"Oh, that's... nasty!" Sandra complained as she strolled purposefully into the storage unit, taken aback for a moment, before regaining her composure. She grabbed a pair of rubber gloves from a box sitting on a gurney and began to nose around. "Dr. Death is going to have a late night with this one," she agreed with Kevin, using their coroner's rather unflattering nickname. "And what do you want to bet that toxicology turns up nothing? Again. God, I wish I hadn't had Italian last night," she said with a dry retch, eying the contents of the bag they were now filling with the victim's remains. "I don't suppose anyone's notified the Miller's Daughter," she quipped with a sigh, examining the walls.
Dan had been right on her heels but hung back now in the entrance underneath the roll-top door. Remind me again, he told himself, why I left Jersey and my cushy job there? "Checked the missing persons' reports," he informed them. "No joy on the vic." As they'd all figured when they'd made him to be a bum.