least I guess they did—all the paperwork's been finished.'
'Can you read me the report? The official proclamation of death.'
'You a friend of the family or something? I don't think they give out that sort of information.'
Ford said, 'It's public record. They have to give it out.'
'The guy hung himself, I know that much. Death by asphyxia, I guess. But I don't think you're right there. They don't have to give it out. They never have before.'
'Does it say death by asphyxia on the death certificate?'
'Look, buddy, there's no one here right now. The medical examiner plays golf on Saturday. You're gonna have to call back. Or try the funeral home, they might have a copy. '
'If he plays golf, who did the autopsy?'
'How should I know? Doc musta come in early. Call the funeral home you want to know anything else.'
Ford called the funeral home again and got the same lady he had spoken with earlier. 'No sir, we don't have a copy of the death certificate. We have no reason to keep a copy.'
'But you have to have a copy before you cremate the body, right?'
'We don't do cremations on the grounds. Everglades Crematorium provides that service for all the funeral homes in the county. On a contract basis.'
'Then why are you taking possession of the remains after cremation? That makes no sense.'
The woman said, 'I'm afraid it's state law, sir.'
'Is that what you told Harvey Hollins, the deceased's brother?'
'Of course I did, sir. It was my obligation.'
Ford said, 'Lady, there's no state law that says a funeral home must be involved in the dispensation of a body. What you told Mr. Hollins was a lie, and you did it so you could get your kickback from the crematorium and your kickback from whatever florist you've cut a deal with on Sandy Key, and so you could carve out a little piece of Mr. Hollins for yourself. I suppose you told Mr. Hollins not to worry about choosing an urn, and that you would be happy to fill out all the insurance forms—if there are forms involved in this case—so you can carve yourself an even bigger piece.'
The woman said, 'I'm afraid I don't like your tone of voice, sir. In times of bereavement, most decent people consider talk of money to be in very bad taste—'
'Which is exactly why the people of this country pay out more in a year to funeral homes than the government spends on providing them with police or fire protection. Lady, I'm going to make sure Mr. Hollins lets me have a look at your bill. There better not be a charge for embalming and the cremation fee better not be padded, and under no circumstances do I want to see your deluxe model last-for-eternity bronze urn on the list. Keep it fair, lady. ...'
And the line went dead.
With a growing sense of urgency, Ford dialed Everglades Crematorium. The remains of Rafe Hollins were being disposed of much too quickly, and Ford had no idea what he could do to stop it. What he did know was that, with no body, there would be no way to prove Rafe had been murdered—short of a confession. A man answered, and Ford asked when Hollins was scheduled for cremation.
'Who wants to know? You with the family or something?'
Why was that always the first question? Ford decided to take a chance. 'I'm with the Florida Department of Criminal Law, the governor's office. We're thinking about red-tagging the remains pending an investigation by our office.'
'You're shittin' me—whoops. I mean, you don't want us to do it?'
Ford said, 'That's exactly what I mean. If we decide to go ahead with the investigation, we can have the papers to you by . . . Tuesday,' trying to buy some time so he could . . . what? Contact some newspapers; maybe get a good investigative reporter interested. With luck and the promise of publicity, there was a chance the governor's office might actually be involved by Monday afternoon ... a slim chance.
The man said, 'Who's this speaking?'
'Captain Lewis, FDCL.'
'Hang on just a minute, Captain Lewis.'
Ford sat listening to the silence, thinking. Even if the guy fell for it now, there was no way they'd hold the body through Monday on the strength of a phone call. But that, at least, would give him tomorrow, Sunday, to get something going; an extra day. No one in government worked weekends.
'Captain Lewis?'
Ford said, 'Yes.'
'I'm real sorry, Captain Lewis, but I'm afraid you're a little late. They just ran him through . . . cremated him, I mean. Came out 'bout ten minutes ago. But look, we did everything we're supposed to do. Called the medical examiner, got approval just like the law says; observed the forty-eight-hour waiting period—'
'Forty-eight hours? They didn't find the body until late yesterday. And the medical examiner wasn't even in this morning. He plays golf.'
That set the man back; made him even more nervous. 'All I know is, we got a call direct from the sheriff, and around here that's as good as the medical examiner. The sheriff does that sometimes; fills in when Doc Carter is busy or out of the county. He said everything was in order; said for us to go ahead. You got any more questions, maybe you should talk to him.'
Ford said,'You're sure the body's gone?'
'I caught them before they put the ashes in the pulverizer but, yeah, it's gone all right.'
'Then maybe you can tell me a couple of things. What's the death certificate say about the cause of death?'
'Well . . . wait a minute, we got a copy here someplace. I got the coroner's tag. That good enough? On the tag it says asphyxia due to hanging; be the same on the certificate unless you want me to read it direct—'
'Any notations about whether photographs were taken or fingerprints made?'
'Well . . . no, but they usually do that. They don't have to, but it's normal procedure—'
'Who ordered the cremation?'
'The family, probably . . . wait a minute—they got that written right here on the tag, too. That's kinda weird. Usually the order comes in separate, not on the medical examiner's tag. But it says here cremation by request of Mrs. Helen Burke Hollins. That's the guy's wife, I guess. Maybe his mother. You want us to put a hold on the ashes? Pieces of bone now, mostly. You promise to get the papers to us by Monday morning, we can do that.'
Ford said, 'No. You can release the ashes. '
He had one more call to make, an anonymous call, but that would have to be from a pay phone. He wanted to contact the FBI; give them what he knew about the boy. Just in case everything else failed. . . .
SIX
Ford idled into the marina to get his evening quart of beer. He was tired of the talk of death; felt like kicking back and taking a good, deep bite of life for a change. Several of the women doctors had returned, looking relaxed in beach clothes, shiny hair combed just so, standing there on the dock talking to Jeth. Ford pretended to study his mooring lines until Nicholes called him over and made introductions. There was one he liked: Dr. Sheri Braun- Richards. Short blond hair, nice athletic body, something solid behind the blue eyes and a smile that didn't strain.
Ford listened politely until he had established she wasn't one of the neurotic nonstop talkers or one of the man-haters who had girded herself in the flag of feminism, then struck up a conversation. She was a gynecologist from Davenport, Iowa. Had a confident manner and a quick sense of humor. Ford laughed at her stories because they were funny. And did he live all alone on the gray house out there, the one built on stilts? Must be nice hearing water lap all night long. She had always been interested in marine biology, but knew nothing about it, living in Iowa all her life. Ford could see the evening taking shape; could see it in Dr. Braun-Richards's blue eyes. Nothing overt, but not coy; aware that a subliminal process of selection was going on; aware that, because she was on vacation, there was no time for the normal presexual proprieties. Ford liked that awareness. And he had gone long enough without a woman.
'I think someone's calling you.' She was pointing at the marina office, amused that he hadn't heard MacKinley banging on the window.
