Val arrived back at the morgue by 6pm, and after placing Adam Morgan in the cooler, quickly wheeled his mother, clad in a white body bag, down the corridor to autopsy room one, the morgue’s private autopsy suite. Gabrielle would be first, Adam next. Dr. Maddox planned on finishing both post-mortems tonight. Val would stay to assist Dr. Maddox, of course. She frequently helped him out. In his short seven months at the medical examiner’s office, Val had become one of Dr. Maddox’s most sought-after assistants.

The position of death investigator called for attention to detail and medical knowledge; but death investigators are not doctors. Val was thankful for that, though she had been a doctor once. Well, sort of. In her previous occupation, she had been a dentist but one of her patients, Mr. Tate, a suspected serial killer, ended that career by mangling her left hand. Val had been helping the cops collect evidence against him by getting molds of his teeth—bitemarks had been left on the victims’ bodies. He attacked Val in a brief moment when she let her guard down. Val would never do that again.

This case became her initiation into a criminal world. It had ignited her desire to help catch murderers and was a vibrant reminder of the dangers and demands of doing so. A hand and now a leg. There were occupational hazards with crime fighting. Val was convinced that she’d be in a wheelchair before retirement if she kept this up. Or she’d have to get better at crime fighting.

God, how long ago was the hand incident now? Val couldn’t believe it had almost been two years—and two years since she’d practiced dentistry. Forced to find a new profession at the age of thirty-five, she was lost for what to do next, and after nearly a year unemployed, with bills piling along with foreclosure notices threatening her home, Val grew desperate. In a defining moment during her interview for this job, her death investigator job, she told a simple lie. That’s how she landed it. Then skill, and a little luck, let her keep it.

Val rarely thought about the hand incident anymore. Her left hand could function quite well, just not well enough for dentistry. But unfortunately she would be forced to relive the event. Mr. Tate’s trial date was finally coming up. Val would have to testify and she was dreading it. She checked her phone; the prosecuting attorney for the case had been badgering her. He needed to start prepping her for the stand soon, and was trying to make sure Val wasn’t getting cold feet. Jesus, the mere thought of testifying made her nauseous. Thank God her inbox was quiet, well, except for some recent texts from Dr. Maddox.

Let me know when you’re ready to set up.