Chapter 6

The body was small and delicate. She must have been about 10 years old. Dark hair. No marks, scars, tattoos. No fillings. No braces. No signs of sexual abuse.

Why would someone kill a 10-year-old girl? They must’ve walked up behind her, put her in some kind of headlock, and then given a single violent twist.

“The mob?” Bruno asked the Chief.

—“That’s what the newspaper said, but it’s not what I said.” Dr. Cronkite was about Bruno’s height, but thicker. He had a barrel chest and muscular hands with flashy, expensive-looking rings on several fingers. His dark brown hair was close-cropped, and his eyes, also dark brown, had a world-weary quality that only partially masked a mulishly focused sensibility. “I did not call it a ‘gangland slaying,’” said the doctor. “I merely observed that the cause and manner of death were painfully obvious.” He turned to address Chief Black. “Did you know we were the violent-crime capital of the U.S., two years running? Of course you did. Everyone around here knows that …” Now he seemed to be addressing Bruno, though he wasn’t actually looking at him. “But they don’t think through all of the implications: Since Camden’s the crime capital, that makes me the number-one medical examiner in the country.”

Bruno didn’t know how to respond. Fortunately, Dr. Cronkite switched to a different topic. “Say, you look familiar. Your family from Camden?”

“My mother grew up in Parkside.”

“No kidding. Mine did too. Never mind, it’s all changed now. Look at this poor kid.” He lowered his voice a notch. “I didn’t name her Ginnie Doe. To me she was always ‘the faceless girl.’ It was the Pest that started calling her Ginnie Doe. And they were the ones who jumped to conclusions about mob involvement. I try to stick to the facts.”

The Chief saw his opening. “I agree. The mob wouldn’t do this kind of thing—to a kid. My staff says this doesn’t square with mob ‘family values.’ In fact, the people we talked to were pretty upset when they heard about it. They said they’d never do something like this to a child.”

“Yeah, they’ve sure got principles.” Dr. Cronkite was distracted by an electronic beep coming from the front room. He looked toward it anxiously, then forced his attention back to the business at hand. “I didn’t think you had much wise-guy action over in Gardenfield.”

“Some of them live there, but they make it a point not to bring business home with them.”

An awkward pause ensued as Dr. Cronkite started to move away, his attention obviously fading. Then a thought struck him. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Chief.” He seemed more substantial, suddenly, as he turned to face them. “Ginnie Doe, here, is practically a cold case already. Why the sudden interest?”

Chief Black explained, “My associate, here, is a psychic. He wants to examine the girl for … evidence.”

Dr. Cronkite shrugged. “You stay in this business long enough, you see everything.” He tossed Bruno a pair of latex gloves.

Bruno put them aside. “I can’t use these. I have to make direct contact.”

“It’s your life,” said Cronkite. And he left the room.

Bruno turned away from Chief Black and placed his hands carefully above the dead girl’s heart. He shut his eyes. He breathed deeply with palpable emotion.

“She didn’t see it coming,” he announced.

“No? How do you know?” asked the Chief.

“No fear. In fact, there’s not much of anything.”

“What’re you telling me?” The Chief’s voice was rising in frustration.

“This is unusual,” said Bruno, opening his eyes.

“No kidding,” said the Chief. “Usually when there’s a dead kid, the parents are freaking out. Calling every 10 minutes. As if the next time they call maybe I’ll tell them it isn’t true. This time there’s nobody looking for her. No missing persons reports. We don’t know who she is. No one knows. No one cares.”

Bruno looked carefully at the Chief during this outburst, but didn’t respond directly. “I need to take a lock of hair. Is that OK?”

“OK with me,” said the Chief, feeling deflated. “But you have to check it out with the Doc.”

The Chief led Bruno to the front office, where they found Doctor Cronkite sitting at his desk, his dark eyes fixed on the computer screen. The Chief gave Bruno a nudge to get his attention and then moved a couple steps closer to Dr. Cronkite. “Hey, Doc,” he shouted. “My friend here wants to take home a souvenir. OK with you?”

Doctor Cronkite ignored the question.

“You should see these numbers,” replied Cronkite. “St. Louis is catching up. And we can’t forget about Detroit. New Orleans. D.C. Don’t forget, Chief, I’m counting on your help.”

“Let’s go,” the Chief said to Bruno. They returned to the lab, where they found a pair of surgical scissors on a tray of instruments. Bruno snipped a lock of hair and placed it carefully in a Ziploc bag. He lingered a few moments, studying the body until the Chief pulled him away.

Out in the parking lot, Bruno seemed to revive. “Did you get what you needed in there?” the Chief asked.

“I won’t know until I examine this at home.”

“We could use a breakthrough. Soon. I mean, when’s the psychic stuff going to start happening?”

“Hoo hah! Already you’re starting to kvetch? You want psychic stuff, you’ll get psychic stuff. I guarantee it. But maybe you should be a little bit careful what you wish for.”