Tasha arrived half an hour later. “What? One body in your building today wasn’t enough?”
“Upstairs neighbor—Roseline Pageotte. The apartment is well over a hundred degrees and rapid decomp has taken over.”
“No air conditioning?”
“The A/C units here blow fuses all the time. Inside each apartment is a hallway closet where you’ll find a fuse box and a stack of fuses on the shelf. Landlord doles them out like candy so tenants won’t call him.”
“Got it.” Tasha started for the building.
“Tasha, you might want a mask.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Two assistants followed her inside, carrying medical bags. One turned back as soon as he stepped into the building. We could see through the stairway windows Tasha and the other assistant climb the stairs. The second assistant made it as far as the third-floor landing before she ran down the stairs, out the door, and puked on the sidewalk. Tasha disappeared down the hall from sight as we waited. A few minutes later an officer standing at the far corner of the building gave a thumbs up signal. Tasha must’ve opened the living room window.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my palm as Quille wiped the sweat on his neck.
He looked up at the building, then over at me. “We could wait in your apartment where the A/C is already cranked.”
“I get enough ode of death at work. My apartment door is staying closed and locked until the building airs out.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” he said, wiping the sweat from his neck again. “Are you going to stick around and work this case?”
“Assign one of the new guys, but I’ll walk the scene. Officially, I’m not back yet.”
“And unofficially?”
“I have an issue with two dead bodies in my building.”
“And when are you officially back on the job? Before or after you catch the guy?”
“Depends on who did it,” I answered before hopping off the tailgate and walking toward the building.
~*~*~
I was still in Roseline’s apartment when Gibson, a first-year detective, arrived. He walked in, nodded to me, then turned to question Tasha. “Time and cause of death?”
“Not sure yet,” Tasha answered as she bagged Roseline’s hands.
“Was she sexually assaulted?”
“Not sure.”
“Can you identify any weapon used against her?”
“Not yet.”
“Is there anything you can tell me?”
Tasha shifted her weight away from the body and looked up at Gibson. “Your tie is butt ugly.”
I snorted and walked over, pulling Gibson away from the body by his elbow. “You piss her off and you’ll be ousted from the homicide unit. You can’t work a body case if you don’t play nice with the ME’s office.”
“I need the information for my report. I’m supposed to ask questions.”
“Look at the body, Gibson. What’s the cause of death?”
He looked back at the body and grimaced. “Why’s she all puffy like that?”
“Bloating. The air conditioning was out and the oven was on. It was hot in here.”
“That’s why Tasha can’t answer the questions? Because the body got too hot?”
“The heat impacts the body, yes. The organs start decaying at a rapid pace. Tasha will get you answers when she can, but you need to work the scene. What piece of information did you just miss?”
Gibson looked at me. I could see him back tracking in his mind, trying to find the missing clue. “The oven. Why was the oven on?”
“She was cooking a roast.”
“Was it burnt?”
“More dehydrated than burnt. She was slow cooking it, so it shrank into a molted glob of blackness, barely recognizable as meat.”
“Her attacker showed up sometime after she put the roast in the oven but before it was done cooking.” He held up his notepad and looked at me. “How long does it take to cook a roast?”
“Do I look like Betty Crocker?”
He looked down at my outfit of linen pants, flats, and a satin shirt. “More like Martha Stewart.”
I glared at him. “Call your mommy. Call your girlfriend, or boyfriend, or whoever cooks for you. I don’t really care who you call.”
“My mother knows how to cook roasts, but what if later she’s asked to testify? I don’t want to drag her into this.”
“It’s only information to narrow down the time of death until the ME’s office gives us their report. You need to have a window of time to ask people their whereabouts.”
“Right.” He walked into the kitchen and studied the roast, before placing a call.
“Be sure to tell her the potatoes hadn’t been added yet,” I called out as I walked toward the door.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
I didn’t answer. I jogged down one flight of stairs and unlocked my apartment. Uncle Hank sat in my living room, stretched out on my couch in plain clothes, watching TV.
“Did Aunt Suzanne kick you out?”
“Nah. But she told me you called about an overcooked roast. I figured you were working a case, so I called in and heard the hub-bub.” He sat up, placing his sock covered feet on the floor. “Should I be worried? Two dead bodies in one day?”
“Technically we only found them today. They died yesterday.” I tossed my handbag and keys on the table and retrieved a garbage bag from the kitchen. “I’m taking a shower. Gibson’s been assigned the case. He’s working to narrow down the timeline.”
“You didn’t share the information you got from your aunt?”
“What fun would that be?”
I disappeared down the hall and stepped into the bathroom. Stripping my clothes, I tossed them in the garbage bag, including my underwear, and pulled the tie tight. Careful not to be seen, I placed the bag in the hall before closing the
