'Do you remember him?'
'Yes. Yes I do. We get people like Derrick every once in a while.'
'What do you mean, people like Derrick?'
'I'm sure you know what I mean, hence your call.'
'Necrophiles?'
'A distasteful minority in this profession. Has Derrick been caught with his pants down, so to speak? There are strict regulations against such activity, of course, but I wasn't aware of it being illegal.'
'This is a homicide investigation, Professor. I take it you knew about Derrick's, uh, appetites?'
'I suspected. Never had proof. My best students remain aloof, detached, when embalming. Derrick was always a little too intimate with the bodies. Plus, there was that incident at SIU . . .'
'Excuse me? Do you mean Southern Illinois University?'
'Yes. They have an excellent mortuary school there. Derrick transferred from there to here.'
And Bingo was his name-o.
'Was he expelled?'
'Not that I recall. Rather, he was encouraged to leave. If memory serves, one of their cadavers went missing, and suspicion fell on Derrick. There was never any evidence, though. It caused quite a stir in the academic community.'
'Did he have any problems while at Worsham?'
'No. Excellent student. Did good work. I always had my suspicions about him, though. He murdered somebody, you say?'
'Accessory.'
'That makes sense. I've always wanted to write a novel, with a mortician as the villain. It would be ridiculously easy, in our profession, to dispose of a murder victim.'
'Cremation.'
'There's that. But are you aware of how many closed casket funerals go on in this business? Some folks die beyond our ability to reconstruct them. Some families simply don't want to view the departed.'
'So you're saying . . . ?'
'A mortician could easily place more than one body in a casket, and no one would ever know.'
'Thank you for your time, Professor.'
I hung up, excited. I not only had a connection between Fuller and Rushlo, but it gave me an idea on how we could get Rushlo to fess up.
I left Libby a message on her cell, and then occupied a few hours reviewing backlog cases. During my absence, Chicago lived up to its reputation of being the murder capital of the U.S. We averaged about 600 a year, but we were already at over 585 and the busy holiday season wasn't even upon us yet.
Immersing myself in paperwork turned out to be good therapy, and by the time five o'clock rolled around, I'd only thought about Fuller intermittently, rather than constantly.
I called home, got no answer, called Alan's cell, and got his voice mail. I told him I'd be home early, and left the office.
The snow had turned into freezing drizzle, and the ride took twenty minutes longer than normal, because every driver on the road collectively forgot how to drive in freezing drizzle.
After retrieving my mail, I went up to my apartment, walked into the living room, and caught sight of a very old and very naked man having sex with my mother on the Hide-A-Bed.
I immediately turned around and went into the kitchen. They hadn't seen me, having been too involved in the act. Perhaps their mutual moaning had masked the sound of my footfalls.
I considered my next move. Make a lot of noise, so they knew I was home? Sneak out? Ask them to quit it, because I was now scarred for the rest of my life?
I chose sneaking out. A twenty-four-hour coffee shop/diner was a few blocks away, but the freezing rain wasn't enough to erase the image branded on my brain, of Mr. Griffin's naked bottom rising and falling. I also found myself thinking, quite surprisingly, that it wasn't a bad butt for a guy his age. Firmer than I might have guessed.
I had coffee, and a Monte Cristo sandwich -- hot turkey, ham, Swiss cheese, and bacon, on two pieces of French toast. The sandwich came dusted in powdered sugar, with a side ramekin of raspberry jelly. It didn't make sense that jelly went so well with turkey and ham, but for some reason it worked. I suppose some things that worked didn't need to make sense.
After killing an hour in the diner, which seemed to be more than enough time for my mom to finish, I called the apartment.
No answer. Perhaps they were napping in the post-glow.
Wanting badly to shower and change clothes, I again braved the inclement weather and made my way back home.
They were still going at it.
I didn't get an eyeful this time -- the groaning was enough to keep me at bay. I turned and walked right back
