In Death, A Donation

Sorry for the gangrissues yesterday. Back now and rolling. Here's Thomas Curwen (thanks, Mark): If Elizabeth Uyehara were alive, she would be pleased. Everything was working out as she had hoped. The terrible banality of her illness had ended, and she was about to make her final journey.

Two hours before she died, David Jones' pager went off. He canceled his lunch and made a few phone calls to sort out the details with the hospital and the family. He went to his lab and picked up the paperwork and, before heading over the Sepulveda Pass, stopped at a 7-Eleven for some ice that he tossed into a cooler.

He parked in the back of the mortuary in Northridge and let himself into the prep room. Her body lay on the porcelain table. He walked over to the cabinet where he kept his instruments, pulled on two pairs of size-81/2 surgical gloves and zipped open the white bag.