They pulled up outside the morgue, which sat behind Bellevue Hospital and near the pier. Kit descended and started for the entrance. An ambulance was parked out front, the horses and driver at the ready in a grim reminder of the death that stalked them at every turn in this city.

Inside, the attendant pointed them downstairs, where the viewing rooms were located. The air smelled like strong chemicals, and his stomach pitched. He dragged in deep breaths through his mouth.

They stopped at the desk and Preston slid a few bills to the attendant. “We are here to see the man found on the railroad tracks earlier tonight. We think he might be our friend.”

The attendant checked his sheet. “Third window on the left.”

Kit shoved his hands in his pockets as they walked along the white-tiled corridor. There were eight windows in total, four on the left and four on the right, all lit up brightly. Death on morbid display. “I very much hope the Pinkertons were wrong,” he murmured to Preston as they walked.

“Except they rarely are, so brace yourself.”

They arrived at the window and found a small body on a table, covered in a sheet. Then Kit noticed it wasn’t small. It was half. “Oh, fuck.”

Preston knocked on the glass to get the attention of the man inside. The attendant, clad in a white medical coat, turned and nodded once before lifting the top of the sheet.

Kit’s heart sank.

It was Forrest. Pale and sunken, but unmistakable.

Preston seemed frozen, not even blinking, so Kit motioned to the attendant and the sheet was lowered. Still Preston didn’t move, almost as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes had seen. But there were many unpleasant tasks ahead of them, and Kit had to remain practical.

Swallowing hard, he went to the desk at the end of the hall, needing to inquire as to how they could get their friend released for a proper burial.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The church was nearly empty. Rows and rows of vacant pews stretched out before Alice as she slipped into the back. Surprising that there weren’t more people here. The story of Forrest Ripley’s death, only son of the prominent Ripley family, had been front-page news. The poor man had fallen in front of a train and been killed instantly.

So, why weren’t there more mourners?

The service had already started, so she kept her steps whisper-soft on the hard tile, creeping closer. She hadn’t seen Kit in over a week, but of course he would be here. Forrest had been his friend and Kit was loyal. Her intention had been to sit in the back among the crowd and pay her respects out of love for Kit. She hadn’t wanted to speak to him or pressure him to see her once more. This hadn’t been about them; this had been about condolences for the dead.