The Medical Examiner Read online

  He called Mr. Murphy’s name again as he rounded a corner. He heard music coming from outside the sliding glass doors, where a set of teak outdoor furniture faced the ocean.

  A man stood up and turned to Conklin, holding a sheaf of paper in his hand. He was big, not just tall, but well-built and handsome. He was wearing what looked to be a cashmere half-zip sweater and expensive jeans. He showed no sign of injury.

  Conklin said, “Mr. Murphy?”

  The man said, “Who the hell are you? And how did you get into my house?”

  “I’m Inspector Conklin, SFPD. I’ve brought your wife home from the hospital.”

  “Oh? I didn’t know. Why was Joan in the hospital?”

  “She was shot, Mr. Murphy. Let me go get her. I’ll tell her that you’re back here.”

  Conklin went back out to the front door and told Joan Murphy that her husband seemed fine. She smiled and then started to weep. Conklin holstered his gun and accompanied the frail woman, who was still wearing blue scrubs, paper slides, and an SFPD windbreaker.

  When he saw Joan, her husband opened his arms and folded her in. He patted her back as she sobbed against his chest.

  “I almost died, Robert. I almost died.”

  Conklin thought that Murphy’s actions were warm, but his expression and his affect seemed to be a little distant. Conklin watched and listened as Joan gave Robert a shorthand version of the story as she knew it. But why didn’t Joan’s husband seem shocked by the news?

  Joan told Robert that she had woken up in the morgue. Apparently she had been shot in the shoulder and had a wound on her hip as well, but she had no memory of being attacked. Thank goodness she had no broken bones. She just needed some TLC and rest.

  There was no mention of the deceased John Doe.

  Robert asked her where this had happened and she said, “At the Warwick, Robert. I was found in a hotel room, bloody and unconscious. The police thought I was dead! My jewelry was gone. That lovely pendant of my mother’s. And oh, my God. My rings were taken, too.”

  “Why were you at the Warwick?”

  “I have no idea how I got there, Robbie. I think that I was drugged and kidnapped.”

  “Drugged and kidnapped? My God, Joan. By whom?”

  “That’s my theory, but this kind man, Inspector Conklin, is going to figure out what happened and who is responsible.”

  “God, I hope so,” Robert said as he hugged her close one more time. “We’re going to take good care of you, dear.”

  From inside his embrace, Joan looked up at her husband and smiled.

  “I’m going to change into my own comfortable clothes, Robert. I could use a drink. Tell Marjorie I’m very hungry. I have no idea when I last had a meal. I think I’d like chicken stew. That will fix me right up. Inspector, you’re welcome to stay for dinner. I’ll be right back.”

  When Joan had left the room, Conklin turned to Robert Murphy and said, “You mind answering a few questions for me?”

  Chapter 14

  Murphy nodded his head and directed Conklin to a squared, taupe-colored chair. As Conklin sat down, Murphy took a seat in an identical chair that was situated at a right angle from him. Murphy did finger riffs on his knees, looking impatient and resigned.

  Conklin said, “These are routine questions, Mr. Murphy. Your wife was shot and left for dead. So I’m going to need details of your movements over the last forty-eight hours.”

  Murphy said, “Right. I know this one. You think the husband did it.”

  Conklin said, “Not necessarily. Think of this as the way we clear the husband, Mr. Murphy.”

  Murphy sighed, raked back his hair with his fingers, and said, “I didn’t leave the property all weekend and I haven’t left it today, either. Marjorie Bright, our housekeeper and cook, can vouch for me. Our pool boy, Peter Carter, saw me Sunday morning when I went for a swim. Gotta stay fit, no? Peter lives in a cottage in the back. He has the weekends off, but he was there on Sunday.”

  Conklin said, “You seriously haven’t left the house in two whole days?”

  “Honestly, it’s been longer than that. I have a part in a movie. It’s a thriller called Case Management. Craig Noble is directing and I play Evan Slaughter, the lead detective. I’ve been reading and rehearsing my lines for these past couple days. Marjorie even helped me run through them. She usually does. Anyway, we start shooting next week.”

  Conklin asked, “Were you contacted by anyone demanding ransom for Joan’s return?”

  “What? No. Of course not. I would have called the police if that had happened.”

  Conklin said, “Can you think of any reason why someone might want to hurt Joan?”

  “I doubt it. But she does have a strong personality. She always says what she thinks. She’s on a lot of committees and charity boards. Wherever money and politics are involved, people can get pretty pissed off. Thankfully, Joan keeps me out of her business.”

  Conklin nodded, wondering, Does this actor really think that murders spring from charity board decisions? Both Joan and Robert had B-movie theories to real-life murder. It was just another clue that they might be hiding something.

  Rich said, “Mr. Murphy, when your wife didn’t come home Sunday night, weren’t you worried about her?”

  “As I said, Joan does what Joan wants to do. We don’t question each other, Inspector. And if your next question is ‘Do you love your wife?’ the answer is ‘I like her independence, her humor, and her intelligence.’ And yes, I do love her as well.”

  “I have to ask you. Do you think your wife could be having an affair?”

  Murphy gave Conklin a scathing look and said, “If she is having an affair, it would shock the hell out of me. We have a full and trusting relationship. Thank you for bringing her home safely. I’d like daily reports on your progress in finding the kidnapper.”

  Joan Murphy returned to the room in flowing garments, looking like an entirely different woman. She was relaxed. Beaming. Confident.

  “Richard,” she said. “You’ll have dinner with us, right?”

  “I wish I could, Joan. Maybe another time. But before I leave, I need a few moments with Marjorie.”

  Chapter 15

  Joan brought Conklin to the kitchen, where he met with Marjorie Bright, a wiry, blue-eyed woman who was about sixty years old. She was dressed casually in dark pants and an untucked white shirt.

  She dried her hands on a dish towel and checked on the contents of the oven. After Joan had left the room, she and Conklin sat down at the kitchen table.

  Conklin asked some preliminary questions. How long had she worked for the Murphys? What did she think of them? Had she ever witnessed any arguments between the two of them?

  Miss Bright told Conklin that she had worked for Miss Joan for thirteen years. She lived in a private suite on the third floor. She seemed happy with her job in the Murphys’ home.

  When Conklin asked if the couple fought, she shrugged and said, “I guess there’s been some shouting over the last five years, but there’s never been any violence. They have separate suites connected by a hallway on the second floor. Their lives are separate, mostly, but sometimes they’ll entertain at home, vacation, and attend functions together. They live well in this house, and I do think they are in love.”

  Conklin asked, “Do you recall if Mr. Murphy was home on Sunday?”

  “Yes, he was here. I’m off on Sundays, but my rooms overlook the front of the property and his car never moved. I saw him and Joan eating breakfast together on the patio on Sunday morning. Later that afternoon, Mr. Robert called up and asked if I could help him rehearse his lines. He’s very talented, you know.”

  “Could you estimate the time that Mrs. Murphy left the house on Sunday?”

  “No. Like I said, it was my day off, so I wasn’t looking at the clock. Besides, she doesn’t like to drive. She usually uses a car service, so I couldn’t guess a time for you, since her car never left the driveway.”

  The housekeeper go
t the name and number of the service, and after Conklin thanked her, he returned to the sprawling drawing room and told the Murphys he’d be in touch as soon as his team had any kind of big break or lead in the case.

  Once he got in the car, he called Cindy and talked to her as he drove home. They clicked off when Rich was on Kirkham with his apartment building in sight, and that’s when his phone rang with another call.

  It was Sackowitz.

  “We’ve got an ID on our John Doe,” Sac said. “His name’s Samuel J. Alton and he’s from San Bernardino. He’s the senior VP in claims for Avantra Insurance. He’s married, has three kids under twelve, and is a regular at the Warwick Hotel. On the first Sunday of every month, he comes to town for a Monday morning meeting at Avantra’s main office on Beale Street.”

  “Interesting,” said Conklin. “What are you thinking? Was Alton Joan’s boyfriend? An attacker? A random hookup?”

  “I’m going with boyfriend. We were able to get a look into the Warwick computer systems, and it turns out that Joan Murphy has a monthly reservation at the Warwick. And it’s always on a Sunday night. The first Sunday in the month, in fact.”

  Conklin said, “I’ve got to agree with you then. Sounds like these two were having an ongoing affair. Yet Joan’s husband tells me there’s no chance in hell that his wife is stepping out on him. ‘We have a full and trusting relationship,’ he told me. And that’s a direct quote.”

  “Gee,” said Sac. “Could the husband be telling you a lie?”

  Conklin laughed.

  Sac said, “I’m going to drive to San Berdoo. I’ll notify Mrs. Alton that her husband was shot to death in the arms of another woman. Then, I’m gonna go home and get drunk because that’s going to be one hell of a conversation. You want to mention Samuel Alton’s name to Joan Murphy? See what happens?”

  “Oh, yeah, I do. The woman tells a fantastic story. Can’t wait to hear what she comes up with this time.”

  Chapter 16

  Cindy was at Lindsay and Joe’s apartment Tuesday morning, drying Martha after their walk had gotten drowned out by an unexpected drenching rain.

  Martha shook herself off, causing Cindy to shriek, “No!”

  Martha, excited by her friend’s response, put her paws on Cindy’s shoulders and licked her face.

  Cindy couldn’t help laughing. Martha was showing good progress with her injury if she was already this mobile. That made Cindy pretty proud to have helped out her friend in need.

  “What now, Miss Martha?” she lovingly asked the dog. “Are both of us going to have to get into a hot shower? Hmmmm? You know I have to wear these clothes to work.”

  Martha woofed. Cindy laughed again and said, “Copy that, Big Girl. Breakfast is coming right up.”

  Cindy was dumping dog food into a bowl when, of course, the phone rang. It was just like the other morning, only this time it really was Lindsay.

  “Are you checking up on me?” Cindy teased.

  “Of course not. Well, maybe I am, but just a little. Put Martha on the phone for me.”

  “Sure thing. Here ya go.”

  Cindy put the receiver near Martha’s face as the dog gobbled down her beef stew with supplements. She could hear Lindsay talking to her dog, who stopped eating long enough to lick the phone. Cindy cracked up.

  “I’m totally grossed out,” she said to Lindsay. “By the way, it’s not just raining here, it’s a certified downpour. Your dog is wet. The phone is wet. I’m wet. And I’m about to rifle through your closet so I don’t have to go to work in an outfit that’s completely soaked.”

  Lindsay told her, “Go ahead. Be my guest. And take a selfie so I can see how my size ten clothing fits your itty-bitty size-four bod.”

  “Great idea. So, how’s the vacation going?”

  Lindsay’s voice was as light as fluffy clouds in a blue sky. She told Cindy about their lovely room, the pleasure of “waking up with Joe and not having one damned thing to do. I’m eating actual meals at real tables.”

  Cindy laughed. “That’s amazing. Take a selfie of that.”

  Lindsay asked if she was missing anything back home, and Cindy had the Joan Murphy story racked up and ready to roll. But at the last second, she held it back. Lindsay was with her hubby, and their baby was with Lindsay’s sister. For the first time in a while, her friends were enjoying a nice hotel and room service. Lindsay deserved a clean break while she was on vacation.

  “As far as I can tell, life goes on without you, Linds.”

  Lindsay laughed. Then she promptly told her to shut up and informed her friend that she was going back to bed.

  They exchanged love-yous and hung up, and then Cindy picked up where she left off with her chores. It was funny how, even though she had known Martha forever, she felt her feelings toward the fluffy dog had deepened while taking care of her. This doggy was changing from just a typical cute dog to a close friend.

  Cindy had been fighting Richie on the subject of having kids for a couple of years now. She wasn’t ready for them. Yet he’d been ready since before he’d even met Cindy. At one point, the two of them had actually broken up over this very issue. Thank God they had been able to get past their differences and get back together.

  Even though Cindy hadn’t changed her position.

  Still, being responsible for this old dog made Cindy think she might have some tiny maternal instinct inside her after all.

  She threw the wet towels into the wash, left her shoes in the bathtub, and found a pair of Lindsay’s sneakers in her closet. They were big, but they almost fit her. Then she dried her hair, and when her blond curls had sprung back into shape, she located a trench coat with a belt in the back of Lindsay’s closet. She tried it on and decided it would work well enough.

  Before she left the apartment, she called the girls and put them on a conference call.

  “Lunch, anyone?”

  Claire and Yuki were both in.

  Chapter 17

  Claire stripped off her gown, mask, and gloves. She told her crew that she was going out for a quick lunch and that she would be back in an hour.

  MacBain’s, the bar and grill down the street from the Hall, was named for a heroic captain of the SFPD who was now deceased. His daughter, Sydney, owned the local watering hole. It specialized in a five-dollar burger-and-fries lunch and was generally packed from twelve noon to midnight with Hall of Justice workers.

  Claire, Lindsay, and Yuki were card-carrying customers.

  Cindy didn’t work at the Hall but had her own card. It said Press on it, and Sydney MacBain was happy to have her business.

  At a quarter past noon, the line of customers was trailing out the door, of course. Claire joined it and was greeted moments later by Yuki. The two friends grabbed each other into a big hug.

  Yuki had just returned to the DA’s office after a year of doing pro bono defense work and was charged up to be putting bad guys away. She had just lost a case of national and global proportions, and was eager to put it behind her by diving into the next one. And Claire had no doubt that her friend would do a phenomenal job on it.

  Yuki said, “Tell me all about this woman who apparently came back from the dead in your morgue.”

  “I can only tell you because she’s alive,” said Claire. “And because Cindy isn’t here.”

  Yuki drew an X over the breast pocket of her suit jacket with a finger, swearing to keep the secret.

  So Claire told her. “The subject, who shall remain nameless, was found naked under the naked body of a man who was not her husband. He’d taken a few plugs to the back and one to the arm, and she had been shot a couple times, too. She appeared to be dead, but in fact was cataleptic.”

  “Is that like catatonic?”

  Claire laughed. “Not at all.”

  Just then, there was a tap on Claire’s shoulder.

  She turned and was standing face-to-face with Cindy Thomas, the crime reporter. Her springy blond hair bounced and shook as she said, “Don’t give me
that off-the-record crap. I swear not to run anything until you say it’s okay. Okay?”

  Yuki said, “I feel like I’ve heard this pitch before.”

  The three friends threw their heads back as they laughed. Then the line moved forward and a table opened up inside. When they were settled at their table and had ordered their burgers and sparkling water, Claire told her friends the rest of the information that she knew about the case.

  “The unnamed female’s outfit was collected from the hotel room and is with my team, currently undergoing testing. It’s a two-piece Givenchy suit, a black button-down shirt, evening slacks, and high-heeled sandals. Also, she had very expensive undergarments. The kind that I can only afford in my dreams.”

  Cindy said to Claire, “You’ve been holding out on me.”

  Then she turned to Yuki and said, “So, here’s the rest of it—as I was able to figure out.” She cracked a sly grin.

  “This naked man who was found lying on top of this unnamed female. Let’s call her, well, let’s call her, Joan—”

  Claire shook her head and sighed.

  The food arrived at the table, and after the ladies took a few bites, Cindy went on. “The naked man was shot dead and Joan was also hit by a couple of slugs. She appeared to be dead. Stone-cold dead. But she was not. And based on the very expensive undergarments and the nakedness, it seems like she went to the hotel with recreation in mind.”

  Yuki said, “So are there any other theories besides the obvious? Do we know for certain that she was having an affair with the John Doe?”

  Cindy said, “When I met her, she was just regaining consciousness. She told us that she had completely lost her memory.”

  “And it could be true,” Claire told her friends. “She was out of it for six hours, at least. The refrigeration saved her life, but that’s not to say she didn’t lose a few memories. She needs a neurological workup and I hope she gets one.”

  “Or she could be lying,” said Yuki. “You say she knew her name but not what happened to her in that hotel room? That’s pretty convenient, if you ask me.”