Chapter 3

"Yeah, I've got my head buried in money.

"But being poor is scarier than ghosts."

I flicked the water off my hands.

"Quit talking about justice. Can justice pay the rent? Can it buy the medicine that’s keeping my mentor alive?"

Summer gritted her teeth. "Where am I supposed to get two million dollars?"

"Then investigate Stella.

"Her salary isn't even eight grand a month, yet she can casually throw out a million dollars in hush money. Where did the money come from?"

I wiped down the autopsy table while bloody water flowed into the drain.

Summer lowered her voice. "The department has always suspected she takes private jobs.

"There have been several wealthy people in the city who died under suspicious circumstances. The cases were wrapped up too cleanly, too.

"Some people say she's a professional cleaner. She helps powerful people deal with problems and turns them into accidents or suicides.

"But she's never left any evidence behind."

"Then go investigate.

"Keep an eye on Emma. Something's definitely going to happen to Amelia Fernandez’s husband's wheelchair tonight.

"For five million dollars, people would tear each other apart."

Summer holstered her gun. "Don't play with fire."

"See yourself out."

The morgue fell silent again.

As I leaned against the wall, my phone vibrated.

It was a text message from an unknown number.

[10 p.m. tomorrow. Southside Junkyard for a private job. Name your price.]

I replied with two words. [Cash upfront.]

The wind was cutting through like a knife the following night.

The Southside Junkyard sat far from the city, and the rusted streetlights flickered on and off.

A black Range Rover was parked in the shadows with its trunk open.

Stella stood beside it, her black trench coat snapping in the wind.

"Mr. Thompson, right on time."

"Where's the merchandise?"

She tapped the trunk.

Inside was a large black medical body bag, swollen and full.

"Read her for me. I need to know where she hid a microchip before she died."

"You know the rules. I don't read the living, only the dead. I want five hundred thousand."

Stella took a black briefcase out of the vehicle and tossed it onto the hood.

"Five hundred thousand in cash. Check it first."

I unzipped the case to find stacks of green bills.

I touched the edge of a bundle. It was genuine.

"Deal."

I put on my gloves and opened the body bag.

The smell of blood hit me immediately. Inside lay an emaciated old woman covered in blood.

All ten fingernails had been ripped out, and her fingers were a mangled mess. Her eyes were wide open like a dead fish's.

"Your methods are pretty old-fashioned, Dr. McPhee. Torture?"

"It wasn't me. I only handle the cleanup.

"This old woman was a corporate spy. She wouldn't talk.

"Those people ripped out her nails and broke her ribs. However, even when she died, she never revealed where she hid it."

I closed my eyes and pressed my hand against the old woman's forehead.

The cold sensation instantly triggered a memory.

The old woman's face was covered in blood. She was hiding in a dark basement, desperately swallowing something.

She forced a tiny chip wrapped tightly in medical-grade plastic film down her throat, gagging as she swallowed.

Bang.

The door was kicked open.

A group of thugs carrying metal pipes rushed in and pinned her down.

Behind them stood Stella in a trench coat, watching coldly.

“Just beat her to death. Even if you dig three feet into the ground, you won't find it. A useless person has no value staying alive.”

I opened my eyes.

"Where is it?"

Stella stared at me.

"In her stomach. She swallowed it. It's wrapped in waterproof film."

Stella pulled out a scalpel and offered it to me to handle.

"Please retrieve it."

I didn't take it.

"That costs extra. Cutting open a body isn't included.

"I only read, not retrieve."

Stella laughed, the sound echoing through the junkyard.

"You're not afraid that I'll kill you and dump your body here after I get it?"

"You won't.

"If money can solve it, you won't do it yourself.

"Killing me means disposing of a body and covering your tracks. You're a neat freak. You'd find it troublesome."

The look in Stella's eyes turned cold as she studied me.

"Mark, we're of the same kind.

"We both work with corpses. We both don't care about other people's lives."

"Bullsh*t."

I snatched the scalpel and sliced open the old woman's abdomen.

"I just care more about money. You, on the other hand, are a pure psychopath."

The blade avoided the intestines and cut open the stomach.

Holding my breath against the sour stench, I reached inside and searched.

When I found something hard, I pulled it out, wiped it on my clothes, and tossed the blood-covered chip onto the hood.

"Job complete. I'm taking the money."

I grabbed the briefcase and turned to leave.

"Mark."

"What now?"

"Go check on your mentor tonight."

Stella adjusted her glasses, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly.

"Her heart hasn't been doing too well lately, has it?

"And her medicine… Make sure she doesn't take the wrong one."

My blood ran cold.