No bruising or damage evident to his untrained eye that might suggest sexual assault.
Because he couldn’t help but handle her body gently, it took him three tries to roll her over.
Her arms clanged against the metal table.
He brushed the bits of gravel and dirt off her back.
There was a recent wound on the back of her left leg.
A scarred-over incision.
The cut made—he guessed—to extract her microchip.
He pushed the light away and eased down onto the steel, adjustable stool. The way she lay draped across the cold table—exposed, degraded—ignited something inside of him.
Ethan sat in the dark wondering if Kate could really have done this.
After a while, he got up and walked to the door.
Pilcher’s men stopped talking when he stepped out. He looked at the tall blond and said, “Could I speak with you for a minute?”
“In there?”
“Yeah.”
Ethan held the door and the man walked into the morgue.
“What’s your name?” Ethan asked.
“Alan.”
Ethan pointed to the stool. “Have a seat.”
“What is this?”
“I’m asking you a few questions.”
Alan looked dubious. “I was told to bring her here and put her into cold storage when you were finished.”
“Well I’m not finished.”
“Nobody said anything about answering questions.”
“Quit flexing and sit down.”
The man didn’t move. He had a good four inches on Ethan. His shoulders were miles apart. Ethan could feel his body priming for a fight, heart rate ramping, battle trance coming on. He didn’t want to throw first, but if he didn’t have surprise, if he didn’t bring Alan down in the first few seconds, the likelihood of beating this man who was built like a Norse god seemed a bit of a stretch.
Ethan dropped his chin an inch.
A half second before he exploded off the balls of his feet and drove his forehead into the man’s face, Alan turned and took a seat as instructed.
“This isn’t what I was told,” Alan said.
“David Pilcher, your boss, has given me unlimited access, unlimited resources, to find out who did this. You want me to find out, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Did you know Alyssa?”
“Yeah. There are only a hundred and sixty of us in the mountain.”
“So it’s a tight-knit group?”
“Very.”
“Were you aware of Alyssa’s activities in Pines?”
“Yep.”
“So you two were close?”
Alan stared at her body on the table. The muscles in his jaw fluttered—rage, sadness.
“Had you been intimate with her before, Alan?”
“Do you know what happens when a hundred and sixty people live in close quarters, knowing they’re all that’s left of mankind?”
“Everybody fucks everybody?”
“You got it. We’re a family in that mountain. We’ve lost some of our own before. Mostly nomads who never returned. Got themselves eaten. But never anything like this.”
“Everybody’s shaken up?”
“Big time. You know that’s the only reason Pilcher’s letting you do this, right? He banned everyone from investigating her death.”
“Because of retaliation.”
A subtle, raging smile tugged at the corner of Alan’s mouth.
“Do you have any concept of the slaughter I could rain down on this town with a team of ten armed men?”
“You understand not everyone in Wayward Pines is responsible for her death.”
“Like I said, there’s a reason Pilcher’s letting you run this show.”
“Tell me about Alyssa’s assignment.”
“I knew she was living with the townies. But no details really.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Two nights ago. Sometimes, Alyssa would come back to the mountain to stay the night. It was strange. You ever seen our barracks?”
“I think so.”
“There are no windows. We’re talking small, cramped, impersonal spaces. In Pines, she got to live in a house all to herself, but she missed sleeping in her room in the mountain. Go figure. Considering who she was, she could’ve lived anywhere. Done whatever she wanted. But she pulled her weight. She was one of us.”
“What do you mean by ‘considering who she was’?”
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Fuck. Look, it’s not my place to talk about this.”
“What am I missing?”
“Forget it, okay?”
Okay. For now.
“So where’d you see her last?” Ethan asked.
“Mess hall. I was finishing up my meal when she walked in. She got her tray and came over.”
“What’d you talk about?”
Alan stared off into the dark beyond the light.
He looked briefly at peace, as if the memory of it pleased him.
“Nothing profound. Nothing memorable. Just about our day. We’d both been working our way through the same book and we talked about our impressions so far. Other stuff, too, but that’s all that sticks out. She was my always friend and my sometimes lover. We were at ease with each other, and I didn’t know it was the last time I would ever see her alive.”
“You didn’t discuss her work in town?”
“I think I asked how her mission was coming along. And she said something like, ‘It’ll all be over soon.’ ”
“What do you think she meant by that?”
“I don’t know.”
“And that was it?”
“That was it.”
“Why would Pilcher ask you to transport her body? Kind of insensitive considering—”
“I requested the assignment.”
“Oh.”
Ethan was annoyed to discover that he was beginning to like Alan. He’d been to war with men like him. Recognized that hard decency. Fearlessness and loyalty backed by awesome physical strength.
“Was there anything else, Ethan?”
“No.”
“Find who did this.”
“I will.”
“And hurt them.”
“You want a hand putting her in the drawer?”
“No, I’ll take care of it. But first, I’d like to sit with her for a little while.”
“Sure.”
Ethan reached over and grabbed his hat off the organ scale. At the doors, he stopped and glanced back. Alan had scooted the stool within range of the autopsy table, and he was reaching out for Alyssa’s hand.
6
Theresa sat on the front porch waiting for her husband.
The leaves of the aspen tree in the front yard were fluttering and making shushing noises, and the light passing through the branches smeared quivering shadows across the greener-than-AstroTurf grass.
She spotted Ethan walking down Sixth Street, moving slower than his usual pace. His gait was off, and he favored his right leg.
He turned off the sidewalk and came up the stone path. She could see that it was hurting him to walk, but the tension in his face vanished behind a wide smile when he saw her.