He got Mr. Ross out of the bag, and his heart was pounding.
Did Junior know?
Did Junior have something to do with this?
Tom checked Mr. Ross’s personal effects, noting only his glasses and a shiny watch had been returned with his body. The medical examiner was likely holding the rest of his clothing for their investigation, and Tom caught himself taking a closer look at the watch.
No.
It couldn’t be.
He took it out of the plastic bag it had been sealed in and hastily checked it for an inscription.
Happy Birthday, Junior
There it was, right on the back.
“Shit,” Tom hissed frantically, shoving it back into the bag. Maybe it was a coincidence. They didn’t have Mr. Ross’s full name yet, and it was possible he was a ‘Junior’ as well.
But damn if that watch didn’t look like one of the big gaudy ones Junior loved to wear.
Checking Mr. Ross’s date of death showed he’d died the day right before Tom and Junior had that big blow up in the parking lot. Junior had looked like he’d been strung out for days then, and Tom hated how quickly conspiracies were taking root in his mind.
Maybe Junior had already traded the watch for drugs and didn’t have anything else to barter with, and when he needed more, things went wrong.
Very terribly wrong, Tom thought with a grimace as he surveyed the damage.
Mr. Ross had at least a dozen stab wounds, most of them focused in and around his stomach. His face was a dark purplish color, but that was most likely from lying face down after he’d been killed, and blood had simply pooled there.
At least it was on the left side.
Tom went through the motions of putting his personal protection equipment on and started getting Mr. Ross ready to be embalmed, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Junior.
Should he confront him about it? Should he even say anything at all? Junior was many awful things, but Tom couldn’t imagine him being a murderer.
So engrossed in his work and his internal criminal investigation, he barely heard the prep room door beeping.
“Ah, so, this is Mr. Seymour!” Aaron exclaimed, popping up beside Tom and startling him.
“Shit. Yeah. Wait, Mr. who?”
“Him. Mr. Seymour.” Aaron grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay. Just in my head, you know?” Tom tried to smile. “So, uh, the ‘s’ stands for Seymour?”
“Yeah, we can fix it when you’re done,” Aaron said. “No big deal.”
“Is he a junior by chance?”
“No?” Aaron blinked. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing.” Tom cleared his throat as he tried to suppress the urge to scream their co-worker might be a cold-blooded killer. “I’m sorry about his face. I may not be able to get all of that discoloration out.”
“Huh?” Aaron glanced at Mr. Ross. “Oh, okay. I’ll let Gerald know. He’s actually waiting on them.”
“Oh. Then how did you know his middle name?”
“Heard Gerald and Earl talking about it,” Aaron replied briskly.
