you.”
“No good. He’s, uh, dead.”
There was a moment of silence, and then a chuckle. “You’re having a really bad day, aren’t you?”
“Aw, not really. Hey, I was on TV this morning.”
“I saw that. Didn’t realize you’d been promoted to sheriff.”
“What?”
It turned out that one of the reporters had identified me as “Sheriff” Houseman. Great. Lamar was going to love that. I said as much to Larry.
“Tell ya what,” said Larry. “We’ll continue to run this set every week or two for a few months. Just in case there’s a participating venue that’s offline right now, or somebody who’s new coming up online in the next while.”
“Thanks.” A glimmer of hope, regardless of just how faint, is still a glimmer.
“Think we’ll have a white Christmas?”
“Not unless it would cover up a crucial piece of evidence,” I said. “It’s been that kind of week.”
Since Linda’s identification of the deceased was now critical, Hester, Linda, Terri, and I went to Maitland Hospital, where the remains had been placed in their morgue/autopsy room. It was a new installation, built with regional funds, because we were located in the center of a seven-county region. We didn’t get lucky like that very often.
Dr. Steven Peters, our favorite forensic pathologist, had just arrived. I made the introductions and told him why so many of us were there. He unlocked the door to the morgue, and he and Hester went in so he could do a “preliminary examination” of the body. That had never happened before. I was curious. He reemerged about fifteen minutes later, and motioned Linda, Terri, and me in.
The room was about forty degrees, all tile and stainless steel, and very clean. Dr. Peters’s large instrument and evidence case was open, and his camera was on a counter near the remains. The body was lying on a stainless steel table with an indented drain trough that ran around its perimeter and led into a large sink near the dead man’s feet. I could tell from the silvery puddles of water that the body had just been hosed off. It was apparent, at least to me, that Dr. Peters had photographed the dead man, then washed the body so that Linda would have an easier time of it. That explained the “preliminary exam.” The body had been covered with a simple white sheet. It looked really weird, because my eyes went automatically to where you’d expect to see the large lump made by the head, and there was no lump there. Just a sharpish rise, where some fragmented feature had remained attached to the body. Spooky.
“We won’t be looking at the face,” said Dr. Peters. “Just the chest and lower down. Before you look, can you think of any identifying feature you can name?”
Linda drew herself together and said, “He’s got a mole on his stomach, just above his navel. And a tattoo that says ‘Nortino’ on his right arm.”
“‘Nortino’? North?” My Spanish is horrible.
“More like ‘Northern,’ I think.” She was beginning to shake, almost imperceptibly.
“What’s that for?” I asked. “The ‘Nortino’?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
Dr. Peters moved the sheet aside. He’d placed a towel over the pubic area, and another was draped at the top of the shoulders. I saw the mole above the navel. Linda sort of squeaked, and just sat down on the floor and started to cry. Terri helped her up and sat her in a folding chair that faced away from the corpse. I looked across the body to where Dr. Peters stood. He pointed to the upper right arm. I could see – TINO tattooed on the flesh.
I looked back at Linda, who was shaking uncontrollably and making hiccuping sounds. That kind of gut- wrenching sobbing is almost impossible to fake. I hate to be cynical, but it pays to notice things like that. So. I thought the identity pretty much confirmed.
CHAPTER 06
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 19, 2001 10:51
I took a mental inventory of our evidence. Determining how somebody was killed is usually pretty easy. Most killers are in a heightened state and are frequently in a hurry. That often means the method is pretty obvious. It sure as hell was here. Check number one.
Determining just where somebody was killed is sometimes more difficult, but at least a general idea can be gotten very quickly. As in, “not where we found him.” Here, again, that was absolutely no problem. Eyewitnesses coupled with debris are about as good as it gets. Check number two.
The identity of the victim is very important, because that can lead to just why he was killed. Check number three.
Knowing when the victim is killed is critical in being able to place the suspect at the scene. When was a piece of cake in this one, with an eyewitness, and an uninvolved one at that. Check number four.
We were ahead of the game already. At that point, I was willing to bet that we’d have our suspect nailed down within twenty-four hours, and an arrest warrant issued soon after. I was in a pretty good mood.
The next step was for the autopsy to be conducted. Hester stayed for that, and I went back to our office with Terri and the grieving Linda, to obtain some background information on the now positively identified Jesus Ramon Cueva. We just needed some confirmatory stuff, like date and place of birth, relatives, that sort of thing. And, incidentally, are you sure you don’t know of any reason somebody would want to kill him?
At the office, Linda said Jesus Ramon Cueva, aka Rudy, was from Los Angeles. His family was there, and she knew of no relatives any closer than that, but had his mother’s address at home. She said he ‘d been born on July 22,1970. She wasn’t certain where, but she assumed it was in the Los Angeles area somewhere.
“I’ve got his birth certificate at home, and some of his employment papers and stuff.” She was retreating into that dull state that comes after a big shock. I was glad to see that, since I always suspect everybody until I can rule them out. Grief might be faked, but the dullness afterward seldom occurs to the actors. She was genuine, as far as I could tell.
“We’ll need to see that,” I said. “Also his Social Security number.”
“Sure.”
“And a photo, if you have one you can let us take for a while and get it photocopied.” It was going to be a lot easier to ask possible witnesses if they’d seen the deceased if we had a photograph. I cleared my throat. “Fairly recent, if you can.”
“Sure. Okay.”
“Now, Linda, we have to talk about who killed him, and why.”
“I don’t know. I can’t think of anybody. Really,” she said, beseechingly. “I don’t know…”
“Okay,” I said. I hated to ask the next question. “You two have any kids?”
“No.”
“I’m asking, because you may be in as much danger as he was.” I leaned forward, toward her side of the desk. “I’m very serious. You, or people related to you, or friends of yours, may be at risk.”
“Oh, come on, Houseman,” said Terri.
“It’s true,” I said. “Until we know for sure why he was killed and who killed him, we have to assume relatives and associates might also be targets. It’s the only safe way to go about this.”
Terri didn’t seem to buy it.
Linda looked up at Terri and said, “He wasn’t into dope. I know you think he was, but he wasn’t.” That squelched Terri more effectively that I ever could. Then she turned to me. “You want to search our apartment? You can if you want to. I don’t care.”
“How about we just go back with you and get a copy of his birth certificate and the photograph? Maybe look around at some of his stuff, but that’s not really too necessary.” I hate to turn down an offer to search, but we really didn’t have any grounds to even do a consent search of her premises.
“Fine.”
