“As much as I appreciate your expediency, Mr. Barlow, you might want to wait for your companions. That way you only have to take one steamer.”
“Companions?”
“I’m sending you out with Newman and Galvan. They’re Catholic and less,” he made a vague gesture at Oliver’s person, “so they’ll smooth things over for you. It’s for the best that they go in first. The nuns are already jumpy.”
And you’ll make it worse.Oliver clenched his fist behind his back even as he nodded in agreement. “Yes, sir. I’ll meet them upstairs shortly, then.”
“Good. I knew you would be reasonable.” Head Inspector Williams took a step toward the door to leave but turned and said, “If you could clear this matter up quickly, I’d appreciate it. No dog and pony show if it isn’t necessary. Not everyone needs to be sliced and diced, you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied tightly.
When the head inspector left, Oliver stood very still watching the shut door. For his entire life, he had heard the same thing: too brusque, too to the point, too honest, too you, too much. He could make himself as small as possible and they would still say it; they still did. Sighing silently, he gathered all the things he would need into a gladstone bag and prepared himself mentally for the ride to the West Bronx. His hopes of avoiding Galvan were dashed, but luckily, the man would probably not want to talk to him anyway after how he bolted. Locking the laboratory door behind him, Oliver eyed the plaque that read,Oliver Barlow, Medical Examiner.
It should have read,Oliver Barlow, unsuitable, as always.
Chapter Three
The Sisters of Corpus Christi
The drive across thecity with Peter Newman and Felipe Galvan in the back of the steamer had been hellish. While Oliver had convinced them he should drive, in hopes that he could avoid being drawn into awkward conversation, it didn’t take away his ability to hear, much to his dismay. When they met in the foyer to leave, Galvan had given him a stiff smile and let the silence hang heavily between them until Inspector Newman arrived fifteen minutes later looking like he had just rolled out of bed. Oliver didn’t know Newman well even though they had both worked at the Paranormal Society for years, but he disliked him on principle for showing up so late, and the feeling only grew as the day wore on. For the rest of the drive, Galvan had ignored Oliver in favor of regaling Newman with tales of his recent trips west, complete with, what Oliver assumed to be, the exaggerations and flourishes. Peter Newman replied in kind with his own tales of demons, and before they could even get out of Manhattan, both men were talking and laughing as animatedly as they might at a bar.
By the time they disembarked outside the monastery's iron gate, Oliver’s head felt like it was filled with angry bees. Even if the investigators ignored him like he was their hired driver, his brain had been bombarded with word after word while people with little regard for their personal safety or the safety of others tried to send their steamer careening into pedestrians. Scowling at the Gothic facade of the monastery, Oliver started to understand why Head Inspector Williams wanted the others to come to smooth things over with the nuns. He was in no mood to coddle people’s delicate sensibilities. Then again, if they had traveled separately as he had planned, he would have felt far more charitable.
As he pulled their bags out of the trunk, Oliver watched Newman from the corner of his eye. At some point during the drive, he had managed to flatten the wrinkles from his coat and tame his curly brown hair and mustache. Despite the somber circumstances, he was still chatting with Galvan, white teeth flashing with a grin.
“When we get in, I’ll interview the sisters. Galvan, you should go with Barlow to investigate the scene,” Newman said as he retrieved his and Galvan’s bags from the curb at Oliver’s feet.
“You aren’t going to come?” Galvan replied with an edge to his voice.
“Oh, I am. I’m just not accustomed to seeing dead bodies like you are. Hauntings and possessions are my specialty. I don’t know how much I’ll be able to contribute.”
“Then, why did they send you?” Oliver regretted saying it the moment it left his lips, but if it upset him, Newman didn’t show it.
“I happened to be available, I suppose. Head Inspector Williams was not particularly thrilled either. He wanted to send Mercer, but we’re short-staffed as it is.”
Galvan rolled his eyes as Newman reached for the bell above the gate. Oliver assumed Newman must be squeamish. So many of the male inspectors were, especially those who vocally proclaimed their manliness. The female inspectors would get annoyed at Oliver for looking a mess or the smell when they came to the lab unannounced, but the men were far more likely to blanch at the sight of his specimens or a pool of blood. When one of the men fainted at the sight of an open ribcage and blamed it on the chemicals in the laboratory, Oliver started keeping his door locked. As Newman reached to ring the bell again, an elderly woman in a dark habit and white veil appeared. Her eyes were rimmed in red and her expression strained as she looked between them.
