“Ziggy? Is that—？”
“I know you have caller ID, Wil. And I also know you’re full of ma nure,” Zig said, still scouring the hallway and shoving open the door that led outside. There was a parking lot with scattered orange traffic cones. The practice area for driver’s ed. Fenced in. If Nola came this way, she’d have to go up and over the fence. Zig let the door shut and headed for the stairwell. “This case, Wil. No more lies. Why’d you put me on this case?”
“I told you—”
“Please don’t say it’s because I’m the best sculptor.”
“I swear on my mother’s eyes, Zig, that’s the truth. When the weather gets this hot, stiffs melt and—”
“Don’t call them stiffs. They’re our fallen.”
“You know what I’m s—”
“There were armed agents here, Wil—quiet operators from the look of it—at a funeral! They were whispering in their sleeves like the President himself was coming.”
“Ziggy, I have no idea what you’re—”
“That’s strike two. Oh, and I spoke to Mint’s wife. According to her, her husband never spent a day working at Dover.”
“Can you please listen?”
“I saw her, Wil. I saw Nola.”
There was a pause on the line. A long one.
“You were looking for her, weren’t you? That’s why your men were here—she’s the one you were hunting,” Zig challenged, shoving open the door to a pale yellow stairwell, realizing it was the same color yellow as the original morgue at Dover—to reduce stress and keep employees calm. It wasn’t having its intended effect here.
The stairwell was quiet. No sounds of anyone running.
“You knew she saved my life—that I knew her when she was little,” Zig added. “So you figured what—that bringing me in would somehow distract her and knock her off balance? Then you could send in the big guns and they’d—”
“Ziggy, you have to understand, we had no—”
“Who’s we?”
Wil paused again, then blurted a single name. “Whatley.”
Air Force Colonel O. J. Whatley. Dover’s new wing commander, in charge of the entire place. A year and a half ago, when Colonel Hsu was promoted and Master Guns retired, O.J. took over the mortuary and its homicide investigation team.
“Why’s the head of Dover looking at Nola?” Zig asked, hearing a noise on his left. At the far end of the hall, a uniformed policeman was kneeling over the still-unconscious Flat Nose, checking his vitals.
Zig’s eyes narrowed. According to the funeral plans, security was being run by the Pennsylvania State Police, all of them in gray formal ceremonial dress uniforms and Smokey Bear hats. This officer was in a dark blue beat-cop uniform. The only one in the whole gym dressed like that.
“Sir . . . can I help you?” Zig called out.
The cop stood up, quickly walking away, leaving Flat Nose behind.
“Come to the office,” Wil said through the phone. “Colonel Whatley can explain.”
“How about you explain instead?”
“Just come to the office.”
Zig hung up the phone. If he wanted answers, the beat cop was the far better bet.
“Officer!” Zig called out.
The cop didn’t stop. Instead, he ducked into a nearby stairwell, the door swinging shut behind him.
Picking up speed, Zig sprinted after him. At the stairwell, he shoved his hip into the door and— “You had a question for me?” a flat voice asked.