Intimate Relations by Rebecca Forster (most popular ebook readers TXT) 📕

had dealt Finn wasn't fatal. He  had recovered nicely unlike the woman in the morgue.

Now that was a blow.

9

"Detective Anderson, it's been way too long. I think last time you were here Dr. Bronson had the pleasure. Or was it Doctor Kalihi? No matter. I'm the lucky one today. Come in. Come in."

Paul Craig, Los Angeles' coroner, gave Cori's hand a shake as he drew her through the door.  His smile was as bright as ever, but his eyes were red-rimmed. Not that Cori would have expected anything less. In the early hours of the morning, Paul had agreed to Finn's request for an immediate autopsy. The identity of their victim was the only thing her partner could think about, and Paul was willing to help.

"Don't you make a girl feel like a queen, doc," Cori said.

"And don't you let anyone hear you say that. I don't fancy being brought up on charges of some sort or another. That's why I prefer the dead. I can say anything I want, and mum's the word."

He waved Cori into his office. It was a homey space with books on the desk, in cubbyholes, and on shelves. Framed caricatures of doctors and corpses, news clippings about Paul's cases, and family pictures hung on the walls. His desk was piled high with work, but there was an order to it.  Cori took a chair. Paul sat in his own, put his hands flat on his desk, and grinned.

"So how are you liking it in East L.A.? A little different than working with Captain Fowler, I imagine.  Captain Smith is a good woman, don't get me wrong. Good cop. My mother was like her. She played things close to the vest. Guess that's why I married the woman I did. I like a little chatter now and again."

Cori tried not to laugh. She had no doubt that he provided most of the talk in his house.

"It's different, I'll grant you that. She's got Finn and me running in ten different directions. Assaults, burglaries, homicides, you name it."

"These budget cuts are eating everyone alive." Paul commiserated. "I can't remember the last time things were this bad. Harbor UCLA has a forty percent increase in gunshot wounds and our stacks are full here. We can house four hundred and fifty bodies, and we're at four-seventy-five. Piled on top of each other. Such a pity."

Paul shook his head at the sad state of affairs, and Cori knew this wasn't an affectation. He believed death demanded dignity. Scum of the earth who took a life or the corpse of a life taken, Paul gave each one his due.

"I'm sorry to be making extra work for you, doc," Cori said.

"We'll get to everyone eventually. I didn't mind letting your lady cut in line. Since you were going to be here anyway, it seemed to me that this would be rather efficient use of my time."

He talked as he rifled through the files on his desk. When he found the one he was looking for he passed it over the desk.

"We'll get this out of the way first," he said. "Seems your victim was pumped full of insulin."

"No surprise there. He was diabetic." Cori opened the file and looked at the fact sheets. "And he was old. Old people get their medications mixed up all the time. Maybe he got the dosage wrong."

"Three down and then take a look at number eight."  Paul waggled a finger toward the paperwork. Cori followed directions, and whistled when she saw what he was referring to.

"Well, look at you," she said. "You're a regular Sherlock Holmes."

"Took me a while to find it, I admit." Paul sat back, beaming. "I checked between the fingers and toes, scalp, behind the ears. I was ready to call it an accidental overdose, and then I found a prick at the groin. Lots of flaps and folds in someone that age, but I got it. He was injected twice."

"This is good. Now I'm hoping they can lift some prints off the bottle. I doubt it, though. The syringe only had the victim's fingerprints.  Whoever did this was probably smart enough to wear gloves when handling the vial." She put the file down and gave it a pat. "But this is all good stuff. I was beginning to doubt my own gut."

"Never do that. Best barometer ever. Now, what say we take a look at your young lady. This is definitely a record for me.  But with the wife gone I couldn't sleep, so happy to come down in the dead of night and get a jump on things. Not that a murder can have a good outcome, but if I help you along in grabbing whoever did this one I'll be a happy man."

He got up and ushered Cori into the hall, stopping to push aside a gurney upon which a naked man rested. He was very young, very thin, and very dead. His head was turned so that Cori had a good view of the bullet holes in his body. Mortal wounds could seem so insignificant. Nothing more than little red dots on his temple, neck, and chest.

"That's the boy from the slow chase on the freeway two days ago. I was just about to take a look when I got Finn's call about your girl."

"I thought it was  a stolen car call," Cori said.

"As far as I know it was, but he came out with guns ablazin'."  Paul paused, his hands clasped in front of him, his head inclined as he considered the body. "They look so different when they're cleaned up, don't they? When we got him he was wearing jeans two sizes too big, a jacket with a death's head decal, and a couple of T-shirts. I stripped him down and look what we got: a skinny kid with a teddy bear tattoo on his hip. Maybe some girl told him it would be the cutest thing and it would turn her on, so