“Might?”
“I see the modifier caught your attention. Yes, might. If I were more convinced I’d not even worry about this. You mind I’m putting you in this position?”
She didn’t even get a chance to answer.
“It could be my fault. I haven’t been able to find a good match for him so far. He’s ex-military and I have a weakness for that. I
think
he’ll tone it down for you. He may listen even when he doesn’t want to do so, but most important I also believe that if he doesn’t, you’ll tell me. That’s what makes it feel right for me.”
She couldn’t help but ask. “And if he doesn’t?”
“I did just say I want you to tell me. You heard that part, correct? Partners have each other’s backs. That is part of the code, an intrinsic nuance of successful police work. But if he really is a problem, I need to know it.”
“I heard it.” She wasn’t sure if it was amusement or dismay she was experiencing, but she’d definitely
heard
it.
“I’ll fire his ass. He’s close.” He leaned brawny arms on the desk. “I’m not going to kid you on that one. I’m not projecting my job on you, but I can’t go on the street with him either. This is an opportunity, which you already know, but this is how it is, Detective MacIntosh. He’s decently well liked, but no one wants to work with him. His last partner said it was like trying to train a grown dog who already liked to piss in the house. Your thoughts?”
“I’m not fond of unruly animals, sir.”
He looked her in the eye and nodded. “Duly noted. But if you help me save this one, I’ll remember it, you have my word.”
Well, son of a bitch …
So she’d sat there in the uncomfortable chair in front of his desk and folded her hands and taken the job. She’d said, “Absolutely, sir.”
At this moment, she thought she understood exactly what Metzger meant.
But Jason Santiago had taken time to look for the dog. Why he hadn’t just said so was annoying, but maybe underneath that smartass exterior there were a few redeeming qualities.
Drawing herself back into the situation, she smiled in a conciliatory fashion. “What Detective Santiago means is we need a short list of people who might have disliked your son-in-law and it needs to start right here in your household. Can we speak with your daughter now?”
“No.”
Chapter 8
Sitting in a bar on south Kinnickinnic Avenue, I started to play a game. Bayview used to be strictly blue collar; it was a small steel factory town back in past times, but was now trendy and eclectic.
I watched a young couple at another table and imagined what they looked like naked, like a soft porn movie in my head. Not doing it necessarily, but naked. The woman had long dark hair and big breasts clearly being shown off by her tight knit sleeveless shirt.
“Another beer? Same kind?”
I glanced up at the waitress, nodded once, smiling, and went back to it.
The young man was probably more attractive than his companion. In my opinion he was dating the tits, not the girl.
He had muscular arms and a slightly square face, short brown hair that he obviously styled with gel, and a hint of scruffy beard that he probably thought was pretty chic because it was so popular right now, but in my opinion he would have looked better without it.
As the waitress delivered my second drink, I thought about following them home. I could do so pretty easily, I’m good at it. Often enough it was part of the entertainment, the challenge …
* * *
I
just might.
It was tempting. Maybe that’s why I enjoy the game so much.
* * *
Ellie usually just
read the reports, which were often boring, and she couldn’t detect the finer points anyway. What she really needed was a one-on-one with the medical examiner if that was possible, so she’d called down and been told the autopsy was almost over.
“Do you see this?”
It would have been better if Dr. Reubens hadn’t gestured with his knife right along the breastbone in a graceful arc that was almost artistic. A part of her winced.
She saw nothing but a flayed body that had been stitched back together. The crisscross on the chest never failed to shake her, but she’d wanted to sit in on this one in person as he made his summary.
“Yeah, what is it?”
Dr. Reubens, who was by far the youngest ME she’d ever encountered, elaborated. “Point of impact. He literally did a swan dive. Hit the pavement chest first, which is an interesting choice. Most of them jump feet first.”
“Except maybe he was aiming to go headfirst and really seal the deal,” she mused out loud. “Ever try a dive into a pool and not get the angle right?”
“I think we’ve all experienced that, Detective, but in this case, he was no doubt killed instantly. It snapped his spine.” Dr. Reubens shuffled through a few papers and coughed. The room smelled strongly of disinfectant and something else she couldn’t quite identify and really didn’t want to analyze, but then again, it was the morgue.
“No sign of anything that indicates suspicious death?”
He met her gaze, frank and steady. “Sorry. I can’t help there.”
“I take it you are going to rule this a suicide then.”
He stripped off his gloves. “What I think is that he wasn’t harmed in a manner that left visible evidence of criminal intent. He died of a variety of the effects of his fall—crushed lungs, severed spinal cord—all of which were potentially lethal. I could go into all of it, but I can’t see the point unless you’d like to hear it.”
Unequivocally, she wouldn’t. Ellie said, “You think the toxicology screen is going to come back clean.”
“I can never speculate.” He had a decent smile when he chose to flash it. “Detective, I know you are new to this department but I am going to venture a guess they’ve already told you I’m picky about that sort of thing. It isn’t personal when I don’t offer an opinion before all the test results are in. It is more than professionalism was drummed into me by my predecessor and I learn lessons well. Eight years of medical school, a three-year residency, and a fellowship will do that for you. I refuse to
guess
.”
“But there are signs usually if someone is a drug user. He had a bad back from what I understand.”
“Narcotics for the pain? It’s possible. It would impair him to a certain degree. That is an unfortunate side effect of the schedule II medications we prescribe and one of the reasons people so often abuse them.”
“I just wondered.”
He walked around the steel table, his gaze on his cold, unmoving patient. “If it has been going on for a while, yes, there certainly can be signs of drug abuse. I can tell by the changes in some organs, like the liver for instance. Mr. Tobias might have had a mild problem with alcohol, but there is such thing as nonalcohol fatty liver disease, which can’t be discounted. When pathology sends me back the blood screen, we will know if he was intoxicated when he fell, was pushed, or jumped off that building.”
“I’m more interested in trying to establish a clearer idea of his behavior and habits, bad or good,” Ellie explained. “His father-in-law is not a fan but he really walked around why he disliked him so much. Santiago and I wondered if there was some reason, and drugs came to mind. He also refused to help them financially, which as he pointed out, he isn’t obligated to do, but he’s a physician pulling down six figures a year and yet they had to buy a house on contract. There’s a reason he didn’t offer to give them a bit of a boost.”
“Not all physicians are rich, trust me.” Dr. Reubens gave a rueful laugh. “You should try my school loan payments on my salary, but I do see your point. I’ll be in touch as soon as possible. Two bodies in the same case in such a short period of time indicates urgency is in order. I understand that.”
That was certainly true. And especially for her. “This is my first crack at a case that doesn’t have an obvious suspect,” she said frankly. “I wouldn’t mind a decent showing on this one. All help is appreciated.”
“I understand you caught the Northwoods Killer, Detective. As a matter of fact, I think I heard you administered justice yourself.” His gaze was appraising, which was something she’d run into more than once. The nickname too had surfaced after the case was over, and she didn’t particularly like it, but the media had managed to sensationalize the fact that a female cop had killed a serial killer who had preyed on women.
“I shot him,” she said matter-of-factly, the memory of that cold, grim evening probably something that would never fade. “Let’s keep in mind he had two hostages and he’d shot me first. I wasn’t acting as judge and jury, just defending myself and two more potential victims.”
Dr. Reubens lifted his hands in a swift gesture of apology. “No judgment here. I’m sure you saved the judicial system a great deal of trouble and the taxpayers a lot of money.”
She had been over what happened about a thousand times and never could dig up a single pang of regret. It didn’t happen yet again as she left the room after thanking him for his help and wondering if she would ever shake off the notoriety. The stairwell—she spent way too much time at a desk so she took the stairs if she could—still held that faint unpleasant morgue odor, and she left the building through the glassed foyer. It was like being blasted in the face with a full-on hair dryer when she stepped outside, and it didn’t bode well that towering white thunderclouds were building anvil shapes in the distance, white on blue, monoliths like pagan symbols, the gods of the Wisconsin summer. The sidewalk stank like urine as it baked, but it was still better than the morgue.
Maybe a good storm would break the oppressive heat.
For whatever reason, she shivered despite the temperature outside.
* * *
Jason had braced
himself for the conversation, but that was a piece-of-shit proposition. It really, in the long run, didn’t matter to him, but the outcome was a symbol of his failure in his personal life.
“Is this this about my substandard footwear last night?”
“Oh, please.”
Kate tossed her shirt onto the floor, but unfortunately it wasn’t one she’d just taken off. A natural slob, she just missed the box she was packing. Then she turned, her dark hair swinging, and said, “This is going to hurt to hear, but I’m bored.”
Ouch.
Great,
now he was boring.
It did sting. Not that it mattered, but still, she
was
moving out.
“How so? Bad sex?”
She slanted him a derisive glance. “No. Why do you think I even stayed as long as I did?”
“That’s a relief.” He pointedly looked at his crotch. “Hear that buddy? Ain’t your fault.”
“Don’t try to be funny. Seriously, Jase, you might want to think about a few things.”
He might want to think about a lot of things. But there were just some things that unfortunately he didn’t want to think about at all.
“Like?” He sat back on the faux leather couch, trying to look as if he cared, but she
was
a graduate psych student and not fooled one bit.
She exhaled and pushed a lock of dark, short hair off her forehead. “Like at least pretending to have a desire for more than this.” Her hand indicated his apartment. “It’s all right, maybe for a college student, and I understand that police detectives don’t make a load of money, but this place is …
immature
.”
He’d thought about taking down the mirrors with liquor ads on them, but he worked a lot so he hadn’t gotten around to it, and honestly, he liked them. “Thought you might help me with that when you moved in, so take some responsibility. Besides, no one moves out because of the furniture.”
“It’s what it represents.”
Okay, now they were getting down to it.
“Go on, soon-to-be Dr. Macomb.” He took a hit of his beer. Hey, he was entitled. His girlfriend was breaking up with him if the boxes were any indication. “Give me a soon-to-be-professional opinion at no charge. How much of this is about Brian … Wilfong, is it? Why do I think you’ve been comparing more than notes in class?”
She had better aim into the box she was packing with a pair of panties he preferred off her more than on her anyway. She was almost exactly his height, which he usually didn’t like for some reason that could no doubt be turned into something that made him ill-adjusted, but the generous tits were real and she liked having them touched. A lot, actually. That aside, she was smart, and when it came down to it, he liked smart women.
“You see,” she said in a tone that reminded him of his long-gone mother, “your real problem is that you’re not good in situations that involve stress. You might think about working on that since your job involves stress one hundred percent of the time, which doesn’t give you a lot of time off. Don’t accuse me. Think about yourself.”
“Now I’m confused. I’m always thinking of myself. Isn’t that your very point?”
She slammed the box closed and ran tape over the lid. “You can be such an asshole.”
“Asshole? I object to that particular label,” he countered. He might actually miss her, but not the long debates over human motivations and how environment could shape a person or the opposing argument that it was genetics. She wasn’t the only one who got bored on occasion. “I prefer graciously challenged.”
“I’m afraid you’re stuck with asshole.” She removed a few more garments, shoved a drawer shut, and didn’t look at him.
Yes, Brian all the way
. He hadn’t seen it coming, but in the rearview mirror it was crystal clear.
Jason asked, “What did I do? This can’t be about the party.”
“Oh, you are right about that.”
“Then … what?”
“You don’t know?”
“That’s possible.” He drained the beer, put his feet on the coffee table, and shrugged, not half as nonchalant as he pretended. Then his tone went lower. “Katie, look—”
“I don’t want to go, but I have to.” She dropped to her knees on the wooden floor and efficiently sealed up another box. “We have a singularly symbiotic relationship in which we feed off our mutual flaws. If you want it in higher educational speak, I like fucked-up men, but you are way
too
edgy for me. You like intelligent women because you might be the most competitive person I’ve ever encountered, but you can’t play nice if you feel threatened on that level. I don’t know who will work for you, but it isn’t me. Your new partner has pushed you. She’s good, she’s competent, and Metzger is really on board with her working with the department and you hate that.”