mail.
Before I can leave a message someone starts hammering on my front door.
I hang up, pull the Glock.
I smell him before I get there, but I don’t need to do that to know who it is. I know that knock. It’s a cop knock.
“Goddamn you wear a lot of aftershave,” I say, opening the door. Frank looks like shit. I doubt he’s slept much. “Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?”
“Fuck you,” he says, elbowing his way in. He looks at the gun in my hand, ignores it. He’s got a pair of Samsonites under his eyes, hasn’t shaved. I’m wondering if the reality of what’s going on is finally sinking in, and he can’t handle it. I don’t blame him. I keep wondering when it’s going to really hit me.
“By all means, come on in.”
“I don’t have time to—The fuck happened in here?” He’s in shock, looking at the shambles of my living room like he’s never seen a burglary before.
“Wild night. What can I do for you, Detective?”
“We’re going to the morgue.”
“Thanks, but I already have a place to stay.”
“It’s Giavetti.”
“Yeah?” I say. “He finally walk out of there?”
“Dunno,” he says. “Somebody sure as hell did.”
The main morgue for L.A. County is across the river on Mission. It’s a sad little neighborhood. Everything covered in a fine layer of gray from the nearby rail tracks and the car smog from the 5 Freeway. I can see the sun rising hazily over the city as we wend our way through early morning traffic.
“I thought you kept regular hours,” I say. “Why so early?”
“Not like the morgue closes.”
“No, but you do.”
“Since when do you worry about me?”
“Since you’re the one who’s keeping me out of the massacre at Giavetti’s.”
“Yeah, well you don’t have to worry about that anymore. The place burned down last night. Any evidence you might have been there went up with it.”
“Accident?”
“What do you think?”
“Any leads?”
He glances over at me, his cop stare coming out for just a second. “Besides you? Where’d you go last night, anyway?”
“Out. How about you, Detective? Giving B&E a try? Looking for a new career?”
“Like you’ve got anything I want. I got better things to do than roll your place, Sunday.”
The back and forth is just going to piss us both off, so I drop it. “So what happened at the morgue?”
“Got a call from a guy I know over there. Owes me for not busting his ass on a narcotics charge. I asked him to keep an eye out for anything weird and let me know soon as it happens. I dropped some cash to have him go over the nightly security tapes. Thinks he’s got something.”
“Anybody else know?”
“Shouldn’t. He’s too freaked out to talk about it.”
We pull into the parking lot and slide into a space reserved for police officers. The morgue has been here for a long time, white facade and redbrick all around. Never been in myself. Always figured when I popped by, it’d be in a bag.
“They do the autopsy yet?”
“Doubt it. They’re backlogged over a week. Goddamn mess. Corpses stacked on corpses. Three to a drawer on a bad day.”
We go in. Disinfectant, heavy stink of days-old rot, cut open bodies. I’d fit right in.
Air fresheners in random corners of the lobby add a nice floral tinge. It might help, but with my newly sensitive nose it just smells like somebody shit on a rosebush.
Frank flashes his badge and signs us in. The receptionist hands us ID badges.
“We’re here to see DeWalt.”
The receptionist makes a call, and a nervous looking guy in surgical scrubs comes out a minute later. He’s got a haggard look, bloodhound jowls.
“Frank,” he says, eyeing me suspiciously. I don’t look like a cop. I just don’t give off that vibe. Then again, this guy’s been around cadavers so long, maybe I’m tipping his radar.
“This is Detective Patterson,” Frank says pointing at me. “He’s cool.” DeWalt calms down instantly.
He takes us
Before I can leave a message someone starts hammering on my front door.
I hang up, pull the Glock.
I smell him before I get there, but I don’t need to do that to know who it is. I know that knock. It’s a cop knock.
“Goddamn you wear a lot of aftershave,” I say, opening the door. Frank looks like shit. I doubt he’s slept much. “Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?”
“Fuck you,” he says, elbowing his way in. He looks at the gun in my hand, ignores it. He’s got a pair of Samsonites under his eyes, hasn’t shaved. I’m wondering if the reality of what’s going on is finally sinking in, and he can’t handle it. I don’t blame him. I keep wondering when it’s going to really hit me.
“By all means, come on in.”
“I don’t have time to—The fuck happened in here?” He’s in shock, looking at the shambles of my living room like he’s never seen a burglary before.
“Wild night. What can I do for you, Detective?”
“We’re going to the morgue.”
“Thanks, but I already have a place to stay.”
“It’s Giavetti.”
“Yeah?” I say. “He finally walk out of there?”
“Dunno,” he says. “Somebody sure as hell did.”
The main morgue for L.A. County is across the river on Mission. It’s a sad little neighborhood. Everything covered in a fine layer of gray from the nearby rail tracks and the car smog from the 5 Freeway. I can see the sun rising hazily over the city as we wend our way through early morning traffic.
“I thought you kept regular hours,” I say. “Why so early?”
“Not like the morgue closes.”
“No, but you do.”
“Since when do you worry about me?”
“Since you’re the one who’s keeping me out of the massacre at Giavetti’s.”
“Yeah, well you don’t have to worry about that anymore. The place burned down last night. Any evidence you might have been there went up with it.”
“Accident?”
“What do you think?”
“Any leads?”
He glances over at me, his cop stare coming out for just a second. “Besides you? Where’d you go last night, anyway?”
“Out. How about you, Detective? Giving B&E a try? Looking for a new career?”
“Like you’ve got anything I want. I got better things to do than roll your place, Sunday.”
The back and forth is just going to piss us both off, so I drop it. “So what happened at the morgue?”
“Got a call from a guy I know over there. Owes me for not busting his ass on a narcotics charge. I asked him to keep an eye out for anything weird and let me know soon as it happens. I dropped some cash to have him go over the nightly security tapes. Thinks he’s got something.”
“Anybody else know?”
“Shouldn’t. He’s too freaked out to talk about it.”
We pull into the parking lot and slide into a space reserved for police officers. The morgue has been here for a long time, white facade and redbrick all around. Never been in myself. Always figured when I popped by, it’d be in a bag.
“They do the autopsy yet?”
“Doubt it. They’re backlogged over a week. Goddamn mess. Corpses stacked on corpses. Three to a drawer on a bad day.”
We go in. Disinfectant, heavy stink of days-old rot, cut open bodies. I’d fit right in.
Air fresheners in random corners of the lobby add a nice floral tinge. It might help, but with my newly sensitive nose it just smells like somebody shit on a rosebush.
Frank flashes his badge and signs us in. The receptionist hands us ID badges.
“We’re here to see DeWalt.”
The receptionist makes a call, and a nervous looking guy in surgical scrubs comes out a minute later. He’s got a haggard look, bloodhound jowls.
“Frank,” he says, eyeing me suspiciously. I don’t look like a cop. I just don’t give off that vibe. Then again, this guy’s been around cadavers so long, maybe I’m tipping his radar.
“This is Detective Patterson,” Frank says pointing at me. “He’s cool.” DeWalt calms down instantly.
He takes us
Similar Books
