“Yeah, too many,” Sin replied, taking off her gloves and walking out of the autopsy room.
“I don’t mean any disrespect, Agent O’Malley, but you appear quite young to have witnessed many.”
Sin followed Quincy back to his office and took a seat before responding. Grateful for a hot cup of coffee, she sat across from the doc and took a sip of the much-needed caffeine. “Unfortunately,” she began, “age doesn’t seem to be a prerequisite for dealing with death. I have been in almost every fucked up place on this planet, and I’ve seen most of the horrific things that man can do to man. So don’t let my age fool you.”
“Fair enough,” Quincy said with a greater degree of respect in his tone. “So tell me what you think of our victim.”
“It’s not what I think of our victim that’s important,” Sin replied. “It’s what our vic can tell us about our killer.”
That got Quincy’s attention. He sat up straighter in his city-issued, high-backed leather chair and placed his cup on his desk. “You’ve piqued my interest. Please don’t stop there.”
“I don’t know any more than you do at this time,” Sin said, “but you have to admit the MO is rather unique. In my experience, I don’t remember a killer who painted their victims.” Sin paused and sipped her coffee. “If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that our killer wants to be noticed and is looking for publicity,” she pointed a finger at Quincy, “and that’s exactly what we are not going to give him.” Moving forward on her seat, Sin rested her elbows on the desk. “Now let me pick your brain.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Tell me everything you know about embalming.”
Quincy began to explain the embalming process when Sin’s phone rang.
“Excuse me for a moment, Doc.”
After saying ‘hello,’ she didn’t say another word until, ‘goodbye.’
“I’m afraid the lesson is going to have to wait,” she said. “That thing I mentioned a few minutes ago, about not giving this creep publicity . . .”
“Yeah?”
“It just went to shit. That was my boss letting me know that Captain Rand is holding a news conference in fifteen minutes in front of Miami Beach City Hall.”
Quincy look confused. “Why? He’s not even in charge of the case?”
Sin stood and stretched. “Damn good question,” she said. “I guess we’ll just have to listen to what he has to say.”
6
“We interrupt our broadcast to take you to City Hall where a press conference is about to take place.”
Ash watched in anticipation as the screen switched from the anchor desk to a reporter who was standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to City Hall. “That’s right, Jim. Captain Jonathan Rand of the Florida Department of Law Enforcement has called a news conference concerning the horrific discovery on Mid Beach early this morning. I was on the scene earlier, and I have to tell you, I’ve never seen anything like what you are about to hear.”
“Listen to that squeaky-voiced little twit,” the gravel-etched voice behind Ash spewed. “What is she? Twelve?” Ash ignored the voice and waited in silence, but the voice continued mocking the reporter. “It’s doubtful she has any idea what she just said, but look at her, she sure is proud of herself.”
While the pert, mid-twentyish reporter posed for the camera like a prom queen who had just changed careers, Ash could see movement and commotion over her shoulder.
The reporter glanced behind her before continuing, “It seems Captain Rand is ready for the briefing. I will send the broadcast back to you, Jim.
“Tiffany “Tiff” Swenson reporting.”
“Tiff,” the voice grated, “even the name is enough to give you diabetes. I wonder who she blew to get that job.”
Ash leaned toward the television set. He didn’t want to miss anything the captain had to say.
Rand was dressed in a navy blue suit with a white shirt and a yellow ‘90s power tie. The collar of his shirt was already streaked with sweat as he took his place behind the bank of microphones.
“I have a prepared statement to read,” he said, “and there will be no questions at this time.”
A rumbling rose from the crowd like smoke billowing from a clogged fireplace. Rand reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Slapping the center mic with the palm of his hand, he immediately quieted the murmurings.
“At approximately six-thirty this morning, a body was found on the portion of Miami Beach known as Mid Beach or Condo Canyon. Miami Beach Police Department and the FDLE have been on top of this situation and are working to apprehend the perpetrator of this crime. We have asked for and have received assistance from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and it is the FBI who will be handling this case with the cooperation of city and state agencies. We are asking the citizens of this great city to aid us in this endeavor by reporting any unusual or suspicious activity directly to the FBI hotline. The number is at the bottom of your screen. I’m sure the Bureau will be holding its own news conference in the next few days, and at that time you may ask your questions. Thank you.”
The reporters immediately started yelling, wanting to know every detail in regards to the name of the person who was placed in charge of the investigation. Rand tucked the folded sheet of paper back in his jacket pocket, turned, and made his way back through the front doors of City Hall. Three armed officers made sure that no reporters followed.
“Did you hear him?”
Ash’s shoulders twitched upward in a defensive posture trying to keep out the offensive noise. He didn’t want to hear what else she would say, but as always there was no relief.
“He didn’t even mention your art. He totally ignored your work. That,” she shrilled, “is worse than negative publicity!
“Not to worry,” her voice suddenly
