“Coroner. He doesn’t file the paperwork,” I said slowly. “Then passes the evidence to me.”
My mother nodded, raising her brows knowingly.
“You said no meat is worth the waste,” I whispered, eyes burning with tears.
“I don’t mean to avoid your question, dear.” She sighed, standing from the chair and brushing off her skirts. Just before she passed, she leaned over, her hand on my shoulder. “Your mother wasn’t a waste of flesh, after all.”
Chapter Forty
The Artisan
If I weren’t already recognizable to the front staff, they may have written me off as insane. Though, I was running too fast to see if they thought as such, despite the familiarity.
My footsteps pounded down the stairs to the lower level before I began skipping steps altogether.
“Kostya!” My voice echoed almost as loudly as the slapping of my soles on concrete, and I picked up a faster pace as I rounded the corner and went straight into the embalming room.
Kostya stood by the table, leaning on it with his hands gripping the edge. I hardly recognized my mirthful friend, as his face was stone and his posture rigid. I knew the news had gotten to him, in the form of Mr. Carlisle’s arm on his slab.
“Kostya.” A breathless plea. “I need your help.”
His eyes lifted from the severed limb to me, his eyes dark and sleepless. “Why?” was all he could manage. Then, louder: “Why?”
I approached the table slowly, understanding the sensitivity of the situation.
He scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head. “Hunt said this wasyourdoing. Is it true?”
“It doesn’t matter, he will say it is me whether he has evidence or not,” I explained carefully. “My father-in-law wants me to disappear, and he’s going to make sure I do. But before I do, I have a favor to ask.”
“I want to believe in my heart you are a good man. My friend, mybrother. My brother would not do this.”
“I don’t have much time.” I swallowed.
“I imagine so.” He checked his timepiece. “Reception would have phoned the police when they recognized you.”
“I need your help.”
“I don’t know if I can give more than I already have. I’ll already be accosted for letting you down here. I may lose my job.”
“I didn’t want you to get caught up in this.”
“Well, now I have! By God, Arkady, you murdered my employer!”
“He deserved it.” I dug around inside my bag.
“You aren’t the one who gets to decide these things!”
I tossed Kostya my evidence, and he caught it, posture freezing.
In his hands, my justification was wrapped neatly in butcher paper. Though, the smell was more apparent now that it had left my satchel. The paper was deteriorating already from the moisture, dripping onto the table as Kostya cupped it as if I’d just tossed him a duckling or something to be handled with great care. I’d argue that was what she deserved—to be handled with care, to have her truth be told.
“Arkady ...” His tone was steady. It always was when he was stern.
“Open it, Konstantin.” I knew he would recognize the smell, at the very least. “I just need confirmation.”
He peeled back the soggy paper, undoing it carefully so as not to disturb the contents. He peeled back the last piece of paper, then placed it before him on the table, right next to Vincent’s arm.
A hand, severed at the wrist with a surgical bone saw. It was easy to see there was an experienced technique at work here, though it was half burnt and improperly refrigerated for far too long.
