CHAPTER 26
“CHARLERI’S INN. YEH, MAN?” THE CAB DRIVER ASKED.
“Change of plans. I’ve got to get to Victoria Hospital in Castries,” Sidney said. She checked her watch. “But we have to hurry.”
“Castries is a long way,” he said.
“How long?”
“One hour. Fifty minutes if I drive fast.”
“Get me there in thirty and I’ll give you an extra fifty dollars.”
“Yeh, man,” he said, shifting the car into gear and racing out of Bordelais Correctional Facility.
They made it to Castries in just over thirty minutes. Sidney still rewarded him the bonus.
“This is my last stop,” she said. “Then Charlery’s. Wait for me?”
“No problem.”
Sidney opened the back door and headed to the front entrance of Victoria Hospital. At the reception desk, she asked for directions to the mortuary.
“Are you here to make an identification?” the woman asked.
“No. I’m here to speak with Dr. Mundi. I phoned him about an hour ago, and he said he’d be at the hospital until this evening.”
The woman held up a finger, and spoke quickly on the phone. When she hung up, she looked at Sidney. “I’ll take you.”
They rode the elevator to the basement and Sidney followed the woman through the corridors. Besides that the hallways were darker, and the creep factor a bit higher, the St. Lucian mortuary wasn’t much different from Dr. Cutty’s.
“Down on your right,” the woman said, pointing to the only open doorway at the end of the hall.
“Thank you,” Sidney said.
She found Dr. Mundi behind his desk. A worn box, whose cardboard edges had been blunted by years of storage, was in front of him as he rummaged through it. He didn’t notice her enter, so she cleared her throat.
The doctor looked up.
“Hi, I’m Sidney Ryan.”
“Come in, come in,” Dr. Mundi said.
Sidney sat in a chair in front of the desk. “Sorry to call today, and then show up so quickly.”
“No problem. I think it is here,” Dr. Mundi said, digging into the box. “Yes, right here.” The doctor pulled out a file folder and slowly turned the pages until he found what he needed.
“Yes,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I did note it. A one-point-nine–centimeter laceration on the victim’s chin determined at the time of autopsy to be a typical shaving injury.
These wounds are not difficult to identify, and are common autopsy findings.
Usually on the face of male patients, the legs of females. ”
“Would you give me permission to record you while you explain that finding, and how you could determine that it was the result of a razor?”
The doctor looked up from his notes. “A twin-blade razor, I noted.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. I don’t mind if you record.”
* * *
Her phone battery was at 1 percent and she had no bars of service as the cabdriver shuttled her south through the mountains of St. Lucia and toward Vieux Fort.
She hated being disconnected, but having spent the life of her phone capturing video of Dr. Mundi’s explanation of the laceration he had documented ten years ago on Julian Crist’s chin, coupled with what Grace had told her earlier while she recorded their conversation, being cut off from the world was worth the footage.
That the video was raw, recorded on a combination of her iPhone and a small handheld camcorder, was sure to add to the urgency of the episode she was imagining.
She had stumbled across evidence overlooked during Grace’s original trial and was now haphazardly recording her findings without the assistance of her camera crew.
Coupled with the professional footage Derrick had shot of Dr. Cutty’s demonstrations, Friday’s episode had the potential to be a blockbuster.
When they finally reached Charlery’s Inn, back near the airport, where she had met her driver earlier in the day, Sidney handed over the fare.
He’d had a good day and never saw an island resort.
She wheeled her small suitcase into her room and locked the door.
After setting her phone to charge, she opened her laptop and booked a flight home for the next morning.
She found a Piton beer in the minibar and sat on the edge of the bed.
Pastel hues of soft salmon and green covered the walls of the cheap hotel.
Sidney took a long swallow of beer and picked up the hotel telephone, listening to the series of prompts until her call was finally patched through to New York.
“Hello,” Leslie Martin said.
“It’s me,” Sidney said.
“Jesus, I thought your plane crashed. Where have you been?”
“I took a detour. I’m in St. Lucia.”
“What? Why?”
“Because she didn’t do it.”