Very, very occasionally Ducci personally went to a crime scene if it was really important, or the morgue, to check out the marks and bruises on a body for himself. But he never dealt with the wet stuff. That was for the serology people.
“You got a cause of death yet?”
“The report’s coming later today.”
“Okay, so what’ve we got here?”
Sanchez filled him in on what they had on the case so far. Not much.
“I’d like to see the autopsy report and the crime-scene sketches and photos,” Ducci said, happy to be in on the ground floor for once. Most detectives didn’t even tell him what the case involved or what he was looking for. “Don’t keep me in the dark.”
“Fine.”
Ducci sat back, satisfied, and patted his stomach some more. Pleased as he was, this was about as far as he wanted to go with the case at this point. He examined Sanchez and frowned. “Where you been anyway? You look fried.”
“Mexico. Went for a week.”
“No kidding.”
“Yeah, lots of sun. What about you? You look like you haven’t seen the light of day all summer.”
In the last weeks of August, Ducci’s unlined face was still winter pale. His shiny black hair, untainted with gray, sat like a burnished crown on his head. He shrugged. He didn’t like more of the light of day than came through the window. “You go with your girlfriend?”
“Who might that be?” Sanchez’s frown appeared crooked because not all of his right eyebrow had grown back where the scar was. It made him look more quizzical than he had before. Ducci knew the plastic doctor had told Sanchez he could fix it, but Sanchez didn’t seem eager to buy.
“Hey, I thought you and pretty one were a known quantity,” Ducci said.
“No way, man. You know the Chinese.”
Ducci shook his head. There were lots of Asians of all kinds as well as Indians in the labs. But no, he really didn’t know the Chinese.
“Inscrutable,” Mike said.
“What’s that, some kinda disease?” He laughed, holding his stomach.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“So, what did you go for?” Ducci changed the subject. He had a minute before getting back to the microscope. He was working on twelve pubic hairs from twelve different people found on the bedspread of a well- known hotel where a guest had raped a maid. Serology said they had identified almost as many different semen stains. Seemed like a lot of people were in too much of a hurry to turn back the covers.
“Hey, why all the questions?” Mike demanded.
“Just being friendly. You’re pretty inscrutable yourself.” Ducci was sure Mike and April had something going. So what was the big deal? “You don’t want to tell me about Mexico, that’s fine.”
“I went to see my ex-wife, happy now?”
Mike looked so unhappy about that, Ducci didn’t think he should let it go. “Want to tell me about it?”
“No,” Mike burst out angrily. He glanced at the skull on the chair, shaking his head. “She wanted to say good-bye, okay? She’s dying. Cancer. You happy now?”
“Oh.” Ducci’s face softened. Lot of times he went too far and felt like a real jerk. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I always ask people a lot of questions, guess it goes with the territory.”
He pulled a Snickers bar out of the center drawer of his desk, held it out to Mike as a peace offering.
Mike looked at it as if it were a dead animal he wouldn’t touch under any circumstances. “No thanks. Can’t afford the calories.”
“So? Neither can I. Never stopped me, never will.”
“Yeah, well, sign for this, will you, and I’ll get that other stuff to you as soon as I can.” Mike shifted the papers with the skull on top back to Ducci’s chair while Ducci signed for the box and its contents.
As Mike went out the door, Duke shrugged and opened the candy wrapper.
20
Sergeant Joyce had made the day’s assignments first thing after roll call. Five of the eight detectives on the day shift were working the Maggie Wheeler homicide. Healy and Aspirante were out in the field looking for witnesses in the neighboring shops on Columbus Avenue who might have seen something Saturday night they didn’t at the time know they were seeing. Detective Stevens, a tough young black man pretty new to the squad, was working the phone, checking the boutique’s Saturday receipts. With the help of MasterCard and Visa, he was putting together a list of the names and addresses of the seven people who had made charges that day. The store didn’t take American Express, so that narrowed it down. They were out of luck with the people who had paid cash, but you never knew who might turn up with information later. Mike had gone to the police lab.
April got back from questioning Hadgens just around noon. Downstairs, three scraggly members of the press loitered on the metal chairs, their knapsacks and coffee cups on the floor around them, looking like homeless waiting for a meal. If there wasn’t a break in the case by that night or the next morning, they’d give up on the meal there and move on to something hotter. As she passed the two eager-looking young men and hawk-faced woman on her way to the stairs, April ignored them, and they ignored her.
In the squad room Mike was on the phone. He raised his hand in a small wave. “Yeah, I want a printout of all the calls coming in and out of that number. Yeah. Thanks.” He hung up. “Maggie Wheeler’s home number,” he said.
April dropped her bag in the bottom desk drawer. “What’s new?”
He looked her over. “Not a whole lot. What about you?”
His way of examining her as if she were a storm front on a weather map made her nervous. Today his gaze was so intense, she could feel herself beginning to sweat, suddenly anxious that she had done something terribly wrong, or something was inappropriate about her makeup or outfit. That day she was wearing hardly any makeup, a pale blue cotton jacket over a white blouse and khaki slacks. Her outfit was very conservative. Not even the top button of the blouse was ever open. She didn’t want anyone looking at her with monkey business in mind.
Mike knew everything. He was studying her so intently, she thought maybe he’d already heard about Dr. George Dong. It occurred to April that she’d forgotten to ask what kind of doctor Dong was. She frowned, thinking about Skinny Dragon Mother’s treachery, then hauled herself back to the moment. This case was a whole lot of blanks.
“I talked to one guy in Maggie’s phone book. Possible abuser of some kind. He knew what I was calling about, but said he didn’t know anything more about it than what he saw on the news.” She brushed at some stray ashes on the seat of her chair before sitting down. “He says he didn’t call her this weekend and hasn’t spoken to her in years.”
Mike picked up on her doubt right away. “But you think it’s possible he knows more than he’s saying.”
“Yeah. Maggie’s boss said she’s been here for only six months. How come she had his number if he hasn’t spoken to her in years? Doesn’t add up. What have you been up to?” She narrowed her eyes at him, preparing for a lie.
“I went down to the M.E.’s office to pick up the crime-scene stuff and took it over to Duke. Now he’s got everything.”
“Did you look in on the autopsy?”
“Sure. And stayed for breakfast.”
“It was scheduled for this morning.” Was that a lie? She looked at her watch.
“I know.”
“You seem to know everything,” April muttered. “Duke say anything?” Her desk was behind Mike’s. He had to swivel around to face her. Now his feet were up on an open drawer and he was facing out at the pen, the holding cell in the middle of the squad room. It was empty at the moment.
Except for Maggie, it was a pretty quiet day.
