“You’re probably right.”
I suspected Jose Gonzales had probably died of natural causes that had been left untreated because he was afraid that the local clinic would have to contact the Immigration and Naturalization Service, and he’d be deported. We’d tried to dispel that rumor by explaining that medical confidentiality would prevent the INS from being notified, but it just didn’t seem to take. I said that to Hester, too.
“Right, again.”
And, just to top things off, we’d inherited a dog. I said that, too. I looked over at Hester, who reached into the backseat and brought the puppy up to the front seat with her. “Aren’t you so cute,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“Not you, Houseman. You’re just grumpy.”
“Hmmm.”
“What should we name him?”
“Hold on, there, Hester. You name ‘em, you own ‘em forever.”
She was holding the little beagle up in front of her face. “He’s got such big, floppy ears. Don’t you? Don’t you? Yes. Hey, maybe we should call him Big Ears.”
“You’re doomed. That’s now your dog.”
It didn’t seem to bother her a bit. Not even when she said, a few seconds later, “One little problem…”
“Oh?”
“I’d be glad to take him tonight, but they don’t allow dogs at the motel.”
Hester, like all DCI agents who stayed on a case in Nation County, had to grab a motel. The nearest agent actually lived in Waterloo, about seventy-five miles away, and after putting in a long day, nobody wanted to do what amounted to a minimum of a hundred-and-fifty-mile commute.
“I’m not taking him home,” I told her. “Hell, we don’t even know if he’s housebroken.”
“I was thinking the coram center at the jail,” she said. “There’s somebody awake there all night, and they could watch him for me.”
“Lamar’s gonna hate that.”
“Oh, Lamar will be just fine. Trust me,” she said.
As it turned out, Sally and a new dispatcher named Pam fell just as hard for Big Ears as Hester had. It was easy to see how. The damned dog charmed the socks off the whole bunch in seconds. They even prevailed upon me to go to the Pronto Market and get dog food for it.
“Treats,” said Pam. “Don’t forget treats.”
“Treats?” I answered. “What you want?” I was thinking in terms of Mars bars and that sort of thing.
“Something like little bones flavored with bacon,” she said. “Not the really big ones; he’s too young for those. The smaller ones.” She looked at me. “For the dog. Treats for the dog.”
I was starting to get disgusted when one of our antiques burglars-I think it was Clyde Osterhaus-hollered out from the cell block and said, “What’s going on out there?”
Big Ears curled his lip and growled at Osterhaus. Sort of a little rumbling sound. Treats on me.
CHAPTER 10
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 19, 2001 21:09
Just as I got back to the comm center from the market, Dr. Henry Zimmer was walking in from the parking lot to the door. I walked in with him.
“Hi, Henry.”
“Carl, just the man I’m looking for.”
“Why? Am I sick?” Sometimes I crack myself up.
“No, but that last ME case you sent to me this afternoon sure was. Really, really sick.”
“Well, yeah,” I said, buzzing the door and staring up at the security camera. “I mean, he was dead.”
“Sicker than that,” said Henry. He sounded much more serious than usual.
The dispatcher recognized us and triggered the unlocking mechanism. Henry opened the door for me, because I’d gotten a bit carried away and had a ten-pound bag of dog food and three boxes of assorted dog treats in my hands.
“Thanks.” He and I walked back toward the comm center, where we caught sight of Hester with Big Ears on her lap.
“Was Hester at this unattended death, too?”
“Yeah. Turned out the dead guy was supposed to be a witness of sorts in the homicide.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Not been my day.”
We entered the comm center, and pleasantries were exchanged between Henry and the gang while I divested myself of the dog rations.
“Can I talk to the two of you?” asked Henry, indicating Hester and myself.
“Sure,” she said, and put Big Ears on the floor.
“Cute dog,” said Henry, and leaned over and scratched Big Ears’ head.
I closed my office door. “What’s up?”
“This Jose Gonzales who you found this afternoon,” said Henry. “Do you know where he’s from, or where he’s been the last few days?”
“Nope. Not yet.”
“I think you better find out. We’re going to need to know.”
Hester and I looked at each other. “Sure,” I said. “Why?”
“What killed this man,” said Henry, “was extremely virulent. Much more than pneumonia. Much more. Acute hypoxic respiratory failure. Severe pulmonary edema. The man’s lungs were absolutely full of liquid, and so was his upper GI tract. His nasal passages were completely shut, and even his eyes were infected. When I pressed on his abdomen to check for masses, he ejected about a quart of bloody liquid from his rectum.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what got him, but I’ve called the State Board, and he’s being transferred to the University Medical Labs in Iowa City. Whatever it is, it might be transmittable from one person to another.” He paused. “So, then, are you two feeling all right?”
“Jesus, Henry,” I said. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I think I better see you both at the clinic yet tonight. Who else was present?”
I called Sally and had her get the contact information for the Battenberg ambulance crew, the social worker, and the Battenberg chief of police.
“I think I can guess,” said Henry, “but where did he work?”
“The packing plant. Should I notify them?”
“Just let’s find out when he last worked, and who the workers are in close proximity to him. Anybody who cohabits with him. I don’t know if this is a poisoning, something toxic in their environment, or if it’s a rare sort of disease, or what. Regardless, they’ll have to be examined, too. Everybody in contact with him, or who works or lives in the same place.”
I just stared at him for a second. “Uh, there might be a little problem with that…”
While Henry poked and prodded us at the clinic, I finally got to use my cell phone to its fullest extent. My first call was to Ben Hurwitz, the manager of the packing plant. I told him it was extremely urgent that we find out when Jose Gonzales, aka Orejas had last worked. He was reluctant, but I told him it was either that or warranted search of his company records.
“This is a joke, right?”
“No, Ben. Not at all. And I think I can promise we’ll be there yet tonight, if we do the search warrant bit.”
“I’ll see what I can do. What’s your number?”
I gave him the number at Dispatch, and then called Harry over in Conception County. I got him at home.
“This is gonna be good, isn’t it? “he asked.
