The Crucifix Killer - Chris Carter [41]
Seventeen
Chris Melrose had been working for the County Department of Coroner for the last three years. From a very young age Chris had been fascinated with death, with everything morbid. His initial plan was to become a forensic scientist, but his poor school grades kept him from getting a place at university.
Chris’s first job was as a jack-of-all-trades in a mortuary. His duties ranged from funeral arrangements to lining the inside of coffins and preparing bodies, but that just wasn’t enough. Chris wanted the life he’d always dreamed of. He wanted the blood-stained rags, the stainless-steel tables, the stinging and intoxicating smell of death. He wanted to work with bodies in their raw state, before they were cleaned up and made ready for the funeral. After applying for almost every lower-level position with the County Department of Coroner he was finally offered a job as a lab porter. His new duties included cleaning autopsy rooms, moving bodies to and from the cooling chambers and making sure that all equipment was clean and ready to be used. The medical examiners in the Coroner’s office had never seen anyone take so much pride in his work. Chris was in everyone’s good books. What he loved doing more than anything else was sitting in on autopsies. None of the examiners minded.
Chris’s night shift went from 7:30 p.m. to 7:30 a.m. He liked to take his first break just before midnight; it gave him a chance to light up a cigarette and have a quick banana, peanut-butter and honey sandwich.
Chris took a last drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt in the air and watched it produce a dim, yellow arc. He got up from the small bench he’d been sitting on, folded his empty plastic sandwich bag and started walking back towards the Coroner’s building. A cold hand grabbed his left shoulder.
‘Hi there, Chris!’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Chris jumped and turned to face the figure standing behind him, his heart halfway up his throat. ‘Are you crazy? You scared the fuck out of me.’
Mark Culhane gave Chris a rehearsed yellow smile.
‘If I had a gun, you could be dead right now. How do you get off on sneaking up on people like that?’ Chris asked placing a hand over his chest, his heart pounding against it.
‘I’m a detective, I love sneaking up on people,’ Culhane said with a new smile. ‘Besides, why the fuck would you carry a gun? Everyone you deal with is already dead.’
‘Everybody packs these days, this is LA remember? Anyway, I haven’t seen you for a while, what the hell do you want?’
Chris was in his early thirties, a few pounds overweight with straight dark-brown hair that he kept quite short. He had strange cat-like brown eyes, a reddish complexion and a prominent nose.
‘Oh, Chris, that’s no way to greet an old friend.’
Chris didn’t answer back. He simply raised his eyebrows waiting for Culhane to state his business.
‘I need to check whatever new entries you’ve had in the past few days,’ Culhane finally said.
‘By entries, you mean bodies?’
‘What else would I mean, smart ass?’
‘Why don’t you just put in a request, you’re a cop, aren’t you?’
‘This is a friend, not necessarily official business.’
‘A friend?’ Chris’s voice took a dubious tone.
‘Are you training to be a cop? What’s with all the goddamn questions? Just show me the bodies, will you?’
‘And if I told you I couldn’t do that because it’s against regulations?’
Culhane placed his right arm around Chris’s neck and pulled him closer. ‘Well, that would certainly piss me off, and I don’t think you’d wanna do that, do you?’
Silence.
Culhane tightened his grip.
‘OK . . . OK, I was going back in anyway,’ Chris said, lifting both hands.
‘Adda boy,’ Culhane said, letting go of the headlock.
They both walked back to the Coroner’s building in silence. One of the advantages of visiting Chris at this hour was that Culhane wouldn’t have to go in through the front door; the building would be a lot quieter, no badges needed to be shown, no papers to sign – less suspicion.
They reached the staff entrance door on the south