So I go to the only other place that brings me any solace.

Work.

I’ll lose myself in the cold morgue, spend some focused time on paperwork, concentrate on deep cleaning every inch of every surface, and time will hopefully fly by.

Or maybe I’ll get lucky and get a call! Scraping up body parts from a car accident would definitely distract me.

Wishing someone death so you have the distraction of a DB isn’t exactly professional.

I sigh, telling my inner responsible self to shut the fuck up. I’ll take anything that pushes Blake and his betrayal from the forefront of my mind. I turn the light on in the morgue and step into the closet area to change into scrubs. The frigidness of the room doesn’t even register anymore, especially when my insides are solid ice.

Stoically, I begin sorting and organizing the files on my desk. I stay pretty caught up and am naturally neat and tidy, so it doesn’t take nearly long enough to get my workspace in tip-top shape.

With a sigh, I look around for something else to tackle. After a short internal debate, I decide the refrigerator could use a good mopping. I drag the mop bucket in from the hallway closet, filling it with hot water and bleach from the sink in the corner, and then push it into the even colder space.

Back and forth, I push the mop in even, straight lines across the floor, letting the punishing work build up a sweat at my brow despite the room’s temperature. Wringing out the mop for another swish over the floor, I hear something in the morgue just outside the refrigerator.

“Alver? I don’t need or want dinner,” I say, poking my head out with an evil glare already fixed in place. He’s the last person I want to deal with tonight, especially given that he probably heard about my running out of court this morning and will gloat in my pain before disappearing to spread it around the gossip grapevine with malicious glee.

But Alver’s not in the morgue.

No one is. I look around but see nothing amiss.

Back in the refrigerator, I mop and think—a dangerous combination.

As mad as I am at Blake, I can’t let go of Richard Horne. Like Jeff, I feel a responsibility to tell my DBs’ stories because they deserve to share their truth. But I don’t know what else there is to discover or how to investigate, especially since Yvette is now on alert and the clock is against Jeff.

We found the poisonous supplement, but it’s not enough. We know how Yvette likely gave it to Richard, but it’s not a smoking gun because like Jeff said, Horne could have been taking the supplements himself, unaware of the damage he was doing.