A morgue attendant brought them a small jar of the thick, pungent ointment that Emma’s mother often used during her relentless asthma attacks. The odor brought back a flood of bad memories.

“Okay,” Biney said when they had all applied the stuff, “let’s proceed now.”

He held open the door and they filed in. The body on the autopsy table was covered with a stained, gray sheet. The Mentholatum did not cut the odor much, in Emma’s opinion. She felt unwell and steeled herself for a sight she knew would be hard to bear.

The attendant rolled back the sheet and Emma saw it was even worse than she had imagined. Had not a head and outstretched arms been present, Emma would not have thought it human. Eyes popped out from a blue-green face that had become slimy, bloated, and pushed off to the side like a badly fitted mask. The mouth was open with the lips forming an oval as in a silent scream for help. Some of the skin on the arms and chest had turned deep purple and had sloughed off—or was about to.

Emma shuddered and averted her eyes. Derek retched, turned, and ran out of the room. Sowah looked at Emma and they both went after Derek. He was outside the building leaning against the wall in the rain. “Sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t take it in there. That’s the most revolting thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Yes,” Sowah said quietly, his own face contorted with revulsion. “Come this way out of the rain.”

“It’s not Dad, though,” Derek said as they took shelter along the corridor. “Thank God.”

“It’s not,” Emma said, half question, half statement.

“No way,” he said, shaking his head.

“Okay,” she said, but she doubted the question was settled. “You’re sure?”

He frowned. “Of course, I’m sure. If that’s the guy you say got dumped over the bridge that night, it’s not my father.”

They watched him for a while. He was hyperventilating and not making eye contact with them.

“Derek,” Sowah said, “did your father have a wedding band?”

“Yes. He never took it off, even after Mama died. Why do you ask?”

“Would you be able to identify his ring?”

“Of course. It’s white gold with three inlaid diamonds. But why, though?”

“The person in the morgue has a wedding ring.”

Emma was startled. How had Mr. Sowah noticed that in such a short space of time?

“If I take a photo of it and show it to you,” Sowah continued, “would you be able to say whether it belongs to your father or not?”

Derek shrugged. “You can if you want, but it won’t be Dad’s, I can tell you that right now.”

“Okay, sure,” Sowah said. “Just to double check and make it official.”