Читать книгу Sqerm - James A. Moore - Страница 26

Chapter 22

Johnson burst into the coroner’s office, and the door swung shut in his wake.

“Detective Johnson, I would say it’s good to see you…” He paused and looked Johnson up and down. “But given the circumstances…,” said the coroner.

Johnson was focused and did not pay the coroner much attention. He grunted a monosyllabic greeting, and the coroner frowned at him.

“Any ID?” Johnson asked impatiently.

Seeing that Johnson was intent on completing a mission, the coroner overlooked the phatic communication slip rarely present in the detective’s behavior. “Her name is Kaylene Schroeder,” replied the coroner.

“Can I see the body?” Johnson asked, trying to be more mindful of his earlier rude behavior. Uncle Mike sure would not have approved, thought Johnson.

“Sure, but it’s not pretty.”

“Are any of them ever?” snapped Johnson, wondering how the coroner could be so detached. Maybe that is an effect of doing the job, thought Johnson.

“I guess you’re right. Someone’s in a mood today,” said the coroner, speaking out of the corner of his mouth.

Johnson gently pushed the coroner aside and headed into the morgue. As he moved past the coroner, he smelled what he quickly recognized as tuna. Johnson sniffed and wrinkled his nose. How can he eat at a time like this? thought Johnson. Nasty ass.

The coroner turned to follow Johnson and joined him at the shiny metal table where Ms. Schroeder lay. His proximity was exceptionally close to Johnson, uncomfortably close. Johnson got another whiff of tuna and sidestepped to get the coroner out of his personal space.

The coroner turned his focus to the body and gestured at the back of the neck. “The base of her neck was punctured.”

Leaning in to get a closer look, Johnson asked, “What other injuries does she have?”

“That’s the thing, no other injuries and not much regarding any signs of struggle,” replied the coroner.

“Can I have a minute?” asked Johnson.

“Sure. Why? What do you need?”

What Johnson needed was some privacy and time to complete his mission. He required the coroner to vacate the room. He placed the victim’s hand in his and growled, “I need a freaking minute.”

The coroner was baffled by Johnson’s actions but spotted the caress and dropped the line of questioning. “Take your time. I’m going to lunch.”

The coroner left the morgue and headed back to his office. Probably back to the tuna fish sandwich, thought Johnson. Now alone, he surveyed the body. The victim was an attractive woman, and Johnson was quite disturbed and saddened observing her body there, cold, stiff, and alone in this—other than the hint of tuna fish—sterile room. He wondered who would miss her and what she was to them. Once again, Johnson checked the room. He was sure that he was alone. He removed the phone from his pocket and grabbed the left index finger of the young lady and gently placed it on the sensor. No luck. His first thought was of an apropos expletive, but the idea of his new friend, the professor, caused him to belay that action.

He deliberately made his way to the other side of the body and softly pressed the right index finger of the victim on the sensor of the phone, and the phone opened. He immediately changed the settings on the password and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He looked around once more and then tilted his head down at the victim. I’ll find who did this to you, he thought. Johnson gently placed her hand back on the table and ensured that she was adequately covered and then headed back to his office.