12th of Never wmc-12 Read online

  “Twelve,” said Bunny Ellis.

  Claire turned away from the whiteboard, crossed to the wall of drawers, pulled the handle of number 12. The drawer slid out smoothly, bringing the corpse into view. There was a tag tied to the big toe. Claire saw instantly that there had been a screwup. Faye Farmer was not and had never been a seventy-year-old black man.

  She said, “Who mixed up the bodies? What drawer is this man supposed to be in?”

  “Seventeen,” said Bunny. “Dr. Washburn, I already checked.”

  Claire reached down, opened drawer number 17. It was empty. She started pulling out drawers, slamming them closed, each body in its assigned box except for the black John Doe in Faye Farmer’s drawer.

  Bunny was crying now. She was a competent young woman and liked to do a good job.

  “Stop that,” Claire snapped. “Think. Did you see Ms. Farmer’s body after she was checked in yesterday?”

  “Not after I logged her in. She’s supposed to be in twelve.”

  “Who moved John Doe one thirty-two out of box seventeen?”

  Bunny shrugged miserably. “Not me.”

  The body couldn’t have left the premises.

  That was impossible.

  Chapter 18

  CLAIRE WONDERED WHAT she was supposed to tell the gang of junior law enforcement personnel. We’ve been robbed? She returned to the autopsy suite, clapped her hands, and said, “People, we’ve encountered a problem that I need to address right away. Sorry about this. We’ll get back to you as soon as we can reschedule.”

  Conklin stood like a tree in a stream that flowed around him as grumbling law enforcement trainees shed their outerwear and filed out. He said to Claire, “What’s going on?”

  “Ms. Farmer’s body has been misplaced. I want to make a joke about how she didn’t like the accommodations, Richie, but there is nothing funny about this. If we don’t find her in three minutes, I’m going to have a cerebral hemorrhage.”

  “Tell me what you know, from the beginning.”

  “The beginning: Faye Farmer was logged in last night at eight seventeen p.m. and stowed in drawer twelve. We’ve got double records and triple logs on that. When I left last night, Faye was tucked in. I came in this morning, ready to do the post, as you know, and overnight the body vacated the morgue.

  “She’s a one-hundred-and-thirty-five-pound dead woman. I can’t see her anywhere. She’s totally missing.”

  “Okay. Calm down, Claire. She didn’t walk out of here, did she? She was positively dead?”

  There had been a few instances in which people who appeared to be dead had regained consciousness after a stunning head injury or after having been in a coma. And a few of them had sat up on an autopsy table and walked out. Claire had no personal knowledge of these cases, but there were stories. This couldn’t be one of them. Faye Farmer had a bullet through her head. Through and through.

  It was cool inside the morgue, and yet Claire was sweating through her clothes and her lab coat. Sweat seemed to be pooling in her shoes. She had never lost a body before. This was unimaginable.

  “She was dead, Rich. Dead dead. Ten minutes ago I was worried about someone sneezing on her. Now, at the very least, we’ve lost chain of custody, which is plenty bad enough. Worst case is, we don’t recover the woman’s body and we never learn what killed her.”

  “Okay, okay, Claire. We’ll find her.”

  Morales and four kids from the crime lab strip-searched every part of the medical examiner’s office—the morgue, the back rooms, the supply closet, the administration bull pen.

  Meanwhile, Claire and Conklin took the AV tech, Ryan Perles, into Claire’s office, shut the door, and questioned him.

  “I came in at about eight this morning,” Perles said. He looked smug, Claire thought. Or as though he liked the attention, which he didn’t normally get.

  “I had a lot of things to do when I got in and I was busy doing them when Dr. Washburn paged me. I looked and saw that the cord to the video system was unplugged from the battery backup. When I left last night, it was plugged in and A-OK.”

  “Let’s see the disk from last night,” Conklin said.

  The young tech opened the CD drawer. It was empty.

  Claire put her hand on the back of a chair to steady herself. The conclusion was inescapable. Whoever took Faye Farmer’s body had access to Claire’s lab; most likely it had been someone who worked for her.

  She could already visualize a video of Faye Farmer in some obscene pose in a car or a Dumpster posted on YouTube, going viral.

  “Ryan, you came in this morning through the side door?” Claire asked him.

  “Yes. Same as always.”

  “It was locked?”

  “Yes ma’am. Of course it was locked.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Do you mind if I ask what’s wrong?”

  “Ryan, let’s take this conversation upstairs,” Conklin said. “Sometimes a change of scene can help a person remember something he didn’t know he forgot.”

  BOOK II

  OFF THE BENCH

  Chapter 19

  IT HAD BEEN a long, loud, fussy night, but Julie had finally worn herself out and gone to sleep on Joe’s chest. His clock projected the time on the ceiling in bright red digits. It was 4:54. I reorganized my blanket and settled in for what I hoped would be maybe forty-five minutes of deep sleep.

  But Joe was wide awake. He said, “Let’s talk about this again, Linds. I think in this case I know what’s best for you better than you do.”

  I yawned, fluffed my pillow.

  “I can’t go back yet, Joe. I’m only going to be thinking about you and Julie, anyway.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the oldest of seven. I have burped and changed a lot of nephews and nieces, and while it might hurt your feelings, I’m good with Julie. I can take fine care of her.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Okay, yes. I’ll go back to work.”

  “Wait.”

  “What am I waiting for?”

  “I had some persuasive arguments I haven’t used yet.”

  I started laughing. “I’m persuaded. You did a good job, Joe.”

  “But you said you didn’t want to go back to work.”

  “You won, sweetie. Don’t be a spoilsport.”

  He laughed and I fell asleep without saying another word. I woke up at seven, snuck out of bed, and showered. After that, I felt around in the dark for my blue blazer; I found it and my trousers in plastic wrap on hangers in the closet.

  Since my trousers seemed to have shrunk, I picked out a big shirt—one with pink pinstripes—and hung it out over my waistband, which I would have to do until I was a size 10 again.

  Get used to it, everyone.

  I buckled on my shoulder holster, got my gun out of the nightstand, then hung the chain holding my badge around my neck.

  I air-kissed Joe and Julie so that neither of them woke up, carried my shoes out to the hallway, and put them on as Martha did a happy dance.

  I took my dog for a short walk. I mean short. As soon as she did what she needed to do, I took her back home, then went back out to the street and looked for my car.

  Did I feel guilty leaving Julie?

  You bet I did. I thought of my baby girl, and it was like an umbilical bungee cord was connecting us, pulling me back toward home.

  But I had gotten a compelling, nearly irresistible call from my former partner, Warren Jacobi, now chief of police. He had said, “I’m not saying drop-kick the baby and come in right away. It’s like this. Brady is short-staffed and over-whelmed. He needs your help.”

  My old blue Explorer was parked a half block down from our apartment. I got in, turned the key in the ignition, and the engine started right up, almost as if it had been waiting for me.

  I pulled out onto Lake Street and the car shot away from the curb, tires screeching. I could not wait to get to the Hall.

  Chapter 2
0

  BRADY’S GLASS-WALLED OFFICE is about the size and shape of a votive candleholder. He was sitting at his desk, dwarfing it with his bulk, his head bowed over an open file, phone clapped to his ear.

  I no longer felt steamed that this once was my office when I was squad lieutenant. I had wanted to work hands-on, on the street, and I wanted that badly enough to ask for a demotion to sergeant. I rarely regretted that decision.

  I knocked on the glass door and Brady looked up, said into the phone, “I’ll call you later.” He hung up, got to his feet, reached across the desk, and shook my hand.

  “Good to have you back, Boxer. You feel okay? Want desk work for a couple of weeks? Kind of ease back into things?”

  “I’m good, Lieutenant. I’ve been running. Doing tai chi. I’m good.”

  He nodded, said, “Sit down. I think the chief told you—Peters asked for time off. Oxner transferred to Vice, so I’m down a team. I’ve been working with Conklin but he needs a real partner. I have to manage the bullshit going on around here.”

  “Sure. I understand.”

  As Brady sat back down and began patting down his desk, I thought about how much we’d been through since he joined the squad a year and a half ago. His first day, he told me to my face that I was nowhere on my current case. That I was sucking swamp water. He wasn’t running for office, that’s for sure, and I didn’t like him.

  About a week after that, we were bringing down a freaking serial psycho killer together. Bombs went off and Brady took a stance in front of a moving car and unloaded his gun.

  Six months ago—another killer, a different day—Brady took two bullets during another act of profound bravery.

  Jackson Brady didn’t give good eye contact. He didn’t sugarcoat anything. I didn’t love his management style. But I did respect him.

  He was a good cop.

  He found the file he was looking for and started filling me in on the death of Faye Farmer, former Project Runway winner and late, great designer to the stars.

  “Take a look,” Brady said. He handed me a sheaf of crimescene photos of the victim in the driver’s seat of a late-model Audi, slumped against the car window. Close-ups of the gunshot wound made it look to me like the shot had been delivered at close range.

  Brady said, “You and Conklin are on this case. He’ll bring you up to speed.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “I wish it was a sure thing,” said Brady. “Conklin will tell you. The DB has vanished from the morgue.”

  “Vanished how?”

  “Vanished—poof,” Brady said. “The case of the purloined corpse. The media is going to go nuts when they find out. Claire says doors were opened with keys. Surveillance disk was jacked. It had to be an inside job, so talk to her. We find out why her body went poof, we’ve got a lead into who killed her. It goes without saying I want to be kept posted.”

  Brady was already back on the phone before I left his office to find my partner.

  Chapter 21

  MARIA ORTEGA WAS a naturalized American citizen, but she looked scared, as if Immigration were waiting to deport her when she stepped off the witness stand. Yuki knew that Ortega was timid, but even if Kinsela crushed her on cross, her story would be on the record and firmly in the jurors’ minds.

  Yuki smiled at the young woman in the demure navy-blue dress and walked toward the witness box.

  “How are you today, Ms. Ortega?”

  “Fine,” she said in a near whisper. “Thank you.”

  “Will you tell us where you worked in December of last year?”

  “I work for Mr. and Mrs. Sean Murphy on Lopez Avenue.”

  “And what did you do for the Murphys?”

  “I clean their house every day.”

  “And is the Murphy house near the house where Keith Herman lived with his family?”

  “Yes. They live three houses away.”

  “Okay. Mr. Kinsela, you mind if I borrow your overhead view of Lopez Avenue?”

  “Since you’re unprepared,” Kinsela said.

  “Thank you, Counselor,” Yuki said, smiling for the jury. She pointed to the house three doors north of the Herman house. “Ms. Ortega, is this the Murphy house?”

  “Yes.”

  “So can you tell us about a certain conversation you had there with Lily Herman? And please speak loud enough for the jury to hear you.”

  “I was sweeping the walk and Lily was riding her bike on the sidewalk. She stopped to say hello.”

  “What made this conversation memorable to you?”

  Ortega wrung her hands. “Lily looked like she had been crying. She got off her bike and it fall to the ground. She ran to me for comfort. Into my arms.”

  “Please go on, Ms. Ortega.”

  “I hugged her and she started to cry some more. She said her father shook her. She pulled up her sweater. She showed me bruises on her arms,” Ortega said. “They look like they were from fingers. Squeezing hard.”

  “She had these bruises on both arms?”

  “Yes. And on her neck. I saw marks.”

  Yuki counted to ten, letting Ortega’s words soak into the room before she spoke again.

  “And did you ask Lily about these marks?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And what did Lily say?”

  The witness followed Yuki with her eyes, as if Yuki were a clock and Maria was desperate to know the time.

  “Lily told me that her father grab her. And that he shake her. And that he tell her he would like to kill her.”

  “Objection, Your Honor. This is hearsay and it is prejudicial. I move that the testimony be struck and the jury be instructed to disregard it.”

  Nussbaum said, “I’m still the judge, Mr. Kinsela. Both you and Ms. Castellano come here so that we can have a quiet chat.”

  Yuki and Kinsela crossed to the bench and Yuki said, “Your Honor, the witness reported this incident to the police on the day Lily spoke to her. It’s in the police report. Opposing counsel knows this and the sole purpose of his objection is to intimidate the witness.”

  “No more shenanigans, Mr. Kinsela. Ms. Castellano, continue with your direct.”

  Yuki went back to the witness and asked Maria Ortega if she had called the police to report the incident. Ortega said she had. Yuki asked her the name of the police officer and she said, “Officer Joseph Sorbera.”

  “When Officer Sorbera came to the Murphy house in response to your call, what happened?”

  “I talked to him for a minute, then Mr. Murphy told the officer that I was confused. That I was … ‘hysterical.’”

  “What happened after that?”

  “They fire me,” she said.

  “Did they give you a reason?”

  “I not supposed to make Mr. Herman mad.”

  Yuki said, “Were the Murphys afraid of Mr. Herman?”

  Kinsela said, “Objection. Leading the witness and also inappropriate as hell.”

  “Sustained.”

  Yuki said, “I withdraw the question. Ms. Ortega, did you ever talk to Lily again?”

  Ortega burst into tears. Yuki handed the young woman a tissue, and after a moment, asked her if she could continue.

  Ortega nodded and regained her fragile composure. She said, “I never saw her again.” She said it more strongly the second time. “I never saw her again.”

  “Thank you. Your witness,” Yuki said to Kinsela.

  Kinsela had turned his back on the witness and was talking behind his hand into his client’s ear.

  “I have nothing for Ms. Ortega,” Kinsela said over his shoulder.

  Yuki felt a rush of elation. Kinsela knew he wouldn’t be able to shift Maria’s testimony, so he put on a show to say she was unimportant. She was sure Maria’s testimony had moved the jury.

  Point to the prosecution. She was ready when Nussbaum said, “Ms. Castellano, please call your next witness.”

  Chapter 22

  YUKI CALLED PATROLMAN Joseph Sorbera, the cop who r
esponded to Maria Ortega’s call regarding Lily. Sorbera was a solid guy, had been on the job for fifteen years, and Yuki knew he would be a very credible witness.

  Sorbera told the jury about his brief interview with Maria Ortega, who had told him about the bruises on Lily Herman’s arms and neck. He also verified that Sean Murphy, Ortega’s employer, did tell him that Ortega had what he referred to as post-traumatic stress disorder from an attack when she was a teen—and that she couldn’t be believed.

  “And then what did you do, Officer?”

  “I went to the home of Keith Herman.”

  “Did you speak with Mr. Herman?”

  “No. He wasn’t there. I spoke with Jennifer Herman, his wife.”

  “And what did she tell you about the reported incident?”

  “She said that her husband yelled at the child for breaking a glass, saying she could have hurt herself, but that he hadn’t touched her.”

  “Did you ask to talk to Lily?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Herman brought the little girl to the door. She said that she hadn’t been hurt and that she didn’t know what Ms. Ortega was referring to.”

  “How did these two people seem to you, Officer Sorbera?”

  “They both seemed scared out of their freaking minds.”

  “What did you do next?” Yuki asked.

  “I gave Mrs. Herman my card. And I told her that if she remembered anything, or wanted to talk to me for any reason, she should call me.”

  “Did you report the incident to Family and Children Services?”

  “Yes. But without corroboration from the child or the wife, they considered the incident closed.”

  Yuki said, “Did you consider the incident closed?”

  “Pretty much,” Sorbera said. “I didn’t hear from Mrs. Herman, but when the bags of human remains were identified as her body and the child was reported missing, I went to my captain and told him about the incident.”

  “Thanks, Officer. I’m done, Your Honor.”

  When Kinsela had no questions for Sorbera, Yuki called her next witness to the stand.