postmortem lividity-the places where blood and other fluids settle after death-are on the front of the body. The body was moved after death.”
“When was he killed?” I asked.
“I’m not so sure he was killed.”
“Not killed! But I saw blood-”
“Yes, on the forehead and the radiator as well. I doubt that blow to the head killed him. I’ll know more after the autopsy, but my guess is that he fell against the radiator, perhaps after a…” He glanced at Frank. “Well, perhaps after a dizzy spell.”
“What were you going to say?” I asked.
“Dizzy spell will do for now,” Carlos said, then seeing I wasn’t satisfied, added, “I understand he had a history of alcoholism?”
“Past history. He’s been clean for at least six weeks.”
“You’re absolutely certain?”
I hesitated. “No.”
“Even if he was clean, as you say, there are no signs of a struggle, and the blow to the head was not too severe. There is bruising on his knees and the palms-the palms, not the knuckles or fingers-as if he fell.” He paused, glancing back toward the room. “It’s very early to say, of course. I’ll know more after the autopsy.”
“What about the time of death-can you estimate that?”
“Time of death isn’t easy to judge under the circumstances. The room is very cold and dry. That has retarded the rate of decomposition. The weather has stayed cold, but there is no way to be certain the room has stayed cold-as I said, judging from postmortem lividity, we know someone was here several hours after the time of death, moved the body, and-well, before I say more, I have a favor to ask. Would you mind coming into the room, taking another look at the body?”
“Of course not,” I said, not sure I really meant it.
I was glad when Frank came with me.
Carlos asked the technicians to step outside for a moment, making the room a little less crowded. The body had been bagged and moved up onto the stretcher. I felt Frank’s hand on my shoulder; Carlos moved over to the bag and unzipped it. The sound made me long for the days of sheets and shrouds.
He beckoned gently. Frank stayed with me as I moved a step closer.
“Now that you have a little more time to look,” Carlos said, “would you please make sure this man is…”
“Lucas Monroe,” I said, my mouth dry. “Yes, it’s Lucas.”
Carlos nodded, then began unbuttoning Lucas’s flannel shirt. I found myself concentrating on Carlos’s fingers and the buttons, the pattern of the flannel. Carlos pulled the shirt open.
Lucas’s brown skin was darkly discolored in places, those on which a face-down body would have rested.
“You see this?” Carlos said, tracing the outline of an odd-colored blotch on Lucas’s chest. He reached into the body bag and pulled out Lucas’s hand. A matching spot was indented into the lifeless palm. “Here and here?”
I nodded.
“Did Mr. Monroe wear jewelry?” Carlos asked.
“His ring.”
“No, not on his fingers, but-”
“He didn’t wear it on his finger. He wore it around his neck, on a metal chain. Didn’t you find it on him?”
“No. Can you describe it?”
“It’s a gold Las Piernas College ring. Ruby or some other red stone in it.”
“This man was a college graduate?” Carlos asked.
“Yes. Probably bought the ring when he earned his bachelor’s degree. Sometime in the 1970s. The school could tell you.” I looked back to Frank. “I told you about it, remember?”
Frank nodded. He called to Reed, who was out in the hallway talking to Vince. “You may be interested in this,” Frank said, and asked me to repeat the description of the ring.
“It was removed several hours after he died,” Carlos added, as Reed took notes.
“By the way, Irene,” Reed said, “any ideas on how we could contact his family?”
I shook my head. “No, but you might try Roberta Benson down at the homeless shelter. She could probably tell you a lot more about him. He’s one of her clients.”
At the word “client,” Frank and Reed exchanged a look, but Reed said, “Thanks, I’ll give it a try.”
Rachel came in to see how I was doing. The room was fairly crowded then. There was nothing more that I could add to their reports, so I managed one last look at Lucas, said a silent good-bye, and asked Frank to take me home.
“I’ll call you later,” Rachel said, and reached to give me a hug. As her arms came around me, I heard the body bag being zipped shut.
15
THE PHONE WAS RINGINGwhen we came into the house. Cody was yowling and rubbing along my ankles as I tried to make my way to answer it. The dogs were barking greetings, and Frank went to let them in. Cody sniffed at my shoes with utter fascination. I slipped them off quickly as I lifted the receiver.
“Irene? This is Claire.” There was a pause, then she added, “Have I called at a bad time?”
The dogs had stopped barking, but Frank was saying, “Down, get down,” in the background as they let us know how happy they were to have us return.
“That’s only our welcoming committee,” I said, forcing a lightness I didn’t feel into my voice. “We just walked in the door.”
“You have pets?”
“At the moment, about three too many. What can I do for you?”
“I found the information on the boat. We bought it in 1974 and sold it in 1977. Does that help?”
“And Ben never went out on the boat with Andre after he sold it to him?”
“No, but why does that matter?”
“You said he burned a photocopy of a picture of your old boat. It helps me to determine when the picture was taken. If Ben never went out on the boat after it was sold, the photo was taken sometime between 1974 and 1977.”
“But couldn’t Lucas Monroe tell you more about the photo, anyway?”
“Claire-I should tell you…” But I couldn’t. I couldn’t speak. Or swallow. Or breathe. Claire said nothing. Frank stopped petting the dogs.
“Irene?” he said. The dogs, Cody, and Frank all looked at me expectantly. I closed my eyes.
“I should tell you,” I began again, “that Lucas is dead. We found his body a few hours ago.”
For several long moments, neither of us said anything. I listened to Frank building a fire in the fireplace.
“I’m sorry,” Claire said. “He was your friend.”
“It’s strange,” I said. “You were right. I don’t know who he had become. Haven’t really known him for years now-I lost track of him a long time ago. Our lives obviously went in very different directions, but at one time we were friends. And I know he wanted to talk to me. The last time I saw him, he said, ‘You could help me-’”
“Now you’ve lost the chance,” she said, filling in the silence. “Yes, I know.”
I figured she did know. “I respected Lucas,” I said after a moment. “That hasn’t changed.”
“He was young, wasn’t he?” she said.
I answered the real question. “The cause of death hasn’t been determined. The coroner hasn’t given an opinion yet.”
“Coroner? Was Lucas killed?”
“Hard to say. It will take some time. We found the body in an abandoned hotel. The coroner doesn’t even know how long Lucas has been dead.”
“This must all be very difficult for you.”
“Look, I’m still going to try to learn about the photographs.”
