3am

Chapter 17

Back at the precinct, I drop off the DNA samples with Sharon for her to run. And I beg, plead, and cajole her to put a rush on it. "Please Shar," I beg. "I've got a bereft mother who just wants to know if the adolescent boy we found is her son."

"I'll do my best," Sharon says. "But Graham hasn't sent over the young man's DNA yet. I'll get the replication process started right now, but I can't do the comparison until I have the victim's sample."

"Not to worry," I say. "I'm heading over to Graham's office now to ask about the autopsy results. I'll have him put a rush on getting that sample to you as well."

I return to the detective's floor first, to track down my elusive partner. He's not at his desk, and no one's seen him since I left. I feel the first fluttering of panic in my stomach as my mind inevitably turns to this lunatic we're chasing. Could he have kidnapped Liam? But why?!

I try to calm down a bit. I pull out my cell phone and dial Liam's number, praying he answers. But it rings and rings, until his voicemail finally clicks. "Liam, where the hell are you?!" I growl into the phone. "Call me back NOW!" I hang up and blow out a breath. Deciding that sticking around waiting for him to call is not a productive use of my time, I gather my things, clock out for the day, and head over to Graham's office.

The receptionist has already gone home when I arrive, so I saunter past her desk and through the door that leads to the rest of the building, and I head down the hallway toward Graham's office. I peek inside, but Graham's not there, so I mosey on down to the autopsy room. Normally, I would never dream of interrupting Graham if he's in the middle of an autopsy, but with time running out, I need answers. Fast.

I poke my head into the autopsy room and cast a glance around. From what I can see, Graham's not here. I again feel a flutter of panic in my stomach, and my mind goes to the worst-case scenario. I'm just about to leave the room to search the rest of the building when a sound catches my attention. A soft metallic clink! echoes dimly from the farthest corner of the room. I draw my weapon and silently creep into the room. I stick close to the wall, easing my way back to where the sound originated. My eyes scan back and forth, looking for any sign of movement. There's nothing now. No sounds. No movements. It's deathly silent.

I turn the last corner and swing my gun around to aim in front of me. My eyes shift from left to right, searching for the origin of the sound I heard. But there's nothing and no one back here. I ease my foot forward as my head swivels around and my gun swings back and forth. My shoe taps something lightly and sends it skittering away from me. I risk a quick glance down to see what I kicked. It looks like Graham's scalpel. Suddenly, I hear another soft clink! sound. I turn toward the sound and see Graham's autopsy kit laid out on the table beside me. And balanced precariously on the edge of the table is a pair of scissors. Along with a handful of other tools. As I watch, the scissors waver before crashing to the floor. "Shit." I whisper. I quickly glance around to see if anyone's coming my way, before reaching a hand out and carefully scooting the rest back from the edge. And as I do, I see something that strikes fear in my heart.

Crumpled up in a heap on the ground is Graham. And trailing away from him is a thin river of blood. "Shit!" I give the room one last look, before crouching down beside my fallen friend. "Graham!" I call. "Graham, can you hear me?" I holster my weapon and reach into the collar of his leather jacket, feeling for a pulse on his neck. "Oh thank god," I mutter as I feel the steady, albeit weak, beat. I yank my cell phone out of my pocket and dial 911. As I wait for the operator to answer, I cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder, and then gently roll Graham over. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see his chest rise and fall.

"911, where is your emergency?" a calm female voice crackles through the phone.

"Eastmont City medical examiner's office," I reply, trying desperately to remain calm. "I'm a detective with the Eastmont City police department and I just found the medical examiner Graham Jameson unconscious and bleeding in the autopsy room."