CHAPTER 7

ROSCO RETURNED TO police headquarters half an hour before his three P.M. meeting with Lever. His intention was to duck into the morgue early and persuade Carlyle, the medical examiner, to show him Briephs’ body—without the watchful presence of the lieutenant. But Lever was a step ahead. He’d given strict orders that the corpse couldn’t be viewed until he arrived. The M.E. passed the message on and retreated stonily to his office.

At precisely three, the lieutenant stepped off the elevator and smiled. “Why doesn’t it surprise me to find you here early?”

Rosco shrugged.

“I’ll get Carlyle. He’s got to open up for us.”

The three men walked the length of a musty corridor, then passed through a set of double doors that swung heavily on their hinges.

Rosco had been in the morgue a hundred times before, but he never got used to it. The drop in temperature alone was enough to make his blood freeze. Everything was stainless steel: the four examination tables, cabinets, sinks, everything. The room had the threatening glint of a cutlery store. As they walked in, Carlyle’s assistant, Estelle, was in the process of running a scalpel down the center of a dead woman’s chest—throat to navel. The ash-blue skin peeled back like a sausage casing. The cadaver had been drained; there was no blood. Rosco thought Estelle looked disappointed.

Along the far wall were body bins. Four rows of twenty-five. A hundred drawers in all. Each was stainless steel, with a handle and a slot for the name of the current occupant. Rosco was amazed at how many bins were full. Over twenty of them had nametags.

“Why so busy?” Rosco asked Carlyle.

“We’ve got four unclaimed; other than that, no more than normal for a heat wave. Read the obits, Polly—Crates. People die all the time.”

Rosco was surprised at Carlyle’s surliness, but he guessed the M.E. didn’t like people double-checking his work.

“Briephs is over here. Number eighteen.” Carlyle slid the large drawer out and pulled back a pale blue sheet, revealing the deceased’s head and chest. “You want to see the whole thing?”

Lever looked at Rosco. “Well?”

“You tell me, Al. I can see the marks on his neck.” Rosco glanced at the M.E.

“I’ve got work to do. Let me know when you’re finished here.” Carlyle turned and headed back to his office, having no desire to discuss his sketchy report.

“Well, Al, anything below the waist?”

“These are the only marks.”

“How’d you find him? Faceup? Or down?”

“Up.”

“And tied?” Rosco lifted Thompson’s arm. “Nothing on the wrists?”

“Carlyle says that type of abrasion wouldn’t necessarily show … Especially if he was tied up voluntarily. Heart attack, like he says. This sort of thing happens quick. They don’t struggle. It’s his contention Briephs’ heart stopped beating before the oxygen supply was cut off.”

“What’s with Carlyle, anyway? He’s not usually so disagreeable.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like people second-guessing him.”

Rosco lifted Briephs’ head and took a closer look at his neck. “‘Respiratory and heart failure due to exertion and extenuating circumstances’ leaves a lot of room for second-guessing … Estelle, could you come here for a minute?”

She left her cadaver and ambled toward the two men. In the cold glare her face looked ghoulish and gray. “Yes?”

“What’s your read on this one?” Rosco asked.

“We try not to contradict one another here, Mr. Polycrates. You’ll have to check the official report … You’re no longer with the department.” She strolled back to her work.

Rosco shook his head. “She’s a big help … Al, look at his neck closely. Ten’ll get you twenty this guy was nailed from behind.”

“So.”

“So … If he was strangled from behind, why’d you find him faceup?”

“The girl turns him over,” Lever said as though he were talking to a five-year-old. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. She doesn’t believe she actually killed the poor schmo and she turns him over for a look-see. Then she panics and reties him … Maybe it’s not even a girl. Maybe it’s a guy. Who knows what Briephs was into …? Drop it, Rosco. Why drag the family through the gutter? You’re making this out to be something it isn’t.”

“I don’t like it. How much pull does this Bulldog Roth character have down here?”

This struck a nerve with the lieutenant. “Don’t push your luck with me, fella. If I thought there was something to investigate, I’d be on it. Nobody tells my department what to do.”

“I’m still going to check it out.”

“Well, start down in the district, start with Congress Street. My money says you find your answers there … Unless it was a boy-boy thing. But, check on them, too. Have a ball.”

“No,” Rosco said as he slid Briephs’ body back into the wall, “I’m going to look around his house first.”

Lever began coughing. It seemed to go on for nearly a full minute. “I’ll have one of my men take you on the police launch,” he eventually squeezed out. “I don’t like my crime scenes agitated.”

Rosco smiled. “Don’t bother, Al … I can get there on my own hook. Besides, you know what they say: If there ain’t no crime … there ain’t no crime scene.”