Nocturnes Read Online Free Page B

going to exorcise the nagging demons of his conscience.
    Another call from a “concerned relative” got him access to Jane Doe’s file, all that was left of her. One of several receptionists in the coroner’s office pulled the particular Jane from the particular day in question and, without the slightest inquiry, handed the slender file over to him. He took a seat in the barren lobby and opened the folder to the two-page autopsy and coroner’s report.
    He read it through three times, then set it on the seat beside him. A tingling sensation started somewhere behind his eyes and spread rapidly to the base of his skull. This was not real. He was having a dream. The tingling ran like electric wires down both of his arms, straight through to each fingertip. A secretary coughed behind the counter. A phone was ringing.
    It was a replay of the case in St. Louis, just a different potentially-fatal disease robbed of the chance to finish her off. Leukemia. And morphine.
    He rose and returned the file to the receptionist, then walked stiffly to the exit and out onto the busy street. For several minutes he stood, blinking against the sun before returning to the counter and asking for a phone. He called a cab and went directly to the same hotel from which he had started upon this odyssey. In his room, he downed four quick shots of brandy and stretched out on the bed to think.
    “Now what?” he asked himself pointedly. “Do I call the police? Excuse me, officer, but I was walking in Piedmont Park after dark and noticed a rather suspicious character. I believe he may have had something to do with the death of that homeless lady.”
    “Is that so? You were walking in the park after dark, saw a strange person and a homeless lady that you know was dead the next day? We’ll check right into that, Mr…uh, what was your name again, sir?”
    Probably not a great idea. Not yet, anyway. Better to do just a little more research on the subject. Then perhaps an anonymous call with all the facts laid out for the authorities. That seemed like an acceptable solution. He rolled onto his side, turned off the bedside lamp, and waited for sleep.
    The next day he returned to the coroner’s office, dealt with a different clerk, and used his real name and credentials to gain access to five years’ worth of Jane and John Doe files. To the “why do you need this stuff?” question, he simply replied that he was conducting some research for a possible article on the homeless, and needed some baseline data that might indicate dietary habits, life expectancy, causes of death, etc.
    He copied everything before returning to St. Louis that evening, where he repeated his request at that coroner’s office the following day.
    *
    Files and photocopies were scattered about the suite. Before he examined any of them, he ordered a bottle of Secco-Bertani, ran a hot bath, and eased into the steaming tub to open the pores of his heart and mind to the problem before him. He had felt from the beginning that Lessa was somehow exerting a kind of psychic influence in this affair. He was not going to close his mind to that possibility. Rather, he would try even harder to tap in to her love and compassion. He would need her help to look bravely and objectively upon those files.
    He took a long, fulfilling draw of the elegant wine and closed his eyes…soft cherries and strawberries, caressed by a firm acidity. Lovely. He took the mental notes for his travel piece, then cleared the present from his mind and allowed his thoughts to carry him back. Back through the smoke and thunder of his pain…and back, slowly. Until, at last, he could part the heavy, dark curtain that he kept sealed against Warsaw.
    He and Lessa were at a popular night spot in the Stare Miasto, old Warsaw. It was a gay evening, warm and alive with stars. They were out with a group of friends: the young, the brave, and the creative heart of the city. They were dancing, and raising glasses to their esoteric