“Krystal not in today?” Ben asked.
“She’s running late,” the woman said without looking up.
“Ahh,” my friend muttered then announced, “Well…don’t guess it matters really. This is actually for you anyway.” He placed the large cup he was carrying onto the surface of the counter in front of her. It was wrapped in a heat resistant sleeve that bore a logo made up of an anthropomorphized coffee bean depicted leaning against a trio of interlocking J’s. Beneath it were the words, Jenna’s Java Joint. The actual contents of the vessel made up more than half the money he’d spent a few minutes earlier. He waited the better part of a minute for a response, but when none was forthcoming he added, “Dull-duh-somethin’-somethin’ coffee.”
The woman on the other side still didn’t look up. She simply kept pushing an ink pen across a form she had in front of her on the lower portion of the desk. As she continued to write, she replied, “Dulce de Leche Latte, Detective Storm. Dulce de Leche.”
“Yeah, that,” Ben grunted.
“I know you know how to say it.”
“Yeah, but it’s more fun this way.”
“For you it seems,” she acknowledged and then asked, “Large I presume?”
“Biggest one they’d sell me, yeah.”
“Whole milk, of course?”
“Uh-huh. And an extra shot of the duh-letchee stuff.”
“Day Lay-chay.”
“I thought that’s what I just said.”
She sighed and shook her head but still didn’t break her gaze from the task before her. A moment later she held out her free hand, fingers and thumb crooked in a semicircle as if she was already grasping the cup. Ben took the cue, picked up the drink and pushed it into her waiting grip. She carefully withdrew the appendage, took a tentative sip of the latte and then let out a small sigh as she curled her hand in and cradled the cup against her shoulder. She still didn’t look up at us. Instead, she shifted down to the next line on the form and continued writing. As she scribbled, she held her head tilted slightly and peered at her work through rectangular reading glasses that were perched low on the bridge of her nose. Her lips moved slightly, though no words were uttered, as she appeared to mouth the sentences she was putting onto the page.
I looked at Ben and gave him a quick nudge. When he turned to me, I shot him a questioning raise of my eyebrow. He simply furrowed his own brow and shook his head then turned back to her and continued to patiently wait. After a good three to four minutes had expired, the woman took another sip of the drink then laid her pen aside and looked up at him.
“Do you know what would go just perfectly with this?” she asked.
Ben lifted his arm and placed a small, white paper bag on the counter where the coffee cup had been. The side visible to me bore several translucent, greasy blotches where the contents came into contact with it.
“If I had ta’ guess, I’d say a fresh apple fritter, right outta the fryer, from Airway Donuts down the street,” Ben replied. “But like I said. I’m just guessin’. Oh, and ya’ might wanna be careful. I think it’s still kinda hot.”
The woman shook her head and smiled. “I know I’ve asked this before, but please explain something to me, Detective Storm. How is it that you, a city cop with whom I’ve only had dealings a handful of times, knows exactly what it takes to brighten my morning, when your counterparts here in the county who have to work with me on an almost daily basis don’t have the vaguest notion?”
“‘Cause I’m a hell of lot better detective than them,” he replied with a grin.
“I see,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If I recall correctly, that’s what you told me the last time. And the time before that.”
“Yeah, prob’ly,” he added with a shrug. “Lookin’ for a different answer, are ya’?”
“Is there one?”
“Between you and me, yeah. Just so happens I was pretty tight with Carl Deckert.”
“Ahh, finally the truth comes out,” she said with a nod at the mention of the former county homicide detective. “I guess I should have known. Although, he always brought me a cherry-cheese Danish with my latte.”
“Yeah, I know. But I overheard ya’ talkin’ one day when you were all excited about gettin’ one of the apple fritters they’d just pulled.”
“And you remembered that?” She chuckled. “So you really are a good detective.”
“That’s the rumor, but don’t spread it around. It’ll blow my cover.”
“Carl Deckert was a good man,” she offered sadly. “I hated when he retired, and I was very sorry to hear he had passed.”
“Yeah, me too. He was a hell of a copper,” Ben agreed with a solemn nod.
“Too bad the other county detectives didn’t learn from him the way you did,” she added.
“Yeah, well if it’s any consolation, Doc Sanders down in the city isn’t exactly my biggest fan. I think she’s immune to my charms if ya’ know what I mean.”
“Hard to believe,” she replied. “Of course, Christine isn’t easy to charm. But then, neither am I.” She took another sip of the latte.
“Nahh,” Ben said. “You’re plenty easy. You just ain’t cheap.”
“I’ll remember you said that,” she quipped and then focused on me. “All right then, don’t be rude, Detective. Introduce your friends.”
“Doctor Audrey Kingston, Chief Medical Examiner for Saint Louis County,” Ben said while gesturing back and forth between her and us. “Rowan Gant and Felicity O’Brien… Rowan an’ Felicity, Doc Kingston.”
I nodded and said, “Nice to meet you.”
Felicity did the same.
Ben had already focused his attention back on the doctor and offered, “Row is a…”
“You’re the Witch,” she said, interrupting him as she directed herself at me. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” I said with a pained smile.
She nodded. “I’m sure you do. The newspapers and television seem to take great delight in your exploits.” She shifted her nod toward Felicity. “Both of you.”
“Yes, they do at that… But, they also have a tendency to blow things out of proportion,” I offered. “So, don’t believe everything you hear.”
I felt odd making the comment. The very idea of stories about me being exaggerated was really a matter of perspective. The media definitely leaned toward sensationalizing everything where I was involved, but that was something I’d learned to live with. The fact that they’d almost tried and convicted Felicity on the airwaves and in newsprint was a different story. However, that was only one side of the coin. There were many things that actually did happen and, moreover, were vastly more shocking than even the media had managed to distort thus far. Fortunately, those particular events had remained out of the public eye for the time being, and if we were lucky, they always would.
Doctor Kingston nodded at me and parroted the complete maxim, “I believe that’s actually anything you hear… As well as, anything you read, and only half of what you see.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled and looked back to Ben. “So…since you arrived bearing gifts, I assume this isn’t a social call. What is it you need from me, Detective Storm?”
“Should be easy,” my friend answered. “Your people brought in a body early this mornin’, and we kinda need ta’ have a look at it.”
She shot Felicity and me a sympathetic frown. “I’m sorry. Is this an identification? Are you the next of kin?”
“No, actually,” I replied, shaking my head.
“Homicide investigation,” Ben explained, waving toward us. “They’re consulting on it for the MCS.”
“Ahh, then it must be something unusual.”
“You could say that,” he agreed.
“Well, if the body just came in early this morning, then we won’t have even started the post, so I don’t have any results for you.”
“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “That’s not really what we’re here f
or.”
“I see. So then exactly what is it you would be here for?” she asked.
He shrugged and gave her a half nod, “That part’s a little complicated, Doc.”
“I thought you said this should be easy?”
“It mostly is.”
She peered over the top rim of her glasses at Felicity and then me. “So is something I’ve heard but I’m not supposed to believe what makes this so complicated, Mister Gant?”
I nodded. “That about covers it.”
She shot Ben a slightly bothered look then rolled her chair a few feet to the right and absently remarked, “Well, if the body came in early this morning, then the paperwork should be right over here on…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, then she lifted a clipboard from the top of the neatly arranged stack. She pushed her glasses farther up on the bridge of her nose then read aloud, “Doe, John… Caucasian, approximate age early twenties… Found nude in a front yard in Briarwood…”
“That’d be the one,” Ben told her.
She scanned the rest of the page in silence then lifted it and looked over the one beneath. Finally she said, “It looks as though the death investigator is finished and any external evidence has been collected…” She paused, frowned, and then said, “That’s interesting…”
“What’s that?” Ben asked.
“Possible cause of death acute hypovolemia, but no blood found at the scene.”
“Yeah…” Ben grunted. “It was a dump. We got another stiff just like ‘im in the cooler downtown too.”
“Really? Same apparent C.O.D. and circumstances?”
“Yeah.”
She nodded, muttered, “Interesting,” and then went back to scanning the pages. We stood there in silence while she continued to read. Eventually she arched an eyebrow and said, “Hmmm.”
Ben pressed, “And hmmm means?”
“Another layer to your complication, Detective,” she replied. After a brief pause, she looked up at me. “Among the evidence recovered was one of your business cards, Mister Gant. Apparently it was lodged in the victim’s mouth.”
Given that the first victim had been tagged with Felicity’s business card, I can’t say that this bit of news surprised me all that much. However, the fact that it was my card and not hers was definitely somewhat unexpected.
“Great,” I mumbled.
“And,” she continued, glancing briefly back at the page. “According to this, it seems that ‘welcome home little man’ was written on the back of it. Does that mean something to you?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I’m afraid it does.”
Doctor Kingston lowered the clipboard then pushed her glasses back down to the end of her nose and stared at all of us expectantly. “And you say you have another body downtown, Detective?”
“Yeah Doc, it’s a serial.”
“And the business card?”
Felicity piped up, “That time it was mine, actually.”
“Like I said, Doc,” Ben told her. “Complicated.”
“I’m not entirely certain that’s a strong enough word, Detective,” she replied.
“Yeah…” he agreed. “You got a better one?”
“Not one that I wish to use in mixed company.”
Ben nodded. “Uh-huh. That was my first choice, actually.”
“From you, I’m not surprised.”
“Sorry I’m late, Doctor Kingston,” a new voice joined the conversation as a harried young woman juggling her purse and a lunch tote shot past us. “Traffic on one-seventy was horrible this morning.”
“That’s okay, Krystal,” the doctor replied. “But now that you’re here, I have some things to take care of in the back.”
“Okay,” she replied as she tucked her belongings beneath the counter. Glancing at us, she smiled and said, “Good morning.”
“It’s been quiet so far,” Kingston told the receptionist as she vacated her chair. “But do me a favor and hold my calls for the next hour or so, okay?” She shot us a quick glance and added, “I have a feeling I’m going to be busy for a while.”
“No problem.”
Still clutching the latte, the doctor re-addressed herself to Ben as she snatched the pastry-filled bag from the countertop. Giving her head an animated nod toward the doorway where the receptionist had gone through to slip around behind the counter, she said, “Why don’t the three of you come back here and try to un-complicate this situation for me.” Holding up the bag while she turned, she added, “And fair warning. I’m eating this while I listen, and I don’t share my apple fritter with anybody.”
* * * * *
We were gathered in Doctor Kingston’s office with the door closed. She was seated behind her desk and, as promised, working very hard at making a portion of the huge pastry Ben had supplied to her disappear. Felicity and I were on the opposite side of the workspace, parked next to one another in a pair of moderately comfortable but still patently institutional-style chairs. Ben, on the other hand, was standing off to one side, in a not-quite-relaxed posture, with his back firmly against the wall so that he could see the entire room, including the door.
My friend had taken up his usual sentry-like position once the rest of us had settled in. He did this most everywhere, but I especially noticed it whenever he was at a morgue. I’d once asked him about the peculiar habit, and he had simply grinned and said, “Don’tcha ever watch zombie movies, white man?”
I knew the answer was intended as a joke; or at least, I assumed it was. Still, I suppose I couldn’t really blame him if it wasn’t. After all, his unofficial partner was a Witch who talks to the dead—or used to, anyway. In his mind, I doubt zombies were much of a stretch.
“All right, Detective Storm, let’s hear it,” Kingston said, focusing her attention squarely on him as she swiveled her chair his direction then leaned back with a piece of apple fritter between her fingers.
“Like I said,” Ben replied, executing a one-shouldered shrug in the process. “We just need ta’ have a look at the body.”
She nodded. “Okay. Why?”
“Part of the ongoing investigation.”
“Detective, I think we can all agree that’s fairly obvious. After all, it’s what we do,” she replied. “And before we waste any more time, you’ve already told me that it’s complicated, so let’s not go there again. How about something new and different that I don’t already know?”
Her demeanor was serious but didn’t seem particularly adversarial. At least things were starting off better than I’d seen them go during some of our visits with her city counterpart.
“Come on, Doc…” Ben groaned. “I’m just tryin’ ta’ do my job.”
“That makes two of us.”
“So let’s make it easy,” he said. “Give us ten minutes. Fifteen tops, and we’re outta your hair.”
“Look, Detective, the latte and fritter got you this far, but you’re going to have to work for the rest,” she explained. “Besides, I’m not saying no. I just want you to bring me up to speed before I allow the three of you to traipse around an autopsy suite. I don’t care if it’s only for sixty-seconds. My turf, my rules.”
“We just want ta’ check a coupl’a things against the stiff we have downtown,” Ben replied. “That’s all.”
“Before we’ve even started the post?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “See. It’s not a big deal.”
“If it’s not a big deal then it can wait for the preliminary autopsy report, correct?”
Ben muttered, “Aww, Jeez… Doc…”
“You’re going to have to try a little harder, Detective.”
“Well, technically the fact that I’m workin’ a case here should be enough, don’tcha think? It may be your turf, but I’m the one with the shield.”
“Oh, I have one too,” she replied. “Want to see it?”
Ben shook his head. “Yeah, I know. But mine says COP, not DOC.”
“That doesn’t really matter.”
&nbs
p; “This investigation is being run by the MCS.”
“I understand that, but since you showed up unannounced, it makes me wonder exactly what’s going on.”
“Friggin’ wunnerful…”
“Well, how about this,” she offered. “What do you normally say to Doctor Sanders at the city M.E.’s office in order to get through the door with her?”
“Honestly?” my friend huffed. “I try not ta’ say anything ‘cause that just starts an argument. We usually sneak in when she’s at lunch and then end up gettin’ caught anyway.”
“Easier to apologize than to ask permission,” she observed.
“With her, pretty much.”
Doctor Kingston dipped her head and chuckled. “Well, at least you’re honest about that.”
“Yeah, well I figure she’s already told ya’ about it at some point, so lyin’ ain’t gonna help me any.”
“You really are a very good detective,” she joked.
“Okay, come on, Doc… Are we just wastin’ our time here or what? I can get my lieutenant on the phone if that’s what you’re needin’ for us ta’ make this happen.”
She tore off a small piece of the fritter then popped it into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Once she swallowed, she nodded as if agreeing with herself then looked up at him and said, “Okay, so tell me this…when do we get to the part where you tell me about the WitchCraft?”
Ben snorted and splayed out his hands in surrender then looked over at me. “All right, Row. I’m done. You’re on.”
Problem is, “on” was the last place I wanted to be.
CHAPTER 20
Usually, whenever I would find myself sitting in a morgue, I’d be in a much worse state than I was right now. The pain trying to claw its way out through the side of my skull would be so intense that I’d be wishing for a family-sized bottle of aspirin. And, the voices inside my head would be so loud that I’d want to wash every last one of those pills down with enough alcohol to send myself into a coma.
What’s worse, all of that torment would be happening before I had even come face to face with the corpse of the victim I was trying to help. It was all just part of the territory.
Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 18