Chapter 1

I heard a corpse speak to me in the police department's autopsy room on my first day of internship.

It all began when my supervising pathologist flipped through the autopsy report and remarked flatly, "Classic suicide. Close the case."

The captain of the homicide unit nodded without a word. Beyond the doors, the victim's mother had fallen to her knees as she sobbed in despair, nearly fainting from grief.

I was the only one who heard the woman's raspy voice saying in protest, "I didn't kill myself."

The hemostatic forceps slipped from my hand and clattered into the metal tray.

Everyone turned to look at me.

My supervising pathologist frowned at me in displeasure. "Summer, I know you're an intern, but you can't even keep your composure?"

I stared at the corpse's pale, bluish face.

The next second, I heard her speak once more, "The killer is in this autopsy room."

The air in my lungs froze.

Then, my eyes slowly settled on my supervising pathologist's bloodstained hands.

Chapter 1 The Corpse Said It Was Murder

On my first day at work, the director imparted to me one valuable piece of advice, saying, "The most important quality for a forensic pathologist is staying calm. Corpses can't lie, but the living do."

Back then, I did not dare to correct him despite knowing better. I knew the truth, and that was that corpses really could talk.

I'd been able to hear strange voices around me ever since I was little.

When our old cat died, I held its cooling carcass in my arms and cried. Then, I heard it grumble in my ear, "Stop crying. You're getting snot all over my fur."

I was so terrified that I couldn't sleep a wink for three days straight.

When my grandmother passed away, I could hear her body muttering in my ear as clear as day even under all that crying everyone else was doing in the funeral hall.

"Your aunt stole my gold bracelet again. There's a bankbook under the third brick beneath the bed. Don't let her get her hands on it."

I searched exactly where she told me to and actually found the bankbook.

From that day on, I knew that there was something really wrong with me. However, I also learned that the dead were far more honest than the living.

So, I secretly chose forensic pathology without telling anyone when the time for me to apply for college came and went.

I figured that if I was destined to hear these voices, I might as well put them to good use.

What I did not expect was to hear a dead woman insist that she hadn't killed herself on my very first day interning at the city police department.

The woman on the autopsy table was Sherry Mann. She was a 28-year-old product manager working at a tech company.

The case looked simple enough.

She had been found dead in the bathtub of her rental apartment. There was a deep cut on her left wrist. The doors and windows had been locked from the inside. The tub was filled with bloody water, and a fruit knife lay nearby.

There was also a note saved in her phone. "I'm tired. I'm sorry, Mom."

The evidence seemed clear-cut. Everything fit the bill. It looked like a classic suicide, but she just said it wasn't.

I stood frozen as a cold sweat broke out across my back.

My supervising pathologist, Lucian Vance, shot me a glance as he remarked flatly. "Summer, pay attention and keep taking notes."

Lucian was one of the city's most respected forensic pathologists.

He was 47 years old and had worked in the field for more than 20 years. Naturally, he had examined thousands of bodies and helped solve countless major cases. Even my professors spoke of him with unmistakable respect.

Thus, almost no one questioned him if he ruled a death a suicide. Yet, the trembling female voice in my ear refused to stop whispering.

"I didn't cut myself. When I woke up, someone was forcing my wrist into the water. He was wearing gloves. He was smiling."

My throat tightened as I lowered my eyes to the body.

The color had long since drained from Sherry's face. Yet, the corners of her mouth looked as though they'd been violently torn apart by pain, frozen in a grotesque curve.

Eventually, I couldn't stop myself as I blurted, "Mr. Vance, isn't the edge of the wound on her left wrist a little too clean?"

Lucian was taking off his gloves. His hands stopped upon hearing my question.

The autopsy room fell silent.

The captain of the homicide unit, Julian Slate, looked up at me.

Sherry's mother had been stopped outside the door. When she heard my voice, she suddenly looked up as well.

Lucian slowly turned to face me. "What did you just say?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I just think the direction of the wound is a little strange. There should be hesitation marks if she'd used her right hand to cut her left wrist. She doesn't have any of those.

"Plus, the wound edges are so clean that it's as if it was done in a single, smooth motion."

Lucian smiled, but it wasn't pretty. "Summer, today's your first day as an intern."

I tightened my grip on my pen. "I know."

"Good." He closed the autopsy report with a snap. "What you learn in textbooks isn't meant for showing off in the field."

The assistant forensic pathologists beside us lowered their heads. No one spoke in my defense.

Lucian continued, "The victim's right thumb web has trace amounts of blood on it. Her fingerprints are on the knife handle. There were no signs of forced entry at the scene, and the suicide note was confirmed to have been written on the victim's own phone.

"Tell me, if this wasn't suicide, then what else could it be?"

I opened my mouth.

Sherry's voice suddenly became sharp. "I didn't hold that knife! I didn't write that note either! He knew my passcode. He knew!"

My heart started pounding faster and faster.

I could not tell them I could hear the dead speaking. No one would believe me. They would only think I was insane.

A trace of mockery appeared in Lucian's eyes when he saw that I had fallen silent. "It's a good thing for young people to ask questions. But doubts have to be backed by evidence. Without evidence, your line of questioning is nothing more than grandstanding."

His words landed across my face like a slap. My cheeks burned in humiliation.

However, Sherry spoke up once more just as he turned to leave.

Chapter 2 A Question No One Wanted Asked

"My fingernails. Look at my right middle finger. There's a piece of his skin there."

I jerked my head down.

Sherry's right hand was limply resting at her side in death; her fingers were slightly curled in rigor mortis. Her nails were trimmed short and painted a pale pink. There was nothing obviously unusual about them.

Still, I ignored Lucian's icy glare that was trying to pierce a hole through my skull as I pulled on a pair of gloves, picked up a magnifying glass, and leaned in.

And there it was—a tiny, dark red fragment lodged beneath the nail of her right middle finger.

It was incredibly small. I would have easily mistaken it for dried blood if I hadn't been looking for it.

My breath caught in my throat as I blurted, "Captain Slate."

I looked up, my voice tight. "I found what appears to be skin tissue under the victim's right middle fingernail. I recommend collecting it for DNA testing."

Julian walked over.

He was in his early 30s, with sharp features and an austere expression. He was famous for being a workaholic in the Criminal Investigation Division.

He bent down for a look, and his expression shifted ever so slightly.

Lucian came back to the body as well. He looked for only a second before his expression darkened.

"The bathtub was a contaminated scene. Finding debris under a fingernail is perfectly normal."

I asked, "But if this was suicide, why would she have someone else's skin under her nail?"

"Can you confirm that's skin tissue?"

"No. That's why it needs to be tested."

Lucian fixed his eyes on me. "Summer, do you realize what you're doing?"

Of course, I did. I was questioning the conclusion of a respected forensic pathologist.

I was an intern. Yet, here I was, trying to stop a suicide report that was about to be finalized. I was also well aware that my internship at the city's police department would end right here if I was wrong.

But Sherry was still crying in my ear. "Please. My mom only has me."

Just then, Sherry's mother pushed herself up against the wall. Her eyes were swollen red, and her voice was so hoarse and thick with grief that she barely sounded human.

"Officer, my daughter would never kill herself. She told me just yesterday that she was taking me to the hospital for my follow-up this weekend. She wouldn't leave me behind like that."

At that moment, I was suddenly reminded of the day we buried my grandmother.

Just before they closed her coffin, she gently whispered in my ear, "Summer, don't be afraid of the dead. The dead won't hurt you. The truly frightening ones are the living when they choose to stay silent."

I lifted my head and made sure to enunciate each word clearly. "Captain Slate, I'd like to request a second examination."

The air in the autopsy room seemed to freeze the second those words fell from my lips.

Julian did not answer right away.

However, Lucian looked livid. He removed his glasses and slowly wiped the lenses with a cleaning cloth, his voice unnervingly calm as he spoke. "You're requesting one?"

He looked at me as though I were an arrogant fool who had no idea how the world worked. "Summer, you're not qualified to issue an independent forensic opinion."

"I know," I said through my fear. "That's why I'm only making a recommendation."

"A recommendation?" He let out a cold laugh. "Your so-called recommendation would force the detectives to reopen their investigation, give the victim's family false hope, and delay a case that's already perfectly clear. Can you bear the consequences if you fail?"

My fingertips turned cold.

Julian finally spoke. "Mr. Vance, since we've found what appears to be tissue, collecting it and sending it to the lab won't delay the process."

Lucian froze for a moment before demanding, "Captain Slate, do you think I made a mistake?"

Chapter 3 The Pressure to Back Down

Julian's expression didn't change at Lucian's sharp tone. "I only believe the evidence when I see it."

That single sentence made the autopsy room even quieter.

Lucian stared at him for several seconds before suddenly curling his lips into a smile. "Fine. Since you're all so determined, feel free to send it to the lab."

He put his glasses back on before turning his gaze to me. "But, Summer, allow me to remind you that forensic pathology isn't a detective novel. Corpses don't cooperate with your imagination."

I lowered my head.

Sherry whispered in my ear, "Thank you."

Her voice was so soft that it felt like a breeze on the verge of fading away.

The expedited DNA test would take time. Still, Julian ordered the evidence sealed again and put the case on hold.

I helped one of the assistants clean up the autopsy room, but I couldn't shake the uneasiness coiling in my chest.

Sherry had said her killer was in this autopsy room. However, the only people present had been me, Lucian, Julian, two assistant medical examiners, and a records clerk.

Julian was the captain of the Criminal Investigation Division. The two assistants had been in my sight the entire time, and the records clerk was a female officer.

So, who was the "he" Sherry had been talking about?

My eyes drifted to Lucian before I even realized I was doing it.

He was washing his hands. Water streamed over his fingertips, carrying away the faint traces of blood.

Perhaps he sensed me watching because he suddenly looked up at me through the mirror.

My heart lurched.

Lucian smiled. "Summer."

"Yes?"

"Come to my office after work."

His voice was gentle. Yet, it managed to send a forbidding chill down my spine for some reason.

Only the duty lights remained on in the forensic center by the time it was 7 p.m..

I knocked on Lucian's office door.

"Come in."

The main lights were off, and there was only a desk lamp casting a pool of light across the room. Lucian sat behind his desk with my internship file sitting beside him. He didn't ask me to sit.

"You had excellent grades in college."

I stood by the door, saying nothing.

"You were the top of your class, got a perfect score in anatomy, and your professor wrote you an outstanding recommendation."

He flipped through the file, his tone calm. "It's just a pity that you're too impatient."

I pressed my lips together. "Mr. Vance, I wasn't trying to show off."

"I know." He looked up at me. "You were trying to prove yourself."

I froze at the insult.

He closed the file. "We get interns like you here every single year. You're all smart, perceptive, and more importantly, ambitious. They all thought they were going to change the world, just like you are doing so now.

"But you're no longer in a classroom. Every word written by a medical examiner can change the direction of a case. Every conclusion affects both the living and the dead."

He sounded so righteous.

If Sherry's voice hadn't still been echoing in my head, I might have believed that I'd made a terrible blunder.

Lucian stood and approached me. "I can let today's incident go."

I looked up at him.

His tone softened as he continued, "Tomorrow, write a statement admitting your lack of experience and that you mistakenly identified contamination as skin tissue. Withdraw your request for a second examination, and I won't let this affect your internship evaluation."

I finally understood why he'd called me here. He wanted to pressure me into backing down.

"But the sample's already been sent to the lab."

Lucian smiled. "It can still be withdrawn."

"Why should I do what you want?"

Silence filled the office for two long seconds.

The smile slowly faded from Lucian's face. "Summer, don't back yourself into a corner."

It sounded ominous considering how my back was currently pressed against the door, and my palms were already damp with sweat.

Just then, a muffled voice suddenly drifted from the storage cabinet in the corner of the office.

Chapter 4 The Shirt Told the Truth

"Don't agree to it," it said insistently.

I whipped around and saw a black evidence box sitting there with the label, "Sherry Mann Case."

I heard a voice, but it wasn't coming from the body this time. No, the evidence was speaking to me now. More precisely, the blood-soaked white shirt inside the evidence box was doing the talking.

"He tampered with me. He cut off my cuff," it whined in distress.

I felt a chill crawling up my scalp.

The cuff? I had not paid any attention to the cuff when Sherry's bloodstained shirt had been logged into evidence.

Lucian frowned at my inattention. "What are you looking at?"

I forced myself to look away before I could give anything away. "Nothing."

He studied me, as if trying to decide whether I had noticed something amiss.

I took a deep breath. "Mr. Vance, I'm not withdrawing my request."

Lucian's eyes turned flinty. "Are you sure?"

"I am."

He nodded. "Fine."

He sat back down, picked up his pen, and lightly tapped it twice against my file. "I hope you won't come to regret it."

…

Early the next morning, I realized everyone was looking at me differently as soon as I arrived at the medical examiner's office.

I heard my colleagues whisper among themselves in the break room.

"Did you hear? That new intern stood up to Mr. Vance yesterday."

"Has she lost her mind? She should take a good hard look at Mr. Vance's credentials, and then look at hers."

"Kids these days are so desperate to make a name for themselves. They work one case and suddenly think they're geniuses."

I stood outside the door with my mug in hand. The room fell silent the moment they noticed me standing there.

I pretended not to hear them, but I would have been lying if I said that their words didn't bother me.

The preliminary DNA results came back at 9 a.m. The tissue found beneath the victim's fingernails did not belong to Sherry. It did not belong to anyone documented at the scene, either.

Julian set the report down on the conference room's table. "We have a third party."

The silence seemed to swallow the room.

Lucian's expression stiffened for the briefest moment before smoothing back to normal.

He flipped through the report. "All this proves is that the victim came into contact with someone before she died. It doesn't directly prove homicide."

Julian said, "That's why we need to reopen the investigation."

Lucian nodded. "Fine."

He agreed too quickly, which made me even more uneasy.

Julian turned to me. "Summer, yesterday you mentioned the wound direction was unusual. Walk us through your thought process."

Every eye in the room landed on me. Lucian sat at the head of the table, his face unreadable.

I brought up the projection and enlarged the photo of Sherry's wrist.

"The wound on the victim's left wrist extended in a radial-to-ulnar direction. The depth was consistent, and the angle of entry was slanting outward.

"If the victim had used her right hand to cut her own wrist, the wound she made would normally start shallower, deepen through the middle, and taper off at the end."

I pulled up another image.

"But this wound showed no obvious hesitation marks or tapering. That suggests that the person making the cut had a steady hand and was likely standing in front of and slightly to the victim's left."

Julian looked at me. "So, you're saying someone else could have inflicted the wound?"

"Yes."

Lucian suddenly spoke. "Could have?"

He fixed his eyes on me as he reprimanded me, "Summer, ambiguity is the last thing we want in a forensic opinion."

"That's why I need to perform one more examination," I retorted.

"Examine what?"

I looked toward the evidence box. "The victim's bloodstained shirt."