The officer pushed open a set of swinging doors into the morgue. I’ve been in morgues before. Quite a few. One of Philadelphia’s coroners was a past beau of my mother’s, and when I’m on a story where a body is involved, he can usually make a few calls and get me in. He says it’s because he trusts me to do a fair job, but I suspect he’s still trying to earn brownie points with my mom.

A city morgue is usually pretty shabby. This one looked more like a slick TV show. No peeling paint or old textbooks propping up broken equipment tables. Everything gleamed and blipped and beeped. It was so state of the art that I wasn’t sure what half the machines did.

I couldn’t help but think we had indeed walked onto a set, that this was a fake morgue constructed to trick visitors and dispel the rumors I’d heard about how the Cabal really investigated suspicious deaths—by tossing the body into an incinerator and faking the reports.

A woman in a lab coat introduced herself as Dr. Aberquero. Late thirties, with a pinched face, no makeup and her black hair tightly drawn back. When she turned to shake Karl’s hand though, a flash of consternation clouded her face as she stammered an introduction, probably regretting that decision to show up for work without makeup.

She cleared her throat and tore her gaze from Karl. “The, er, decedent shows no signs of trauma except for the gunshot, which entered at the base of the skull, killing him instantly…”

Karl slid a glance my way, and I shook my head. No chaos. Confirmation that whoever was on that table had, indeed, died without knowing what was happening to him, like Max and Tony.

Karl cleared his throat. “We appreciate the explanation, Dr. Aberquero, but I’m afraid anything beyond ‘gunshot to the head’ is wasted on us.” A wry smile that had her fingers trembling on her clipboard. “We really just came to identify the body.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

She stepped back, nearly smacking into me and blocking my approach to the table as she gave Karl ample room to move forward.

I stepped around her. Karl surreptitiously slid his hand against the small of my back, warm and reassuring. The doctor noticed and her disapproving gaze shot to me, another twenty-something dipping into her dating pool. I guess I’d have to get used to that.

She turned away and folded back the sheet. I let out a gasp, and could only stare, stupid with shock.

“Th-there’s been a mistake.”

“This isn’t Guy Benoit?” she said briskly.

“Y-yes, but didn’t you say…” I faltered and looked at Paige.

Karl answered. “You said he’d been dead over twenty-four hours?”

“I did,” Dr. Aberquero replied.

“I’m sorry,” Karl said. “But that isn’t possible.”