Morte et Liberté
(Death and Freedom)
PART TWO
Broots' tiny cubby-hole of an office was way too small pace in, Parker decided. Why was this taking so goddamn long? Jarod would be long gone by the time they discovered the location of Sydney's... it was still so hard to believe. The psychiatrist had stood in this room on Friday enthusing about a lead on Jarod's family which might have been good for a trade. After all this time, the never-ending chase, Sydney was still desperate to get back those sim-discs.
Broots angrily waved the billowing cigarette smoke away from his face as he scribbled down details, holding the phone awkwardly between his shoulder and his ear.
"Uh-huh, right. Well we'll get down there straight away, and don't you let that body out of your sight, clear?"
Although she'd sooner die than admit it to the weasley little man, Broots could sound quite authoritative when he wanted to. As he put the phone down and began rearranging his papers, Miss Parker sat herself down purposely on top of them.
"Well?"
"Well, the b-body's in Connecticut. It was found in the woods around a Girl Scout camp--"
"I don't care if it's in the middle of a jamboree! What did you tell them!" Broots flinched at her scathing tone and stammered on.
"We're CDC, and we think that.. that Sydney was a carrier of a new contagion. No one'll go near the, err, him until we get there."
"Quite the little Pretender aren't we Broots? Guess you'd better find us some convincing gear, then."
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Broots hurried along behind Miss Parker through the corridors of St. Joseph's hospital, Hartford, CT. God, the woman was on a mission, striding as confidently and purposefully as her ridiculous haz-mat suit would allow. He'd had the good sense not to tell her she looked good in it, especially after the withering look she'd given him when he first produced their disguises.
As they approached the morgue, the police officers on guard there balked at the sight of the two intimidating CDC doctors, no doubt fearing they'd be quarantined or, worse, actually contract whatever disease the corpse was supposed to have.
Parker whipped out her fake ID and flashed it at the cops. One actually grinned appreciatively at her. Mistake. Her answering look was icy.
"We're here for the DOA. Move."
"Err, of course. Right this way, doctor." He ushered her and Broots through into the morgue, shivering at the sudden cold.
When the white-coated mortuary assistant opened one of row upon row of stainless steel doors and slid out the table on which Sydney's corpse lay, pale and silent, it took all Broots' willpower not to throw up right there. That would definitely ruin their credibility. Miss Parker, however, remained the consummate professional, her face an emotionless mask.
"I was told you've been able to identify the body... one of your coroners knew him?" She asked, ever-so coolly.
"Yeah, Jarod. I heard he actually broke down at the scene, and I've never known him to get emotional on the job. Off duty, sure, he's a caring kinda guy but--" Miss Parker held up a hand sharply to cut off the man's rambling.
"And where is this Jarod now?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. He didn't show up for work today, so I rang his apartment and his landlord said all his stuff's cleared out. I guess this guy, err..." He looked down at the toe tag, "...'Sydney'...must've meant a lot to Jarod."
Miss Parker looked at Sydney too, nodding imperceptibly. He certainly did... For just a moment the mask fell as she remembered Jarod's cracked voice on the phone last night. Then, snapping her disguise back into place, she turned towards the door.
"The helicopter's outside... Chop chop," She ordered the mortuary man, who looked like he was about to protest, but, from the tone of her voice, realised it would be quite futile.
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As the chopper sped over the dense Connecticut woodlands, Broots sat nervously in the back passenger seat, every so often stealing a glance behind him to the unadorned wooden coffin in which Sydney's body lay. He still half-expected the lid to suddenly pop off and Sydney to sit up and admit it was all a plan to get to Jarod. When he voiced this suspicion to Miss Parker, sitting opposite him, she fixed him with a scornful glare.
"Yes, Broots, I'm sure you're right," her voice dripped with sarcasm, "Sydney found out Golden Boy became a coroner and cleverly laid a trap by killing himself, that about it Sherlock?" Broots shrank back from the rebuke.
"No," she continued, more to herself now, "This must've come from high up."
"From... Your father?" Broots whispered. Her eyes flashed anger at the suggestion, but she didn't deny it.
END OF PART TWO