Out of the LightThe morgue door swung open. Jan Mirocek hesitated at the threshold, clinging to the hallway’s bright comfort. Ahead in the dark room, under a lonely cone of light, Detective Garos of the Toronto Metropolitan Police loomed over a shroud-covered corpse. Jan glared up at the single ceiling bulb. Forty watts max, he thought. He turned to a clerk slouched at a desk in the hall. “Got any more light?”
The man just shrugged. “Our guests don’t do much reading.”
Scowling, Jan stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him, cutting the light even more. He cursed and pulled a small flashlight from a coat pocket, his breathing slowing as the beam brightened his path. I can do this, he thought. Trying not to look into the shadows, he walked to Garos.
Morgues didn’t bother Jan. He kn
