Donovan cocked his head to the side, the way dogs do when they don't understand a command. Under his left armpit was a magazine with cars on the cover.
'Is your name really Jack Daniels? You're a woman.'
'Thank you for noticing. I can show you my ID, if you want.'
He wanted, and I slipped the badge case off my neck and opened it up, letting him see my name in official police lettering. Lieutenant Jack Daniels, CPD. It was short for Jacqueline, but only my mother called me that.
He grinned. 'Name like that, I bet you really score.'
I gave him a conspiratorial smirk, even though I hadn't 'scored' in ages.
'Run through it,' I said to Robertson.
'Mr. Donovan entered this establishment at approximately eight-fifty P.M., where he proceeded to buy the latest copy of Racing Power Magazine...'
Mr. Donovan held out the magazine in question. 'It's their annual leotard issue.' He opened it to a page where two surgically enhanced women in spandex straddled a Corvette.
I gave it a token look-over to keep the kid cooperative. I cared for hot rods about as much as I cared for spandex.
'Where he proceeded to buy the latest copy of Racing Power Magazine.' Robertson eyed Donovan, annoyed at the interruption. 'He also bought a Mounds candy bar. At approximately eight fifty-five, Mr. Donovan left the establishment, and proceeded to throw out the candy wrapper in the garbage can in front of the store. In the can was the victim, facedown, half covered in garbage.'
I glanced out the storefront window and looked for the garbage can. The crowd was getting larger and the rain was falling faster, but the can was nowhere to be found.
'It went to the lab before you got here, Jack.'
I glanced at Benedict, who'd sneaked up behind me.
'We didn't want things to get any wetter than they already were. But we've got the pictures and the vids.'
My focus swiveled back to the scene outside. The cop with the video camera was now taping the faces in the crowd. Sometimes a nut will return to the scene and watch the action. Or so I've read in countless Ed McBain books. I gave the kid my attention again.
'Mr. Donovan, how did you notice the body if it was buried in garbage?'
'I...er, Mounds was having a contest. I forgot to check my wrapper to see if I'd won. So I reached back into the garbage to find it...'
'Did the can have a lid?'
'Yeah. One of those push lids that says 'Thank you' on it.'
'So you reached into the push slot...'
'Uh-huh, but I couldn't find it. So I lifted the whole lid up, and there part of her was.'
'What part?'
'Her, uh, ass was sticking up.'
He gave me a nervous giggle.
'Then what did you do?'
'I couldn't believe it. It was like, it wasn't real. So I went back into the 7-Eleven and told the guy. He called the police.'
'Mr. Donovan, Officer Robertson is going to have to take you into the station to fill out a deposition. Do you need to call your parents?'
'My dad works nights.'
'Mom?'
He shook his head.
'Do you live in the neighborhood?'
'Yeah. A few blocks down on Monroe.'
'Officer Robertson will give you a ride home when you're done.'
'Do you think I'll be on the news?'
On cue, a network remote truck pulled into the lot, faster than the crappy weather warranted. The rear doors opened and the obligatory female reporter, perfectly made up and steely with resolve, led her crew toward the store. Benedict walked out to meet them, halting their advancement at the police barricade, giving them the closed crime scene speech.
The medical examiner pulled up behind the truck in his familiar Plymouth minivan. Two uniforms waved him through the barricade and I nodded a good-bye to Robertson and went to meet the ME.
The cold was a shock, my calves instant gooseflesh. Maxwell Hughes knelt down next to the tarp as I approached. His expression was all business when I caught his eye, drizzle dotting his glasses and dripping down his gray goatee.
'Daniels.'
