by Radclyffe
“Maybe you should’ve booted me in the ass a little sooner than this,” Jay said.
“You weren’t ready to be booted. Besides, it’s better if you boot yourself, and it sounds like maybe you are. What brought the change of heart?”
Jay shrugged, not entirely sure herself. “Being told I wasn’t good enough, maybe. Looking at a long day ahead of me and nothing to do that mattered.”
“Sounds like a good place to start.”
“Yeah, but I just blew my chances.”
Ali looked unperturbed, just like she always did when a problem cropped up, never deterred or discouraged. “Did you see Greenly?”
“For about five minutes right after Price. He didn’t have much to say except the standard line—he’d heard good things about me, glad I was interested, certain everything would work out. And then he was gone.”
“Well, he’s got the final word.”
Jay sighed. “Not if Dr. Price has anything to say about it.”
“Like I said—don’t be so sure.”
“I’ll work on that.”
“Good. Beau says hi, by the way, and to get your butt over for dinner.”
“Tell her I’ll be there next time.”
Ali nodded and blew out a breath. “I have to get going, but I’ll check with you later after I’ve made a few calls.”
“Look, you don’t have to—”
“Yeah, I do. You’re one of mine, remember?” Ali stepped over the bench and cupped the back of Jay’s neck, looking her in the eye. “You always will be. And you need to get your ass back to work.”
“Thanks,” Jay murmured as Ali disappeared around the corner. She leaned her head back against the lockers and closed her eyes. She needed to do something to feel worthwhile again. She wondered if she’d be able to convince Olivia Price of that.
*
As soon as roll call ended, Sandy slid a dollar into the antiquated vending machine in the hall outside the muster room and grabbed another coffee. Trying to drink and walk upstairs to the Narcotics Enforcement Unit on the second floor of the precinct house without burning her mouth and other critical structures, she mumbled bleary mornings to the officers she passed on her way. She ought to be used to working days by now, but even after a year she still preferred nights. When she’d walked the streets instead of working them, she’d never crawl out of bed before ten at night, stroll until dawn, cadge breakfast one way or another from a friendly café owner, and crash by noon. Now she was up at six, showered, dressed, and at the precinct house by seven, pretending to be awake for roll call. At least she could work in a polo shirt and chinos instead of a patrol uniform, so she didn’t have to polish shoes or brass. Small blessings and fifteen minutes saved. She’d cut her hair to collar length and styled it in loose layers so it didn’t need anything except a finger comb. Lucky for her, Dell liked it short as much as she had long and tangled. According to Dell, as long as it was still blond, she was happy. Sandy smiled to herself—as long as Dell was getting laid regular, which she was, Dell was happy. Keeping her that way was no hardship, for sure.
The only reason she didn’t mind days at the moment was Dell was working days too—so she got to curl up with her after they had night sex and wake up to morning sex. That made the misery of early wake-ups worth it. Sex with Dell anytime was always worth it. Except she usually fell asleep after having been properly tended to—thus round two of the coffee this a.m.
She’d barely made it through the dispatches on her desk from the night before when the phone balanced between her desk and her partner’s rang. Since she was the only one sitting there, she grabbed it.
“NEU—Sullivan.”
“This is Palmetti, Homicide. Where’s Nunez?”
Sandy ground her teeth. Another dickhead who thought he was too important to talk to the rookie, even though she hadn’t been a rookie for a year. She scanned the room for her partner. Oscar Nunez was leaning against the water cooler, flirting with one of the uniforms.
“Busy with his hand on Turner’s ass.”
Palmetti laughed, a husky cigarette bark. “Yeah—that sounds right.”
“What can I do for you?”
“We got a DB we think has your name on it.”
Figures, a personal call could only mean they were trying to turf one. Sandy slugged the coffee she wasn’t going to get to finish, winced at the taste, and pulled over a pad and pen.
“It being male or female?”
“Female, youngish. Crack house down on Delaware.”
“Who called it in?”
He scoffed. “Landlord—at least that’s who he says he is. Came looking for rent.”
“And we want this why?”
“Couple of glassines next to the vic look designer—got a marking we’ve never seen before.”
Sandy perked up. “What kind of marking?”
“Weird waves with some kind of wings inside a circle.”
“Like a canceled stamp?”
“Yeah—could be that, if you close one eye and squint. You coming, or do I have to buy your dinner first?”
“Maybe you could bite me instead.”
Palmetti laughed. “I’ll be waiting, sweetheart.”
“Uh-huh. You do that.”
Still laughing, the homicide dick gave her the address.
“Body still there?”
“You’re my first call. CSU’s doing their thing. We’ll get the MEs rolling next.”
Sandy sighed. A DB likely drug overdose wasn’t going to get priority attention if there was more on the docket. “Try to get them there before noon.”
“I’ll work on it,” Palmetti said and disconnected.
Sandy stood, shoving the scrap of paper with the details in her pants pocket. Oscar was still romancing the pretty redhead from records. “Hey, Oz, we caught one.”
Oz gave the redhead another grin, murmured something no doubt smooth and soulful in her ear, and lazed his way over to Sandy. His sharp gaze belied his bedroom manner. “What you got?”
“A turf from homicide.”
“You let them talk you into that?”
They’d been partnered for three months since Sandy transferred into the drug division from a stint with vice, but they meshed like they’d been together a decade. Funny, since they couldn’t be more different—Oz had six years’ more street experience, two previous wives plus a sorta-serious girlfriend, four kids to support, and an eye for everything in skirts. Sandy was only a year out of the academy and had spent her life on the same streets Oscar had been walking, but she’d been trolling them for johns before working as a civilian CI for the High Profile Crimes Unit. That was how she’d met Dell and everyone else who mattered to her, and now she was on the job, settled down with her forever woman, who just happened to be the sexiest detective in the whole department.
“Remember the briefing about the new designer scag that showed up in NYC and Chicago—the super-deadly one?”
Oz’s brows drew down over his dreamy chocolate eyes. “Wings or something, right?”
“Bird—but the brand is supposed to be a wing. Anyhow, this might be it. So if you’re done romancing the next Mrs. Nunez, we should probably check it out.”
He waggled his brows. “Always so serious, partner. You gotta loosen up.”
She grinned. “I got plenty of excitement in my life, don’t you worry about it.”
“Do tell me about it sometime.”
“Don’t you wish.” If she told him just how hot Dell was in bed, or what a rush it was when Dell went undercover and Mitch came home, pumped up and ready for action, Oz would think she was making it up. Besides, the fewer people who knew about Mitch, the better. “Your heart couldn’t take it.”
Sighing, he pulled his topcoat off the back of his chair. “Just what we don’t need. Another goddamn epidemic of deadly shit on the streets.”
“Might be just another routine OD.” Sandy slouched into the bomber jacket she’d borrowed from Dell and never returned, a
nd followed him into the hall. She liked wearing Dell’s clothes, even though they were all a little too big for her. Felt like carrying a little piece of Dell around with her.
He gave her the eye as they tromped down the stairs. “Routine OD. Yeah, right. You feeling lucky?”
“Don’t believe in it. Worse case, it’ll be a short batch and the mess will run its course before the ODs start stacking up on us.”
“We can only hope.” He didn’t sound convinced.
Chapter Four
Olivia reached the auditorium only forty-five minutes late for morning review. She slipped through the door at the rear so as not to interrupt the presentations, and stopped short. The lights were on, but the tiered rows leading down to the stage and podium were empty. The screen at the back of the stage where the case summaries, X-rays, and histo slides should be projected was blank. Where was everyone? By her account, another ME along with Dr. Greenly, the lab techs, and at least two path residents should have been occupying the first few rows. She checked her watch even though she didn’t need to. She knew what time it was.
Of course, she should have known if Dr. Greenly was running the morning meeting, it would be brief. He’d probably called an end to the meeting as soon as the new cases were logged and distributed. Usually, each ME and resident presented their ongoing cases as well as those that had just been closed, giving everyone the opportunity to comment or sometimes provide very valuable feedback on those cases that were less than straightforward. She sighed. Well, at least she could get on with her day. Once she finished the autopsy she’d started earlier, she could check with everyone else on the status of their cases. Not the way she’d like to do things, but thus far the entire morning had been out of sync. Oddly, she felt out of sync too, as if she’d overlooked something important or failed to recognize the significance of some subtle but key finding. The sensation of things spinning outside her control was disquieting.
Luckily, she knew how to settle her unusual case of nerves.
Turning to leave the room, she texted the diener to prepare case 17A290-1 for her. By the time she got down to the Graveyard and prepared, he should have the body ready. When she entered the anteroom to don her protective wear, she glanced through the glass partition separating the prep area from the main autopsy room. Several other procedures were under way. At least everyone was working. Frowning, she checked her table. It was empty. Just as she hung her lab coat on its customary peg, the diener came through the outer door behind her.
“Morning, Doc.”
The thin redhead was dressed in his usual maroon scrubs, the ID clipped to his chest pocket so faded with time, Olivia suspected it was close to her in age. “Morning, Elliot. I texted you, but I guess you didn’t get it.”
He frowned. “No, I got it. But then I ran into Dr. Greenly and he asked me to get his car ready, and when I told him I was on my way down here to prep your case, he told me I didn’t need to.”
“Sorry? Did he say why?”
“No, ma’am. He just said you wouldn’t be doing the case until later.”
Sending the morgue attendant to bring his car around was exactly something Dr. Greenly would do, and she couldn’t say a thing about it. His use, or rather misuse, of department personnel and in all likelihood other things was simply not something she could change. Seeing how distressed Elliot was by the lapse he had no control over, she smiled. “That’s fine, just miscommunication. You can get the body ready for me now.”
“Absolutely.” He pulled on a fresh pair of shoe covers from the blue plastic bin by the inner door. “Won’t take me a minute.”
The hall door opened again and Dr. Greenly filled the frame, holding the door ajar with one arm. “Ah, Dr. Price, there you are. I’ve been trying to reach you.”
Olivia checked her phone and didn’t see a message. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get anything from you.”
“Well, no matter. I’ve got you now. I’d like to see you in my office for a moment.”
“I was just about to start a case. Could we—”
“No, no, that’s fine. This won’t take but a minute. Elliot can wait, can’t you?”
“Yes, sir—no problem at all.”
“You go ahead with the rest of your work, Elliot,” Olivia said. “I’ll text you when I’m ready.”
“Sure thing, Doc,” he said, looking from Olivia to Greenly with obvious confusion.
Olivia grabbed her coat and followed the chief down the hall to his office. He held open the door and allowed her to step through before him.
“I thought you might want to reorganize your schedule so you could introduce Dr. Reynolds to everyone and give her an idea of how things run around here.” Greenly crossed to his desk and hiked a hip onto the front edge.
Olivia stopped short. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. I spoke with Dr. Reynolds this morning as you requested. She’s obviously a very accomplished physician, but she’s not right for—”
“I understand your reservations,” he said with surprising sincerity. “The circumstances are unusual, I agree, but Philip Andrews feels confident that with her previous clinical experience along with the advanced laboratory year in pathology she’s already completed and some intensive direction from us, she’ll meet the requirements to sit for the pathology boards with no trouble.”
“Of course, Dr. Andrews is in charge of his training program, but that doesn’t mean that our training program is flexible enough or that we should compro…” She struggled for words that wouldn’t be completely insulting to her superior. “I simply want to be sure we don’t alter our standards.”
He held up a finger. “And neither do I. That’s exactly why I’m assigning her to work with you exclusively for the time being. As things progress, we can reassess the supervisory details.” He checked his watch. “She should be here anytime. I called her just a few moments ago and gave her the good news.”
“I am sure she was quite surprised,” Olivia said dryly.
“That’s an understatement,” Jay said from the open doorway.
Olivia turned. Jay wore the same plain dark trousers and blue pinstripe shirt she’d worn for the interview, although her thick dark hair and the shoulders of her light jacket looked sodden. “Still raining, I see.”
“Spring showers.” Jay flicked wet strands off her neck with a slim, long-fingered hand.
Surgeon’s hands, Olivia couldn’t help but think. “Do you have any business to wrap up with your previous department?”
“Nope. I’m free and clear.” Jay’s gaze was direct as she met Olivia’s. “And I appreciate the opportunity to work.”
“All right then.” Olivia bowed to the inevitable. If Greenly had approved this special program, she would have to make the best of it, at least if—or until—it became apparent Dr. Reynolds could not meet the same standards as the other residents. Were that the case, then they would need to dismiss her without jeopardizing her eventual career path. She would be certain of that when she wrote a recommendation for whatever position Dr. Reynolds planned to pursue next.
“Well then,” Olivia said, “let’s start—” Her phone vibrated and she pulled it from her pocket. “It’s intake—excuse me a moment…This is Dr. Price.”
“It’s Bobbi, Dr. Price. We’ve got an unattended DB, PPD just called it in.”
“Address?” Olivia asked, switching to a text screen and typing in the address. “I’ve got it. On my way.”
“We’re rolling now,” the investigator said. “Meet you on scene.”
“I have a new fellow with me, so wait after photos if we’re held up.”
“Roger.”
Olivia slid her phone away. Jay watched her expectantly, and she motioned her to follow. “Well, your training is about to begin. We’ve got a scene investigation to do.”
“What is it?” Jay asked.
“Unattended death. It’s up to us to determine if it’s an automatic autopsy or a natural death.”
Dr. Greenly said,
“Dr. Reynolds probably wants to get settled before she—”
“Sounds good,” Jay said, keeping her gaze on Olivia. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”
“Come with me,” Olivia said, “and I’ll get you a field kit.”
“Thanks.”
“Well then, good luck,” Dr. Greenly called as Olivia and Jay slipped into the hall and let the door close behind them.
“So how does this work?” Jay said as they walked. “Do you…attend every death the police investigate?”
“If the police are involved, probably ninety percent. Any violent death, accidental or otherwise, requires an autopsy by law. In the case of hospital deaths or when the circumstances are otherwise clear-cut, the medical investigators who do the initial phone intake may just arrange for transport or release the body to the family.” Olivia turned a corner into the brightly lit equipment bay. “The ME and the MLIs—the medicolegal investigators—will respond to any suspicious death, suspected suicide, potential homicide, MVA, mass casualty, and the like.”
“And you’re on call today?”
“This month. If I’m tied up at an active scene, the second call will take over.”
“Sounds familiar,” Jay muttered.
“Somewhat, I’m sure.” Olivia pointed to a row of wide gray lockers. “You can claim one of those to store your personal effects. Some people prefer to work in scrubs, but you will be suiting up in the field if necessary, so street clothes are appropriate if you prefer. When doing an autopsy, you’ll also be wearing an impermeable cover gown, but you’ll probably be most comfortable in scrubs.”
“I’m good for now.”
“Fine. Let me show you where the field kits are, and we’ll sign one out for you.” Olivia led Jay into the adjoining room, really a big walk-in closet, with shelves on either side and red tackle boxes lined up on the bottom row.