The Mak Collection Read Online Free PDF

to the station and city morgue the way other kids begged for a Barbie doll or extra pocket money. But he had purposely steered her away from the more horrific scenes; instead she had witnessed fleshless skeletons found in the forest years after death, or the smooth, peaceful corpses of the naturally departed.
    Makedde had never seen a dead person looking, smelling , so violently, horribly dead as the girl she haddiscovered the day before. A beautiful girl, who had perhaps been Catherine, lay cold and lifeless in a freezer beyond the imposing brown doors in front of her. She had lost two of the most important people in her life in just six months. It hadn’t been trips to the morgue that acquainted Makedde with the impact of death. Unwittingly, her mother taught her that hard lesson, and now so had Catherine.
    With sour dread in the pit of her stomach, Makedde mustered up her courage and stepped through the front doors. I can do this. A white-faced clock high on one wall told her it was 10.30 a.m. Detective Flynn had seen her enter and was walking towards her. “Miss Vanderwall, thank you for coming. This shouldn’t take too long. Please, come this way,” he said quietly.
    She followed him through a single door marked “Relatives Waiting”, barely paying him any attention. She was entirely focused on the horrible sight waiting for her in the viewing room. Detective Flynn closed the door behind them and they sat down on the grey, cushioned seats. The waiting room was self-consciously pleasant, with warm, off-white walls, bland paintings, and a few plants. It reminded her of the counselling room in the Vancouver General Hospital, where some social worker had done his best to help Makedde and her family cope with Jane Vanderwall’s long and painful battle with cancer.
    Another closed door stood before them, and shecould hear movement behind it. Makedde’s heart leapt into her throat at the sound of a metallic wheel squeaking beyond the door.
    She’s lying on some cold, metal trolley; helpless.
    Minutes later a small, ginger-haired man identified as Ed Brown by his name tag ambled in and told them that she was “ready”. He opened the viewing room door, and Makedde walked inside like a woman in a trance.
    It was unlike anything she had expected. She was prepared for a glass window and a curtain and some guy in a gown who would pull back the sheet, but there was none of that, only a small wooden divider between Makedde and her dead friend.
    The attendant spoke to her softly in a soothing, emasculated voice. “I’ve left one arm out for you, if you wish to touch it, A lock of hair is also available if you would like. Don’t be afraid to ask for it. You would be surprised how many people really do appreciate it.”
    Touch it.
    Makedde was silent, staring.
    “I’ll leave you now. Take as much time as you need.”
    With that, the uniformed attendant left, leaving Makedde and Detective Flynn alone in the room with a silent, cold china doll.
    Makedde would be naïve not to admit that it was Catherine, with that once-vibrant face, inches away.Catherine’s face was colourless, her body cloaked in a series of green and white patterned blankets, with a hood covering her skull like a chador. The stench of death that had lingered in the grass the evening before was slightly less powerful now, but the sharp tang of tea-tree oil could not mask it completely.
    A hand hung limply off the metal tray, asking to be touched. There were deep red marks around the wrist.
    Touch it.
    Makedde looked away.
    Detective Flynn placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. “Are you all right?” Makedde didn’t answer. “Is this the body of Catherine Gerber?”
    “Can I see her hair? She had beautiful, long, dark hair. She looks different with the shroud.”
    “Her head has been shaved, I’m afraid. All murder victims have their heads shaved. Her head wounds are quite extensive.” He sounded apologetic.
    “Oh.”
    “Can you positively