Normally, Phil would be heading to the bar for a beer with some friends around now. Instead, he had to show the intern that cop hours sucked. Stupid idea, if you asked him, but Hunter insisted Jack Andries wanted him to work Gina hard.

Hard. He glanced over at the pretty woman. Big brown eyes that looked too ready to trust, and a killer body any man would want to run his hands down. Man, she was something.

Stop it. He needed to squash the image of them in bed. Talk about a career-ruining move. They’d already spent the day running around following leads regarding the undertaker. The last lead led them here to the Orient Road Jail off I-4.

“Here we are,” he announced, careful to keep his eyes focused on the jail instead of Gina’s legs.

“This is exciting.”

She acted as if this was going to be some glamorous adventure. Boy, was she in for a surprise. Gina jumped out of the cruiser, ready for action.

Phil piled out. “Have you ever been in a jail before?”

“No.”

“Then let’s go.” In a way he wished she’d step one foot in the place, turn tail, and run. Then this babysitting gig would be over and he could get back to finding the person responsible for killing those four women. On the other hand, he liked Gina, liked looking at her.

He hated being torn.

Phil led her through the main entrance, flashed his badge, and said he had an appointment with Samson DeMarco. After passing through a series of barred doors, the officer led them into a small room that contained a table and four scarred chairs.

As usual, the place stank of body odor and urine.

The first chair Gina pulled out had some gum or something on the seat. She pushed the chair back in and pulled out the second one. Then she inspected the third chair. Phil chewed on the inside of his mouth to keep from smirking.

Gina dragged the most sanitary of the four chairs around to the side by the entrance and sat on the edge. “This place could really use a good cleaning.”

Phil swallowed a laugh. Guess the filth level wasn’t so bad she’d wanted to run. A moment later, a man in orange strode in, with his guard right behind. The alleged criminal’s appearance took Phil by surprise. Dapper was the first word that came to mind. A good six feet, the guy had neatly trimmed gray hair, was clean-shaven, and wore expensive looking wire-rimmed glasses.

In his mid to late fifties, Samson DeMarco held himself tall and walked as though he owned the place. Phil wondered how long that attitude would last if he were found guilty and sent to prison.

“Mr. DeMarco, have a seat,” Phil pointed toward an empty chair.

DeMarco glanced at Gina, and then at Phil, his expression unreadable. “How can I help you?”

Educated, good. Phil liked smart prisoners. “Recently, we located some bodies buried in North Tampa—bodies that were not in caskets or in body bags.”

DeMarco’s lips pursed. “I had nothing to do with that. Actually, I had nothing to do with the body found at the Westchase site either, but these morons,” he said, making a wide sweep with his arm, “don’t believe me.”

“Sure. Police always arrest people without evidence.”

Gina leaned forward, her brow creased. “What evidence do they have against you?”

Oh, crap. They didn’t need to be sidetracked with this guy’s sad story, but he decided to let her have her fun.

DeMarco waved his shackled hands and the cuffs clinked together. “None. Absolutely none. I admitted the body came from my morgue. When I returned to the embalming area after I’d handled a particularly troublesome funeral, I found one of my corpses had been stolen. It upset the hell out of me.” He tapped his chest. “I reported the disappearance to the police. They have no reason to hold me.” His chin notched up.

Gina glanced at Phil, pleading with her eyes to help the man.

“Mr. DeMarco,” Phil said, failing to keep the irritation from his tone. “The police had other evidence to detain you.”

His jaw clenched. “They found a spare pair of my glasses at the gravesite. That was all the connection they needed to be convinced I was guilty of the unlawful burial. As if I’d drop a three hundred dollar pair of Gucci glasses. And besides, I’d never just dump a body in the ground. At the very least, I would have put him in a casket, albeit a pine one.”

“If you didn’t remove the body from the morgue and bury him on the other side of town, who did?”

DeMarco leaned forward. “A client who obviously wanted to get even for a small error this person believed I committed.” Phil straightened at the snappy comeback.

“What kind of error?” Gina asked, jumping in ahead of Phil.

“There was a mistake made at the funeral home, or so my client claimed.” DeMarco shook his head. “My now unemployed secretary told me his family requested the deceased be cremated. I honored their wishes.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“Unfortunately, they told her quite the opposite. Their accent was thick and my secretary misunderstood them. They were furious when I handed them the box with the remains. They yelled something about stealing the soul of their loved one. What could I do? I couldn’t turn the ashes into a body again.”

“You didn’t double check? Cremation is a big step away from burial.”

“It had been a long week. A mere slip on my part I shall regret the rest of my life.” His jaw clenched, and he began to breathe hard through his nostrils, like a bull ready to charge. “I have the cremation orders they signed, but I doubt anyone in the family could read English.”

What a cluster fuck. “So do you think this wronged family member was out for revenge?”

DeMarco sat up straighter, his eyes bright. “I wouldn’t put it past him. The oldest son mumbled something about an eye for an eye. I’m guessing since I theoretically ruined their lives, or rather their afterlives, he would ruin mine.”

“Do you have any proof this man was the thief?” His story seemed more than a little far-fetched.

DeMarco’s shoulders sagged. “No. Just a gut feeling. But you know how those middle easterners can be. They’re serious about the dead. From what the son said, they believe the body is a connection between this world and the next. Apparently, when I cremated the body, I stole this person’s chance at salvation. How was I to know? It’s not my fault.” He wagged a finger. “Let this be a lesson to the son. He should have known what he signed.”

It was DeMarco’s job to make sure the client understood. “Anything else?”

“I’m convinced the son must have gone into my morgue and stolen one of the bodies. He buried the man to get me in trouble.”

Phil doubted the whole crazy story, but he asked, “And the man’s name would be?”

“Abdul Hakeem.”

Phil made the note, though he couldn’t prove Mr. DeMarco’s innocence based on a hunch.

DeMarco slapped both hands on the table. “Or maybe Willie Wyble did it.” DeMarco looked off to his left.

Phil had noted when the mortician recalled facts, he looked to his right. His left side was his imagination at work.

Christ. The man was a master storyteller. “And just who is this Willie person?”

DeMarco peered back up at Phil. “He works on and off at the cemetery. Willie is...what should I call him...mentally handicapped. He digs worms for a living, or anything else that requires a hole.” DeMarco shrugged. “It’s what he does.”

“Now you think this Willie, and not Hakeem, stole the body just so he could have fun digging?” Phil had heard many a tale in his time, but this was for the books.

“My funeral home is only two blocks from the cemetery. It would have been easy for him to sneak in and take a body.”

“So Willie works for the city then?”

“In a way. Jeff Lamont operates the cemetery. He uses Willie when his regular man isn’t available. Jeff doesn’t really want Willie around, even though he can handle a backhoe better than most. You see, Willie isn’t the most hygienic person. He has this long, straggly hair that would make most people run. The thing is, Willie...ah... doesn’t expect too much in the way of payment.”

“Why else do you suspect Willie? It’s a nice theory, but it had more holes than a sieve.”

DeMarco’s jaw clenched. “The glasses. When I was checking on the burial plot, I ran into Willie digging. Mr. Commens, my client at the time, insisted we bury his mother facing due west since she loved sunsets. I personally wanted to supervise the digging. Well, that evening Willie was working the backhoe. I had to come within a few feet of him before he recognized me. Apparently, he doesn’t see well. I thought—” DeMarco touched his two index fingers to his lips.

“Thought what?” Phil was getting tired of the runaround, but Gina sat wide-eyed.

“I thought Willie might need glasses. He commented once on my how much he liked my wire rims, and how he bet if he had a pair just like mine, he’d be able to see a lot better. I figured Hakeem hired Willie to dig the grave of the stolen corpse. Willie must have taken my spare pair of glasses when he went into the morgue to get the body, then forgot my specs at the site.”

Phil scribbled some notes. When he finished, he leaned back in his chair. If he had time, he might check out the Middle Easterner along with the worm man, but he wasn’t convinced he’d learn anything. He would find out who the principal was on the case and talk to him. Reports didn’t always tell the whole story.

It didn’t matter if DeMarco’s tale had any validity or not, he needed answers to his case. If Hunter believed there might be a connection to the four dead women, he had an obligation to investigate.

“Would you give us permission to check your records, to see if there’s a connection to the bodies we found in North Tampa?” Phil asked. They might get lucky, but he doubted it.

“I’d like to help, but I, or rather the county, closed my business once I was arrested. Because of this...this... misunderstanding, I decided I was through dealing with irrational people. My brother has put the place up for sale. I have no idea if he’s done anything with the records—or if he even kept them.” The sadness in the man’s eye made Phil wince. Hell, maybe he was telling the truth.

DeMarco dropped his head into his hands, and his shoulders shook. When he looked up, tears streaked his cheeks. “I have no idea where to turn. Can you help me?”

Phil couldn’t take it when someone cried, be it man or woman. It didn’t matter if he was acting or not. “I’ll see what we can do.”

Phil stood and Gina pushed back her chair. She probably wanted to stay and console the poor guy, but they had more pressing issues to attend to.

After they stepped outside, Gina ran her hand up and down his arm. “Are you going to help him?”

He was a sucker for a beautiful, aggressive woman, but she had something coming if she thought he’d ever change his principles when it came to police work. He refused to become interested in the boss’s niece. He liked his job way too much.

“I’ll try.”

* * *

“You still here?” Jack Andries asked as he ducked into the conference room.

Hunter wanted to ask, “What does it look like?” Instead he admitted, “This case is eating me.” Hunter moved the photos in front of him in a different position to give him a new perspective.

“Don’t they all?” Jack sniffed the air. “You taken to wearing perfume?”

“Kerry Herlihy was here yesterday. Maybe that’s what you smell. She’d been working with the dead all day. I think she splashed on a lot of cologne to mask the stench of death.”

“That so?” Andries quirked a brow. “Why did she stop by?”

“I wanted her opinion on the Jane Doe cases.” Hunter’s tone came off defensive. Christ, he sounded as though she didn’t belong here. Only she did. “She might be the key that unlocks this case.”

“Ah.” His tone lowered as if he didn’t want to tear apart Hunter’s ever-open wound. Jack tossed down another folder. “Did she call today by any chance and mention they’d found a female infant this afternoon?”

Hunter’s heart turned heavy. “No.” Losing a child had to hurt worse than death. If he ever lost Melissa, he wouldn’t be able to go on. He still hadn’t recovered from his sister’s murder, and that was over ten years ago.

“She and Ahern handled the call. The M.E.’s office just sent over the photos. I had assigned Whit Jackson as principal, but his father suffered a heart attack this morning and isn’t expected to make it. He flew out about an hour ago. I thought you could take over. You’re working with Dr. Herlihy on the four Jane Does and thought it would be easier if you two also paired up on this case.”

His logic was sound, Hunter guessed. “Fine.” A strange excitement socked him at working another case with her, though he wasn’t sure why. Yes, she was attractive, but he prided himself on his ability to focus. That trait sure disappeared the moment he met Kerry Herlihy.

As Jack turned to leave, Hunter decided to satisfy his curiosity. “What do you know about this new anthropologist?”

His boss turned and cocked a brow. “Nothing. Why?” A small smile lifted his lips. “You interested in her?”

He shouldn’t be. “No. Just wondering how good she is at her job.” Jack had tried to fix him up several times after Amy had died, but Hunter couldn’t bear losing anyone else he cared about, so he’d politely declined all invitations.

“Ask Ahern. He hired her.”

“Good idea.” Hunter saluted and turned back to the table.

When Hunter didn’t hear the door close, he looked up. Jack was staring at him. “And Gina? How’d her internship go today?”

Damn. He thought Jack wouldn’t ask. So much for his boss’s promise not to interfere with his niece’s temporary position.

Hunter sympathized with the man’s need to know though. “I sent her and Phil to the Orient Road jail. I haven’t heard back from them yet. If a trip there doesn’t turn her off to pursuing a career in law, I don’t know what will.”

“You don’t know Gina. She’s as stubborn as they come. My brother is going to have my head if I can’t persuade her to return to teaching. Just remember, safety first, when it comes to my niece.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Jack closed the door behind him.

Hunter leaned back in his chair and rested his eyes, blocking out the photos of the dead women, blocking out his sister’s murder.

In its place, a tall, delicate woman with long, brown, wavy hair, the skin of alabaster and the eyes of an angel stared up at him. He missed his wife, yes, but Kerry awakened something in him he couldn’t attach a label to and he had no idea why. Maybe it was her sad story about her brother that got to him.

He wanted to know more. That shouldn’t be a problem. After all, he hadn’t earned the rank of detective for nothing.