“How about Gregory? Mr. Rudd.” I had to ask.
“Nope. His was just a head.”
Just a head. How far we’d come in only a few short minutes.
“Their necks were severed between the fourth and fifth cervical vertebrae. Ligaments, cartilage. My impression is that whoever did it took their time. Not in any big hurry.”
I exchanged a glance with Jeri.
“Their heads had been refrigerated but not frozen,” Boyce went on. “Hard to tell for how long, or at precisely what temperature, so time of death is unknown. All the charts for decomposition rates are screwed up—autolysis, putrefaction. If I had to guess, I’d say Sjorgen died between three and eight days before we got him.”
And he’d been missing for ten.
Beside me, Jeri stirred. “Potassium,” she said.
Boyce’s smile turned plastic. “Come again?”
“Potassium in the eye fluid. Doesn’t depend on temperature. Surely you checked that?”
Boyce gave me a look. I shrugged and said, “You did, surely?”
He sank back in his chair, eyes on mine, not Jeri’s. Finally he said, “Where’d you dig her up?”
Maybe that was coroner humor. I watched Jeri carefully for signs of activity, prepared to tackle her if she tried to leap across the desk and deadlift him, or pass him through the nearest available knothole.
His look swiveled to Jeri. “You know a lot.”
“One can never know too much.”
He continued to gaze at her for a while. Finally he said, “Not a word of this beyond these walls, but Mr. Sjorgen died seven days ago, give or take approximately an eight-hour window. Mr. Milliken died one day before that.”
“Thank you,” Jeri said. “Was the penis in Mr. Sjorgen’s head his own?”
I stared at her. I wouldn’t have thought to ask that in two years. But that thing about potassium levels had been right on the tip of my tongue. Wish she hadn’t beat me to it.
“Far as we can tell,” Boyce said, leaking smoke. “The lab work won’t be in for a while, but we’ve got something of a preliminary ID on the organ.”
That would be Dallas’s statement. Things were coming together. Not in any useful way, but parts of the police end of it were falling into place.
Speaking of which, Fairchild, Officer Day, and a policewoman with a .45 Glock 20 on her hip and a neck like a Steelers lineman barged into Carroll’s office.
“You,” Fairchild said, face red, staring at me.
“I,” I replied.
“You’ve really done it this time, Angel.”
I got to my feet. Carroll had been warning the detective off with his eyes, but Fairchild was on a tear, wasn’t picking up on it. Guess he didn’t know we were pals, yet.
I stretched my back, felt a vertebra pop back into place. Heard it, too. It felt good, best I’d felt since leaving Jeri’s gym. I turned to Jeri. “Whose turn is it to buy lunch, kiddo?”
“Yours,” she said, standing up.
“Figures.”
Fairchild spun in place, trying to keep up. He wasn’t used to being ignored. “Huh? What?”
“Take a seat,” Carroll said, huffing smoke in Fairchild’s face.
* * *
“Kiddo?” Jeri gave me a look as we headed for her car.
“Feel honored,” I said.
“If you say so, Tonto.”
Okay, this was going to take some work. I don’t think Spade or Hammer had this much trouble with the word, or the dames.
Fairchild, Day, and the lady cop came outside as we were getting into the Porsche. Fairchild scurried over, lighter on his feet than I would’ve thought. Day lumbered. I wondered how he would fare against Jeri the giant-killer. Ninety minutes ago I would’ve said no contest. Now I would have flipped a coin.
“Not one word, Mort, okay?” Russ said, forcing his lips into something resembling a smile. He was making nice. Carroll had set him straight. As I’d realized, the penis thing was the ultimate lever. If that got out, no one at RPD would know a moment’s peace.
I made a silly zipping motion across my mouth, just to yank his chain.
“And you.” Fairchild turned his gaze on Jeri. “Uh, who are you, by the way?”
“Private citizen,” I told him.
“Yeah? How ’bout you introduce us.” He swept his eyes over the car, coveting it or memorizing it, I couldn’t tell which.
I smiled. “Maybe later. We’re kinda busy right now. You know, lunch?”
“She’s a dick,” Day said.
“Huh?” Fairchild stared at him, then at me.
“Private eye,” Day said. “Name’s DiFrazzia.”
I was impressed. The behemoth had a brain, retentive qualities. He wasn’t just another pretty face.
Russell grinned. “That right?” I thought he’d pursue it, but he was still trying to smooth the waters. All he said was, “Next time you go out for a jog, how about notifying Traffic Division first.”
“Oh? Was there a problem?”
“About twenty-six thousand dollars’ worth, all told.”
“My, that’s a shame.”
“Thought you’d think so.”
Jeri sensed the moment, fired up the engine, backed out, and headed for the street. Fairchild, Day, and the lady cop stood in the parking lot and watched us go.
“You did good,” Jeri said, gunning it up north, past Kuenzli and across the Truckee River.
“Thanks.”
“I mean it. You scored points.”
“With whom?”
She shrugged. “Me. Life. You show promise, Mort. For a while there I thought we were in for a booking, just for the hassle value.”
“No one knows hassle like the IRS.”
She laughed, a nice genuine feminine sound. A gorgeous lady, strong as hell, but I sensed that there was breakable stuff in there too. She’d put up walls to hide the crystal.
* * *
We were barreling along Sixth Street, headed west. I sensed that Jeri didn’t have a plan. We were putting distance between us and Fairchild. “What do you make of it?” I asked her.
“Of what?” she said, downshifting hard.
Momentum shoved me forward against the seat belt. “Jonnie. Wanger stuffed in his skull like that. What’s the message?”
“You think it was a message?”
“Probably. Most likely.”
“You tell me.”
I shrugged. “Someone was calling him a dickhead?”
Jeri grimaced. “Or maybe that he thought with his cock instead of his brains. Or maybe there’s no message, Mort. It might be one of those sicko Columbian necktie things.”
“It’s sicko,
