Dead Beat (The Dresden Files 7)

"It's a calculated risk," I said. "We need to find out what Grevane wanted with you."

"And we're taking me to work... why?"

"Think about it. What would have happened if they'd found you missing, blood all over the place, the building ransacked, and Phil's corpse lying in the morgue or on the lawn outside?"

"Someone would have gotten fired," Butters said.

"Yeah. And they would have locked down the building to search for evidence. And they would have grabbed you and locked you away somewhere, for questioning at least."

"So?" Butters asked.

"If Grevane cleaned up what happened at the morgue, it means he didn't want too much official attention focused there. Whatever he wants from you, I'm betting it's still in the building." I pulled into the industrial park. "We have to find it."

"Eduardo Mendoza?" he asked me.

"Offhand, I can't think of any other reason for someone to want to grab your friendly neighborhood assistant medical examiner," I said. "Grevane's got to be interested in a corpse at the morgue, and that one was the only one that seemed a little odd."

"Harry," Butters said, "if this guy really is a necromancer-a wizard of the dead-then why the hell would he need a plain old vanilla science nerd like me?"

"That's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question," I said. "And we have another reason, too."

"The museum doctor guy, right?" Butters asked.

I nodded at him and parked in the lot next to Butters's ruined little truck. "Right. I need to know what killed him. Hell, any information could be useful."

Butters exhaled. "Well. I don't know what I'll be able to manage."

"Anything is more than I have now."

He looked around warily. "Do you think... do you think Grevane or his buddy is out there right now? Watching for... you know... me?"

I pulled open my coat and showed Butters my shoulder holster and gun. Then I reached behind me and drew out my staff from the back of the SUV "If they show up, I'm going to ruin their whole day."

He chewed on his lip. "You can do that, right?"

I took a look around and said, "Butters, trust me. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's ruining people's day."

He let out a nervous little laugh. "You can say that again."

"If there's one thing I'm good at-" I began. Butters punched me lightly on the arm, and I smiled at him. "We'll get in and out as quick as we can, get you back under cover. I think we've got it under control."

I killed the SUV's ignition and pulled out the key. The truck shuddered, and a warbling, wailing sound came from the dashboard. For a second I expected someone to shout, "Red alert, all hands to battle stations!" Instead there was a hiccup of sound from the truck, and then a smooth, recorded voice reported, "Warning. The door is ajar. The door is ajar."

I blinked at the dashboard. It repeated the warning several more times, getting a little slower and lower pitched each time, then droned into a basso rumble, followed by silence.

"That was not an omen," I said firmly.

"Right," Butters replied in a faint voice. "Because stuff is always messing up around you."

"Exactly," I said. I tried to think of a way to wring positive spin from that last statement, but I wasn't up to the mental gymnastics. "Come on. The sooner we get moving, the sooner we get you out of here."

"Okay," he said, and the pair of us got out of the SUV and headed for the Forensic Institute. As we approached the door, I started limping and leaning on my staff a little, as if I needed the support. Butters opened the door for me, and I hobbled in with a pained expression on my face as we approached the security desk.

I didn't know the guard on duty. He was in his mid-twenties and looked athletic. He watched us coming, squinting a little, and when we were well inside his eyebrows lifted. "Dr. Butters," he said, evidently surprised. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"Casey," Butters said, giving him a jerky nod of the head. "Hey, I like the new haircut. Is Dr. Brioche in?"

"He's working now," Casey said. "Room one, I think. What are you doing here?"

"Hoping to avoid a lecture," Butters replied dryly. He clipped his identification to his coat. "I forgot to file some forms, and if I don't get them done before the mail goes out, Brioche will scold me until my eyes bleed."

Casey nodded and looked me over. "Who's this?"

"Harry Dresden," Butters said. "He's got to sign off on the forms. He's a consultant for the police department. Harry, this is Casey O'Roarke."

"Charmed," I said, and handed him the laminated identification card Murphy had issued me to get me through police lines to crime scenes. As I did, I felt another cold pocket of dark energy. Grevane had murdered and then reanimated Phil while the poor guy was sitting at his desk.

Casey examined the card, checked my face against the picture on it, and passed it back to me with a polite smile. "You want me to tell Dr. Brioche you're here, Dr. Butters?"

Butters shuddered. "Not particularly."

"Right," Casey said, and waved us past. We were almost out of the entry hall when he spoke again. "Doctor? Did you see Phil this morning?"

Butters hesitated for a second before he turned around. "He was there at the desk the last time I saw him, but I had to leave for an early dentist appointment. Why?"

"Oh, he wasn't at the desk when I got here," Casey said. "Everything was locked down, and the security system was armed."

"Maybe he had somewhere to be, too," Butters suggested.

"Maybe," Casey agreed. There was a faint frown line between his eyes. "He didn't tell me anything, though. I mean, I'd have come in early if he had an appointment or something."

"Beats me," Butters said.

Casey squinted at Butters and then nodded slowly. "Okay. I just wouldn't want him to get in trouble over breaking protocol."

"You know Phil," Butters said.

Casey rolled his eyes and nodded, then went back to filling out some kind of paperwork. Butters and I slipped away from the entry hall and down to Butters's usual examination room. The place had been put back together. His desk rested in its usual spot, piled with papers and his computer. Whoever had cleaned up the room had done a fairly good job of it.

"Casey knows something," Butters said the minute the door was shut. "He suspects something."