'But you're a detective, aren't you?' Parker objected.
'This isn't my case. I'm doing a movie, remember?'
Officer Jackson came back to where we were standing. She gave Derrick Parker a small, tentative smile. I'm sure she recognized him, but when she spoke, Merrilee Jackson was strictly business. 'They're all on their way.'
'All?' I asked.
'Someone's coming from the medical examiner's office. So are two detectives. Davis and Kramer.'
It wasn't exactly by the book, but Officer Jackson had taken a little initiative, and calling everybody at once would probably save time.
I nodded. 'Good,' I said. 'By the way, we haven't been introduced. I'm Detective J. P. Beaumont, and this is Derrick Parker.'
She held out her hand. 'Merrilee Jackson,' she said, shaking my hand, but flashing Parker a wide grin. 'I'm glad to meet you.'
Merrilee Jackson didn't comment aloud on Derrick Parker's star status, and neither did Baxter. They had other things to worry about. A crowd of movie crew members was edging closer. 'We'd better get these people moved back out of the way,' Baxter said. 'The M. E.'s van will need to pull up close to the water.'
They had barely turned their attention to crowd control when another car with lights flashing and siren blaring pulled onto the dock. Detective Manny Davis got out on the rider's side and strode over to me while Detective Paul Kramer stopped to talk with Officers Jackson and Baxter.
'How's it going, Beau?' Manny asked with a chuckle. 'How soon are we going to see your name in lights?'
'Cut the comedy, Manny.'
'But I heard you were enjoying the movie business.'
I glowered at him.
'Okay, okay,' he said. 'No big. What have we got, fish bait?'
'That's right. A floater.'
Manny sauntered over to the edge of the dock and looked into the water. 'He's been in the water awhile,' Manny observed. As if to confirm his words, the wind shifted just then and the pungent odor of putrid flesh wafted over us like an ill-smelling cloud. Fortunately, Goldfarb had led Cassie away by then. Had she been within range, I'm sure she would have barfed again.
One whiff and Derrick Parker's engaging smile vanished completely.
'Jesus,' he said with a grimace. 'That's awful.' He started to back away, but Manny stopped him.
'Hey, wait a minute. Aren't you…' Manny paused, searching for the name, then broke off, embarrassed.
'Derrick Parker?' Parker finished for him. He sighed. 'Yes, that's me,' he said, and held out his hand.
Manny shook it wonderingly. 'You know, my wife's crazy about you, your pictures, I mean,' he said. 'She was pissed as hell that Beau got this assignment and I didn't.' Manny groped in his pocket for the small notebook he carried there. He found it at last and tore out a page which he handed to Derrick. 'Could I have your autograph? For my wife, I mean. She'd be thrilled.'
Obligingly, Derrick took the paper. Using the back of Manny's notebook as a writing surface, he scrawled his name. He was just giving the autographed sheet of paper back to Manny when Paul Kramer showed up.
Manny Davis has been around the department for years. The last time I had worked with him had been several years earlier on a bum-bashing case. Paul Kramer was the new kid on the block, and I use the word kid advisedly. He was thirty years old and had just moved up to homicide from robbery. His rise to detective had been meteoric, but word was out around the squad that working with Kramer was a royal pain in the ass.
Kramer arrived just in time to see Manny taking the piece of paper from Derrick and stuffing it in his pocket. He looked from Derrick to Manny and back again.
'Witness?' Kramer asked.
Manny glanced in my direction then shook his head. 'It's nothing,' he said. 'I was just lining Beau and his friend here up for a friendly game of golf.'
Partnerships, like some marriages, aren't always made in heaven. Manny and Kramer's working relationship was evidently an uneasy one.
I understood the situation. So did Derrick. We both had sense enough to keep our mouths shut.
CHAPTER 2
Crime-scene investigation is an exact science, complicated by the countervailing demands of accepted protocol and a need for swift, definitive action. What may seem absolutely straightforward in an artificial laboratory situation or in a case study at the police academy becomes less clear-cut in the real world. At crime scenes, hard- and-fast rules of evidentiary procedure often fall victim to jurisdictional disputes and personality conflicts. After all, cops are people too.
In this particular instance, the infighting started immediately after the arrival of an investigator from the Medical Examiner's office. Her name was Audrey Cummings, and she turned up almost on the heels of Detectives Kramer and Davis. As soon as Paul Kramer noticed her, he took offense and attacked.
'Who called you in?' he demanded. The question and the way he asked it were both only one step under rude.
Officer Merrilee Jackson had followed Kramer down the dock. Now she stepped forward, ready to accept full responsibility. 'I did, Detective Kramer. It seemed like a good idea.'
'That decision is supposed to be left up to the detectives,' Kramer snapped, irritation sharp in his tone.
'Sorry,' she answered.
'Don't worry about it,' Manny put in quickly to Officer Jackson. 'You were right. We do need her, and it's a good thing she's here. It'll save time.' He turned to Kramer. 'Don't get your bowels in an uproar, Paul,' he said.
The admonition came too late. Detective Kramer is one of those intense, territorial individuals who can't stand having other people set foot on his private turf. As far as I'm concerned, he's in the wrong business. Murders seldom come posted with 'No Trespassing' signs. In fact, at that very moment, Seattle's media clan, alerted by the sudden surge of mid-afternoon activity, was beginning to gather in a disorderly knot just outside Kramer's line of vision. Woody Carroll was doing his best to keep them herded together behind a blockade of police vehicles.
The lady from the medical examiner's office, a mid-fifties dame who had been around more than the barn, remained cool and collected in the face of all the wrangling. Audrey Cummings' studied disinterest made it clear that professional squabbles were old hat to her.
Waiting until the fireworks died down, she finally tapped one foot impatiently. 'Well, do I get a look or not?' she asked.
Manny grinned and made a low bow, stepping aside with a gallant sweep of his arm. 'Please be our guest, milady,' he declared.
Smiling at Manny's courtly gesture, Audrey Cummings marched past us in a suitably regal manner. In the world of homicide, where death and disaster are daily companions, we tend to take our laughs wherever we can find them.
Audrey good-naturedly joined in Manny's joke, but only up to a point. The fun ended the moment she reached the edge of the dock. There she knelt down on one knee and took a long, careful look at the body in the water below her. At last she stood up and walked back to where we waited.
'I'll have to have one of the assistant medical examiners come take a look at this,' she said. 'I think Mike Wilson is on call.'
'Any obvious wounds?' I asked, as she started to walk away.
She shrugged. 'Possible homicidal violence.'
The words 'homicidal violence' constitute a catchall phrase that can mean anything or nothing.
Paul Kramer frowned, jerking his head in my direction. 'Wait just a damn minute here. How come he's asking questions, Manny? I thought this was our case.'
Manny made little effort to conceal his growing annoyance. 'Professional courtesy,' he answered curtly. 'Beau
