
Gina put her arm around Dewey’s shoulder and asked, “Unless these detectives have any further questions, don’t you think you should head back to the supply room and keep working on inventory?” Dewey looked around the room. “You guys are detectives?” Doyle, William, and Amanda nodded.
“Wow, neat!” Dewey exclaimed. “I’d love to be a detective someday.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Dewey,” said Gina. “You’re eighty-two years old.”
“That may be so,” said Dewey. “But I’m still hoping I’ll get that ‘Benjamin Button’ disease. Sure’d be swell to be a young’un again.”
“As long as you’re young at heart,” said Amanda, smiling at the old man affectionately.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware of it, miss, but ‘young at heart’ doesn’t ward off the grim reaper. That’s why I work at this hospital here. See, way I figure it, everything’s so clean here, I’m bound to stay healthy for a long time. And if I get sick, well, there’s plenty of folks here to help me out. Right, Gina?”
“Sure, Dewey.”
“Gina’s really sweet once you get to know her,” said Dewey. “Okay, I’ll go do inventory now. Good-bye, detectives! Catch the burglar!”
“We’re actually after the person who murdered Davis Wilde,” said Doyle.
“Who?” asked Dewey.
“The actor,” said Doyle.
“Oh, you mean the guy with the hole in his melon? He’s in the icebox. Hold on a sec,” he said, walking over to what looked like an oversized stainless-steel refrigerator. He pulled on the handle of a drawer which glided out with ease, revealing a body with a sheet tucked gently over it. “Here you go, folks. Enjoy your evening,” said Dewey, making his exit.
Amanda turned to Gina. “What a nice old man,” she said.
Gina shook her head. “Honey, he’s nice all right. But he’s lost many of his marbles. Dewey’s harmless, so we let him hang around the hospital all he wants. He even does a lot of work for us for free. A big help, actually. But he’s been hearing and seeing things that aren’t there. Like the burglar, for example. I bet you anything it was all in his head.”
“Really?” asked William. “How certain are you? Keep in mind that this burglar could very well be Wilde’s killer.”
“If the burglar existed, which I doubt is the case,” said Gina. “I’m sorry.”
William nodded. “Very well.”
“But I can point out something that might be helpful,” said Gina.
“Yes? What would that be?” asked William.
“I know it probably wasn’t even my business to look at Wilde— well, his body … but I did anyway. How could I resist? Not too many actors come into this hospital.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Doyle. “So, let’s get the obvious question out in the air. Was he well-endowed?”
Gina shook her head. “Apparently the rumors were false. But— check this out!”
Gina removed the sheet from the body’s lower half, up to the thigh.
“Good God,” said Doyle.
“What is that?” asked Amanda.
“Bite marks,” said Gina. “All over his thighs. He may not have been big downstairs, but it looks like he still liked to get freaky.”
“Freaky is right,” said Doyle. “That looks like it would hurt pretty bad.”
“I wouldn’t try it,” said Amanda.
“Good,” said Doyle. “I’m glad that’s out of the way.”
“Are you two …“ Gina asked.
“Almost,” said Doyle and Amanda in unison, giving William a stern glare. William rolled his eyes.
“Do you realize what this might mean?” asked William. “This helps prove the murder was part of a love triangle gone awry, like I had originally suspected. Wonderful.”
“So what do we do next?” asked Doyle.
William reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small camera. “Let’s start by taking snapshots of the bite marks. We may need to use them later to compare against the bite marks of various suspects. Gina, do you mind lifting up that sheet just a bit—“
Gina did as requested, but lifted the sheet just a bit too much, causing the sheet to slide off and fall to the floor, exposing the gaping, crusted hole in the center of Davis Wilde’s forehead.
Doyle vomited directly onto the body. Onto Wilde’s bare, inner thighs to be exact.
Gina covered her nose. “I’ll get a mop,” she said.
“Bloody hell, Doyle—I can’t even see the bite marks now,” said William.
“I’ll get a rag,” said Amanda.
“I need to go,” said Doyle, white-faced, running as fast as possible for the nearest restroom.
William, left alone with the body, asked no one in particular, “Why did I make him my partner?”