Brock’s employer was much smaller in scope than Dunedin Life Services Group, the conglomerate that owned the Ingle Funeral Home of Sautee. Sara knew that AllCare had headhunted Brock, adding a hefty bonus to the sale of the Brock Family Funeral Home in order to entice him to work for the company. His division handled the behind-the-scenes details that most mourners assumed took place in the basement of their local funeral parlor.
Georgia’s population was around 10.5 million. Roughly 60,000 people died every year. Large corporations were all about the economy of scale. In the funeral business, this meant that the bodies were transported to warehouses full of undertakers who washed, embalmed, dressed and casketed the dead before sending them back to the local homes for services. There was a lot of money to be had in streamlining a process that very few people ever thought about until they were forced to.
Sara recognized the nondescript building from before. The AllCare sign was tucked away under a large canopy, probably to discourage the general public from sussing out what took place inside. Sara pulled into a visitor parking space. She realized twenty minutes too late that she should’ve called Brock ahead of time. He was always so accommodating that sometimes she had to remind herself to not take advantage of him.
Too late now.
She tucked her phone into the front pocket of her purse, taking it as a small victory that she didn’t check to see if Will had turned his phone back on or by some miracle sent her a text.
The AllCare warehouse was as deep as it was wide, approximately the shape and size of a football field. The parking lot was filled with high-end cars. The day was ramping up. A line of mortuary vans idled, waiting to drop off or pick up bodies. Sara counted six semi-trucks pulled up to six loading docks. Two belonged to a local casket maker, another to a funeral supply house, and the remaining three to UPS.
The three drivers were carting dollies full of boxed caskets into the warehouse. By federal law, funeral homes were required to accept caskets purchased online. As with any consumer good, Costco, Walmart and Amazon had a big chunk of the market. The savings could be significant, much to the chagrin of companies like AllCare. The only thing that could take down a large corporation was another large corporation.
Sara’s phone beeped with a text. She expected Amanda and hoped for Will, but got her sister instead.
Tessa: You’re an asshole.
Sara wrote back: My sister is one, too.
Since she had her phone in her hand, Sara checked the Find My app. Will’s location was still frozen at Lena’s. She carefully placed her phone back in her purse as she walked up the concrete stairs to the entrance.
“Good morning.” The AllCare receptionist smiled as Sara entered the lobby. “How can I help you?”
“Good morning.” Sara placed her business card on the counter. “I’m looking for Dan Brock.”
“Brock just got back from a meeting.” The smile had brightened at his name. “Have a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Sara was too antsy to sit. She paced around the small lobby as she waited for Brock. The warehouse did not serve the general public. The posters on the walls were geared toward the industry: pre-need funeral contracts, Treasured Tributes burial containers, an advertisement for a seminar on applying shadows to facial features. Someone had placed a sticker above the front door—
Drive Slow! We Don’t Need the Business!
“Sara?” Brock was grinning when she turned around. “What on earth?”
Before she could answer, he threw his arms around her in a bear hug. He smelled of embalming fluid and Old Spice, the same two scents she had associated with him since the age of ten.
He said, “My goodness, you look all done up. Were you on your way to a party?”
Sara smiled. “I’m here on business. I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead.”
“I’m always here for you, Sara. You know that.” He waited for the receptionist to buzz open the door. “Let’s go back.”
Brock’s office overlooked the embalming area, which put him at the back end of the building. He caught Sara up on gossip as he led her down a long corridor, past several closed doors and a large employee breakroom. His mother’s asthma was acting up again, but she seemed content with the retirement home. He’d heard the pastor of the Heartsdale Methodist church had left under a cloud of suspicion. He was trying a new dating app for singles in the funeral business called Lucky Stiffs.
Sara asked, “It didn’t work out with Liz?”
He winced. Brock’s dating life had never been easy. He changed the subject, asking, “How’s your mama and them?”
“Will is doing great,” Sara said, engaging in a bit of wish fulfillment. “Daddy is semi-retired. Mama is still running around like crazy. Tessa is thinking about becoming a midwife.”
Brock stopped at the door to the warehouse. “Well, that’s wonderful news. She’s such a loving person. I think she’d be a terrific midwife.”
Sara felt guilty that she hadn’t reacted the same way when Tessa had mentioned her plans. “It’s a lot to learn.”
“Anybody can memorize a textbook. Look at me. You can’t learn compassion, can you? It’s either there or it’s not.”
“You’re right.”
Brock laughed. “You’re the only woman in my life who ever tells me those words. Come through.”
He opened the door to the main part of the warehouse. The pungent stench of formaldehyde hit Sara like a rock to the face. The chemical was the main ingredient in embalming fluid. She counted at least thirty embalmers leaning over thirty bodies. Most of the workers were women and all of them were white. The funeral business was notoriously segregated.
Sara stepped over a long hose snaking across the floor. A sucking sound came from the drains. Thirty pumps chugged as they forced fluid into thirty carotid arteries and blood out of thirty jugulars. The final handling took place at the loading docks. Caskets were either loaded into waiting mortuary vans or boxed for shipment.
Brock said, “I just came from a meeting about Honey Creek Woodlands. They’re really taking a bite out of us.”
Sara had read about the green burial movement. Looking around the warehouse, she understood why people were opting to forgo embalming and choosing to place their loved ones in a more natural setting. She said, “There’s something to be said for ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
“That’s blasphemy in this building.” Brock laughed good-naturedly. “Thank goodness for Macon-Bibb County. They passed an ordinance requiring leak-proof containers for every burial. We’re hoping we can get legislation passed on the state level.”
“Speaking of vaults.” Sara was grateful for the opening. “I’ve got a possible exhumation on a victim from three years ago. According to the funeral home, she was placed in an air-sealed vault.”
“Composite or concrete?”
“Not sure.”
Brock opened the door to his corner office. Florescent bulbs offered the only light. The two windows looking out at the warehouse were covered by dark wooden shutters that were tightly closed. The room was spacious, or at least Sara thought it might be. Brock had never been a tidy man. Stacks of papers and books were everywhere. His filing cabinets were overflowing.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I’ve lost two secretaries in the past three years. I can’t blame the first one, but the second one liked a nip at lunch, and you know how I feel about that.”
Brock’s father had been a high-functioning alcoholic, an open secret that the town kept because drinking had only made him more pleasant.
Brock asked, “Do you want coffee or tea?”
Sara wanted a hot shower to rid herself of the formaldehyde. “No, thank you. I’m still technically on the clock.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.” Brock cleared off a space at a small table for Sara to sit down. He took the other chair. “Now, I’ll spare you the legal mumbo jumbo about there being no guarantee that the body will be preserved. You and I both know the odds are good, especially since it’s air-sealed. Unless the vault is concrete. That might be a problem. We’ve seen some degradation over the years, especially on the coast where the water table is higher.”
“The body is in Villa Rica.”
“Your odds just got much better. That’s some good soil around there. There’s three homes servicing the area. They all use composite and they know how to air-seal. Villa Rica is in part of my stomping ground.” Brock pointed to the map of Georgia taped to the wall. Sara gathered that the shaded blue counties were serviced by AllCare. She saw White County, where Alexandra McAllister had been found, was outside Brock’s area.
He said, “I’m a little confused, Sara. We don’t do the digging. That’s the local funeral home. Do you need me to reach out on your behalf?”
“Oh, no, that’s not what I’m here for.” She explained, “Two older cases have come back up. Rebecca Caterino and Leslie Truong.”
The smile disappeared from his face. He looked as horrified now as he had eight years ago. “God forgive me, I haven’t thought of those poor young women in quite a while. They’re the reason I resigned from the coroner’s position.”
“I know.”
“Goodness.” The shock did not abate. “I guess it’s been about ten years. Is that girl, Rebecca, still in a wheelchair?”