As it turned out, even my best effort wasn’t enough to sway Big Jim. He cocked a single bushy eyebrow in my direction. “And what makes you think that I like dealing with all these dead bodies, huh? Everyone’s getting sick of it, Goosey. Wait…didn’t you catch the news today?”
“I never watch the news, at least not when I can help it.” Great, I thought, thinking that one of my cases must have made the headlines. Detectives who spend too much time in the spotlight always tend to get singled out for special attention by their backstabbing colleagues. Besides, any kind of attention was in direct conflict with my career plan, which was to stay under the radar for the next twelve years. “Why, what’s Jive Five News whining about now?”
Big Jim leaned back against the wall. It looked as if like he was settling in to man his post for a while, work be damned. “They did a nice little piece on the twelve o’clock news about all the unsolved shootings we’ve had this month. This one reporter kept on badgering Chief Greene and he finally just went off on the guy.” Jim rubbed his back against the brick wall, trying to relieve some kind of nagging itch. “Get this. The Chief said he was sick and tired of being held responsible every time those ‘black sons of bitches’ went out and killed each other.” Jim rolled his tongue lovingly as he let the letter ‘l’ in ‘black’ float off of his lips.
I was dumbfounded. The Chief had never been a fan of the media and he’d actually cussed out a few reporters in his time, but this little gem was his most spectacular quote hands down. Chief Greene had been at the Department for just about twenty years at that point, and if it seemed like he cursed out his cops a lot then at least he was fair about it and cursed out citizens just as often.
Back in the day, most of the blacks in Charleston had been overjoyed when the mayor hired a brother as the new Chief of Police. Man, were all of them in shock the day he finally arrived and they came to find out that he wasn’t just black, but a practicing Jew as well. For the rich folks that ran the inbred city of Charleston this was too good of a deal to pass up, getting two minorities for the price of one. Suffice it to say, everyone was pretty surprised to learn that the man they’d actually hired was a self-loathing racist. Yeah, it wouldn’t be going too far out on a limb to say that Chief Greene hated black people just as much as any rednecks from the great State of South Carolina.
A few years back, for example, the Ku Klux Klan planned to hold one of their rallies downtown and just about everyone in Charleston was furious. The Klansmen got hundreds of death threats from angry blacks and whites alike and the whole things was looking pretty hectic, at least until Chief Greene stepped in. The rally went forward with every cop in the Department on duty that morning, and the Chief even put on his dress uniform and marched alongside the Illustrious Grand Wizard. Afterwards, people went on and on about what a great job the Chief had done to keep the peace, but all of us cops knew better. That sly old fox had probably just been trying to get some face time with the Grand Wizard to ask about getting sworn in as an honorary Klansman.
Those vulture reporters from Jive Five News really have a way of bringing out the worst in people, and they must have gotten the Chief all riled up. “Black sons of bitches?” I asked Jim. “He didn’t actually use those exact words?”
He grinned and repeated himself. “Black sons of bitches.” Big Jim looked like he was having such a good time, there was no way he’d ever make it back inside the station. “The Chief’s going to catch all kinds of hell for this one. Jive Five was showing pictures of all the homicide victims we’ve had this month, and of course they only showed pictures of the young brothers cleaned up in their Sunday best. That sixteen-year-old crack dealer got himself whacked up there on Lee Street last week? The one they called Little D? Get this, somehow they dug up an old photo of him in a Boy Scout uniform! A fucking Boy Scout, can you believe that? I guess he finally earned his merit badge in ’slanging rocks.”
Jim laughed at his own attempt at humor while his belly shook against the building. Generally speaking, it’s great news when any other cop lands himself in hot water. Having someone else in the spotlight is an excellent way to keep the heat off yourself, at least for a while.
When Big Jim stopped laughing long enough to catch his breath, I asked him, “So what does that mean for us?”
He flashed me his trademark yellow smile, which was decorated with little green bits of post-lunch oregano. “It looks like your buddy Abbie Rothschild’s going to have everyone from Mayor O’Reilly on down to me breathing down his neck until he frames at least one sucker for those shootings. Which means,” he paused, and I knew that good news was definitely not on the way, “that you’re pretty much stuck with all the cases you picked up this week.”
Damn it.
Jim went off on another laughing fit, entirely at my expense this time, and then turned to walk up the back steps. He held the door open for a long moment, making his movements seem more like an effort to catch a gust of air conditioning rather than to actually get back to work. I guess the thought of having to actually show up and supervise some murder investigations must have taken a lot of the wind of out his sails.
“Look on the bright side, Goosey,” he said. “If everyone’s worrying about solving murder, no one’s going to be reading your piddling little missing persons reports too closely. And that includes me, so just get ’em cleared out.” He walked inside without bothering to explain just exactly how I should go about doing that, but if I knew Big Jim he meant that I should close my files in the simplest way possible.
With a sigh, I fired up my cruiser, pulled out of the lot, and headed north on the Crosstown Expressway, hoping to skirt traffic on the Interstate. My route took me right past the BlackTalian, and for a minute I considered stopping, but I was already running late for the autopsy and Francis/Frankie’s not known for his customer service. When you go in that place you’re looking at a wait of at least twenty minutes before anybody even offers you a glass of water. Even facing the prospect of an unappetizing autopsy procedure, I cursed myself for not calling in a takeout order. When I rolled past, the parking lot was jam-packed with CPD cruisers from every patrol team with one or two civilian cars squeezed in sideways. Two sorry looking old birds in a station wagon were circling the lot, pitifully searching for a parking spot that just didn’t exist.
“Good luck, ladies,” I mumbled. “Not a chance in hell on Spaghetti Wednesday.”
11.
The heavy traffic lifted once I cleared downtown, and I pulled into the County Building parking lot at one o’clock on the dot. I hustled across the lot as fast as I could move without breaking a sweat, bursting into the examination room where Katie was waiting for me. “Right on time, Dr. Death!” she called out. She was wearing a set of tan-colored, loose-fitting hospital scrubs which flattered her by concealing all those waves of loose flab. She reminded me of a plump hot dog in a toasted bun, and I had to look away as my mouth began to water. I’ve got to hand it to Katie, though, she sure looked a lot more comfortable than I felt. I shifted my crotch self-consciously when she turned her back, thinking about how nice it would have been to have my own pair of scrubs to wear around the apartment.
Katie seemed to be in an unusually good mood that afternoon. Probably because it was right after lunch and unlike me, she didn’t appear to have been skipping any meals. “You’re becoming a regular here, Mike” she said. “I may have to start charging you rent.”
I slumped down against the far wall in my reserved seating section. “Believe me, it’s not by choice.” Beneath the steel light fixture, I caught the reflection of a frown flash across her face. Since the last thing I wanted was to piss off any woman who just happened to be holding a scalpel, I worked to cover my tracks. “I’m sorry, Katie. I just can’t seem to catch a break this week.” I gestured over at the flattened corpse lying on the table. “I mean, dead bodies are literally just falling out of the sky.”
She laughed, and I knew I was in the clear. “I hear you. But speak
ing of that, you’ll be glad to know that at least there were no surprises on Hooks’ autopsy yesterday. Traces of both cocaine and marijuana in his bloodstream, but the cause of death was clearly a cardiac arrhythmia.”
“What does that mean to someone with an associate’s degree?”
“It’s just a fancy way of saying his heart stopped beating.”
I made note of the term so I could use it in my report, and also made a note to look up the spelling. I swear, these doctors probably spend the first two years of medical school just sitting in English classes learning all kinds of fancy names for simple problems.
As Katie started to dig in with the scalpel, I asked, “This won’t take very long, will it? I’ve still got another stop to make this afternoon.”
I saw her turn away and wondered if I’d hurt her feelings. “What, is it Spaghetti Wednesday already? Seriously, you guys are going to put the BlackTalian out of business.”
Strike two. Self-consciously, I smoothed my pants and tried to stretch them out so they weren’t so tight across the inseam. A moment too late, I remembered back to that time a year or two before when Katie had shown up at the BlackTalian sporting a windbreaker that had “County Coroner” printed in big letters across the back. Wearing the jacket on the hottest day in August was a desperate plea for the police discount, but after Katie had plowed her way through two full plates of linguine alfredo before coming up for air, Francis/Frankie hit her with the check at full price. When Katie questioned the bill, she was told that she didn’t rate the discount since she was a government official, but not a real cop. The girl lost all composure right about then, flying off into a rage in front of all the other customers. Katie was actually waving around this tiny little gold badge that said “Deputy Coroner” in Francis/Frankie’s face, as if it were some kind of proof of her status.
The other cops in the restaurant didn’t really help matters much. They kept egging her on, at least until Francis/Frankie threatened to have Katie arrested for trespassing. When the boys realized that their cheap lunches were in danger of disappearing forever, they hustled Katie out of there and smoothed things over. I guess Katie still holds a grudge over it, since she hasn’t been back to the BlackTalian ever since.
I sighed. “No time for lunch today, Katie. Strictly business.” When she pulled out what looked to be a bloated kidney and held it up to the light for a better look, I barely managed to hold back a gag as I choked out, “I’ve got to get some more information on one of my cases.”
She gave me a wink over her protective glasses, so I knew she couldn’t have been too mad. “I’ll have to call Abbie Rothschild and tell him to watch his back. It almost looks like you’re trying to snake his job right out from under him.”
I shuddered at the thought. I had no problem dealing with dead bodies so long as they helped me close out my missing persons cases, but having to investigate murders was another thing entirely. “No thanks, Katie. I think I’m fine right where I’m at.”
She rolled her eyes and went to work on the dude’s ribcage with a mean looking circular saw. I could only watch for a minute before the high-pitched whine of metal on bone made me queasy, so I leaned back in the chair and started counting the ceiling tiles. They were the high-dollar sound-dampening kind, made out of that white foam with the little pockmarks, much classier than the dull gray slabs we had at the Department. As time passed, I must have dozed off for just a minute and I woke up with a start when Katie kicked me in the shin.
“That’s all there is to it, Mike. Didn’t I promise you wouldn’t feel a thing?”
It looked as if pulling all those long hours were finally starting to catch up to me. I rubbed my eyes to clear the cobwebs. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing exciting, just a few dozen broken bones and some flattened organs. I’ll be listing the cause of death as blunt force trauma, caused by a high-velocity impact with the ground.”
All that time in medical school is really paying off, I thought. “You’re really going out on a limb there, aren’t you Kate?”
She laughed and gave me a smile, edging closer. As the gap between us shrank, I noticed that she looked a lot bigger from up close. “Save it, Mike. Hey, what does your policy manual say about sleeping on duty, anyway?”
I stood up and returned her smile. “It’s an automatic three-day suspension, but only if somebody rats you out.”
Katie laughed again, and I headed for the door. I knew she probably wouldn’t mention my transgression to Big Jim, but all the same I’d have to remember not to piss her off anytime soon. “I’ll fax my reports over to the Department for your case file,” she said. “Have you had any luck making an identification?”
I gave a tug on the hallway door, propped it open with my foot, and started easing through. The trick to ending any conversation is to maintain forward momentum in the opposite direction. “No luck yet. None of the hospitals reported any patients missing.” I shrugged my shoulders. “But who knows? Maybe something will pop up.”
Katie nodded. “Okay, I’ll just file my reports as a John Doe. Just get me the guy’s information whenever you do make an ID so I can go back and update it.”
I nodded and tried to edge further backwards through the doorway.
She didn’t seem to pick up on my body language, and droned on. “The bloodwork should take a little longer. I’ll try to have it finished tonight, but it may be late.” She looked at me with a pair of blue eyes that were open wide and full of hopefulness. “Should I page you when it’s done?”
The thought of having my pager go off one more time gave me the shivers, so I pretended not to hear her question as I dashed outside, letting the door slip closed behind me. It was too late for lunch by then but skipping meals just wasn’t a healthy habit. I figured that if I paced myself just right, I could take my time eating and make my visit to the Smithson house the last stop of the day. Just to make certain that my timing was on point, I pulled off the highway early and took the scenic route through West Ashley. My cell phone started buzzing again, so I held the wheel with both knees and went fishing around on the floorboard. By the time I finally came up with it, I rushed to flip it open despite the fact that the caller ID read “Unknown.”
My move turned out to be a mistake, since it was that little rat bastard Squealer calling. He chirped out, “Hi Mike, what’s up? Lieutenant Cobb told me you’d be handling the suicide case from this morning and he gave me your number. Got time to chat?”
My fingers tightened into a death grip on the steering wheel as I contemplated Big Jim’s betrayal. That bastard would owe me at least three more sick days, the way I saw it. Just hearing Squealer’s high-pitched voice was enough to make my teeth clench. “What is it, Mealor? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”
“Oh, uh…okay, Mike, I’ll make it quick.”
My stomach growled when I caught sight of the yellow McDonald’s arches ahead so I threw the blue light up in the dashboard, yelped the siren twice, and made a quick left turn to cut across both lanes of oncoming traffic.
Squealer rambled on. “I just wanted to let you know that, well, I know that you prefer to work independently on your cases, but well, the thing is, you seemed sort of busy this morning…”
Listening to him talk was absolute torture. The sound of his voice was physically painful, like fingernails scraping across a chalkboard. I pulled into the drive-thru line and leaned back in my seat as he whined on and on.
“…well, and I thought that I might give you a hand, so, I went ahead and followed up on that vehicle record check from this morning. You know, from the VIN number that was on the piece of glass from that car window?”
I glanced over at the passenger seat and saw the DMV reports right on the floorboard where I’d left them. As the car ahead of me finished placing their order, I eased off the brake to pull up to the speaker. It erupted with a burst of static that sounded only slightly worse than Squealer’s voice. I had been practically starving just
a few minutes earlier, but the conversation made my stomach tighten into knots. I sighed in defeat, but still hoping I could keep the conversation fairly short. “Okay…”
I heard a breeze on the other end of the line, as if Squealer was taking a deep breath to build up steam before rambling on. “I checked the address of the registered owner against the reverse phone directory and found a number for him, so I went ahead and called. Turns out he’s a doctor down at MUSC!”
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel just as loud as I could manage.
“The owner said that the break-in must have happened last night, while he was working the late shift. Hey, isn’t it funny how doctors have to go through all that medical school but they still end up working the graveyard shift just like us cops do? But anyway, I asked him why he didn’t call us immediately to make a report, and he said…”
Listening to Squealer talk was more painful than getting a backrub with sandpaper. To make matters worse, the cashier in the drive-thru window was giving me the evil eye for holding up her line. I cut him off by shouting, “Look, man, I’m losing my signal! Can you say that again?”
That caught Squealer off guard, and he started to stutter. “M…Mike? C…c…can you hear me? Hello?”
I clicked on my walkie-talkie for the first time in ages, holding down the transmit button while I turned up the volume. A sharp squeal of feedback came over the cruiser’s speaker and I held the mike open for a couple seconds before shouting into the phone, “Mealor! I’m losing you! Go ahead and handle the auto break-in! Just leave the reports on my desk!” I slammed my cell phone shut with a smile and a sense of righteousness. See, that right there is one of the reasons why I’d make a good supervisor. I’ve always known how to delegate responsibility.
The cashier working the drive thru leaned her big black torso all the way out of the window to gave me the ugliest look I’d seen all week, and that’s when I realized that I must’ve caught her right in the headset with a big dose of feedback. It had been an honest mistake, of course, but one of the cardinal rules of police work is to never eat at a restaurant where you’ve pissed off the employees. In a matter of seconds, I’d pulled out of the parking lot and pointed my car down the street towards Wendy’s. Their value meals always cost at least a buck more but the way my luck was going, sticking around at McDonald’s just wasn’t worth the risk of finding an extra helping of special sauce on my Big Mac.
Burnout (Goosey Larsen Book 1) Page 11
