Nickel City Crossfire by Gary Ross (children's books read aloud TXT) 📕

“Probably stolen,” she said. “More than half a million people sleep on the streets every night in this country. They’re robbed, raped, assaulted, murdered—and nobody cares. The richest fucking country in the world and nobody gives a shit!”

None of us said anything as fresh tears rolled down Ileana’s cheeks. After a moment she wiped her eyes and accepted the arm I offered. I handed the list back to Piñero. Kevin guided us back to the corridor that would take us to the exit. Chalmers took the lead once more. We passed Mira’s office again. This time she stepped out, gowned and gloved, face covered by a protective plastic shield—as if she had been present for the removal of clothing and collection of trace evidence and was ready to resume the procedure as soon as we left.

Our eyes met for barely a second before she turned to Chalmers and Piñero.

“Detective sergeant. Detective.” She nodded to each. “Nice to see you.”

“Dr. Popuri,” Chalmers said, as Piñero returned the nod. “We’re done with the personal identification.” He angled his head toward Ileana, who still held my arm.

“Of course.” Then Mira looked at me as if she had never seen me before. The dark eyes behind her splash shield twinkled with momentary mischief but held only respectful sympathy when she looked at Ileana. “You’re the family? I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Only a friend,” Ileana said. “She doesn’t—didn’t—have family.” She looked up at me. “He’s not my husband or boyfriend, just somebody kind enough to help me through this.”

“Mr. Rimes is a private investigator,” Piñero explained.

“I don’t see many Sam Spade types in here,” Mira said, eyeing me up and down.

She was enjoying herself so much she had chanced an in-joke. I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. I would have to do my Bogart impression for her later, somewhere more appropriate, like Christmas dinner. As teenagers, we both had followed Bobby’s suggestion that we read The Maltese Falcon before watching his VHS copy.

“Rimes, this is Dr. Popuri,” Piñero continued. “Assistant medical examiner.”

“Gideon Rimes,” I said, nodding rather than reaching for a gloved hand. “Pleased to meet you, doctor. This is Ms. Tassiopulos.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Rimes.” Mira’s smile vanished when she turned back to Ileana. “Ms. Tassiopulos, I want you to know I will take great care with your friend.”

“Thank you,” Ileana said. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

Mira excused herself and disappeared around a corner as I zipped my jacket.

Outside, Piñero to my left, I walked Ileana to the unmarked sedan. She sank into the back seat as he held the passenger side door. Chalmers looked at me over the top of the car.

“Thank you, Gideon,” Ileana said. “I hope we can talk soon.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “We will,”

Then Piñero shut the door. He sighed, shook his head. “From the look of things, the body on that table was in terrible shape before she died.” He kept his voice low so Ileana wouldn’t hear through the safety glass. “I’d say she was a heavy user as well as a heavy bag.”

“Truth undisputed,” Chalmers said softly. “A toe tag waiting to happen.”

“She was a doctor,” I said, letting that fact sink in a moment. “She lost her way.”

“She was still a user, and abused,” Piñero said. “What is it with you and druggies anyway? That’s two in just a couple of days.”

“Three, if the other doctor he’s talking to is a user too,” Chalmers said.

“By the way.” Piñero snapped his gloved fingers—which made a small thump. “Got your girlfriend’s prints back from the other night.” He took a notebook from his coat pocket and thumbed it open. “Felicity Sillers.” He spelled the surname. “An arrest record from here to Pittsburgh, mostly Southern Tier, mostly petty. Drug use. Solicitation. Public lewdness. Public intoxication. On the way here I half expected her to be the one under the sheet.”

“Guess she lost her way too,” Chalmers said.

“Easy to do mixing it up with Rimes,” Piñero said.

I ignored the dig. “Either of you ever hear of a guy named Dante Cuthbert?”

Both detectives shook their heads.

“He got something to do with this?” Piñero asked.

“I don’t know yet. I just came across the name in my investigation.”

Chalmers threw up his hands. “Course you did. Local boy?”

“I think he’s out of Detroit.”

“Is he even here?”

“Maybe,” I said.

Piñero laughed. “This just gets better and better, Terry.”

“Maybe we just came across another murder that could have been prevented if you weren’t stumbling through your investigation like a kid in a cookie factory,” Chalmers said. “You gotta talk to us, Rimes. Plus, we gotta sit down with Dr. Simpkins.”

“Soon as I get something you can use, I’ll bring her in,” I said.

“Fine, but I want to see you tomorrow. Let’s say noon.”

“I’ll provide the cookies and milk,” Piñero said.

Without waiting for my confirmation, Chalmers opened the door, sank behind the wheel, and keyed the ignition.

Piñero opened the front passenger door as the car rumbled to life but stopped before climbing inside. “Man, I think that pathologist likes you. The way she looked at you, she was seriously flirting. Hey, if Phoenix comes to her senses and dumps your sorry ass, you got options. Very pretty options.”

I shook my head. “Dr. Popuri looks too smart to hang out with a guy like me.”

Piñero laughed and said, “Truth undisputed.”

I gave him my most innocent grin as he got in the car. “Besides, she reminds me of my sister.”

33

After reading Mira’s text—Fun not knowing you. Talk tomorrow—I spent more than three hours on IntelliChexx and other restricted search engines that evening. I copied and pasted into separate files every bit of information I could find on Dante Cuthbert, QC Griffin, and Flame Bright Fame. By ten-thirty I had more than twenty pages to print and add to the envelope that held Keisha’s files.

Just before I went to bed, I got a text from Jen Spina: Mom out in a.m. We’re taking