one single thing I ever liked about her, but I was not afraid to admit that probably said more about me than it did her. I watched the cab turn the corner, stuffed my hands in my pockets and headed to where the victim lay, all the while questioning my past preference in women.
Something about that cab, though.
I slipped on a pair of latex gloves, walked up and saw Sandy leaning over the body. She turned and faced me as I walked up. “Just like Cora said, Jonesy. Caught her right between the eyes.”
I looked at the victim’s body. A pool of blood had formed under her head. A shopping cart and it’s contents lay next to her, the groceries scattered about. “I see that. Where’s Miles?”
Sandy stood, then turned to face me. “You okay, Jonesy? What was that back there?”
I looked at her, trying to process too many things at once; the discovery Sandy and I had made together just hours ago, our love making, another shooting victim, the cab that just went by. It was a lot of information. “What?” I said.
“Who was that?”
“I don’t know. Just someone in a cab. It was weird. How many people have you ever seen that look away from a bunch of cop cars?”
Sandy frowned, tilted her head. “What cab? What are you talking about? I’m talking about the woman. Who was that?”
“Oh, that,” I said. “Uh, her name is Becky Connor.”
Sandy chewed on the inside of her lip. “Well, I don’t like her. She seems kinda…brassy.”
I puffed my cheeks, then blew out a breath. “Let me tell you.”
“Oh, you will, boss man, you will.”
“Well, uh, as long as we’re on the subject,” I said, “I guess I should tell you something.”
“Yes…”
“You know, just so it’s out there.”
“What?” Sandy asked, a note of skepticism in her voice.
I looked down at my feet, not quite sure how to say it. I did not know if it would matter to her or not. “Well, you see, the thing is…”
“You were married to her?”
“Well, yeah, but the key word here is was. As in I was married to her, but now I’m not.”
“You never told me you were married.”
“I’m not.”
“But you were,” she said.
“Right. But I’m not now.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“You didn’t ask. Besides, I thought you would have detected it, Detective.” I watched her expression and picked up a hint of jealousy. Just a whiff. The fun kind though.
I hoped.
“Besides,” I said. “It was a mistake. I was just waiting for the right woman to come along.”
Just then, an overweight bald man in a cheap suit walked in eating a double cheeseburger. He held the burger with three fingers, the other two pinching the cardboard container underneath the sandwich as a drip tray. He held an unused napkin in his other hand. He had caught the end of our conversation. “Hope that wasn’t her.”
I looked at him without saying anything. Sandy said, “Excuse me?”
The fat man took another bite of his cheeseburger, chewed three times, pushed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth like a wad of chewing tobacco, and spoke with his cheeks puffed full of food. He pointed the empty box at me, but spoke to Sandy. “He said he was waiting for the right woman to come along. I was just commenting that I hoped it wasn’t this one here,” he said as he waved his napkin at the body. Then he turned and faced me. “How’s it going, Jones man? Crime Scene been here yet?”
Wally Wright, Deputy Coroner of Marion County, placed his napkin in the empty box and then shoved the box into his suit pocket. Ron Miles walked up behind him, and the four of us, me, Sandy, Wally, and Ron all adjusted ourselves into a little circle. Miles nodded at me and Sandy, but spoke first to Wally. “Took you long enough.”
“Yeah well. Traffic. What can you do?”
Miles wrinkled his nose, sniffing the air. “You said you were going to bring me something to eat.”
“Didn’t have time to stop.” Wally took a few steps over toward the body, looked down, then back toward the group. “Are you all done here? Where’s your crime scene people? I’ve got shit to do.”
Miles shook his head. “God damn, Wally. We’ve been waiting on you for a preliminary assessment.”
Wally took in a deep breath, belched, then let out an exasperated sigh. He squatted down next to the body, and when he did the bottom of his jacket rode up on his waist and revealed his ass crack. A mole rode high between his cheeks, and the entire thing looked like a hairy, upside down exclamation point. His left hand pulled something out of his pocket, then went to his mouth. He stood, visibly swallowing as he did. “GSW to the head. Probably dead before she hit the ground. Maybe I should have been a cop. Okay if I get the gurney now?” He walked away, not waiting for an answer.
Miles looked at me. “Was that a French fry he pulled out of his pocket? I think it was a French fry. He said he was going to bring me something to eat.”
Sandy looked at me, then Ron. “Did you get a chance to look at the security tapes?
Miles shook his head. “Not yet.”
Sandy turned to me. Want me to take a look?”
“Yeah,” I said. “See what you can see. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Ron and I watched Sandy walk away. We looked at each other for a moment, then Ron said, “You getting any of that?”
“Course he is,” Wally said as he pushed a gurney in front of him. “It might as well be tattooed on his forehead. I really should have been a cop. You guys are something, you know that?”
Ten minutes later I saw Sandy as she headed back over to where Ron and I stood. Her face was gray and the corners of her mouth were turned down. “What’s the matter?” I said. “Are you alright?”
She held up a CD. “Got the shot on tape, Jonesy. It’s bad.”
“Well, we sort of knew that,” I said, and I soon as I did, I regretted it. “Aw, jeez, that was a shitty thing to say wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”
Sandy looked at me for a second like she might not be sure, but then I saw her soften up. “No no, you’re right. I just…“
“Yeah, I know. What’s on the disc? What does it show?”
“Everything. Everything except what we need that is. Picture isn’t good enough to get the plate. Not even close. I don’t know, maybe the lab can do something with it, but I doubt it.”
“Alright, good, good. Send it back to the shop with Crime Scene and see what they can do. I’m going to have Rosencrantz and Donatti come out here. We need to figure this fucking thing out.”
“All right. What are you doing?” Sandy asked.
“I’m going to church.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Most people who know me think the reason I became a police officer was as simple as the fact that my father was one, and while there may be a measure of truth in their suppositions, I think the reasons are deeper than even I sometimes understand.
