“I want to see those reports. We can go over them together.
What did you find out about the autopsy on the overpass victim?”
“Fenton’s going to do the post tomorrow. You going to attend?”
At first David was going to say no, but this one was a little too close to home to brush off. He nodded. “I’ll be there, the D
from Central said we can sit in.”
“Gonna be a crowded morgue,” Jairo drawled.
“You offering to transfer out? I can start the paperwork tomorrow if you want.”
Jairo smiled. “No, that’s okay, I’m sticking around. I’m not a quitter.”
“Good for you,” David muttered.
He caught the beginning of a Lakers and Houston game, but turned it off during the half time show, when the Lakers were trailing badly. Sergeant followed him upstairs and took up his normal place at the foot of the bed. But sometime in the middle of the night, David awoke to find the dog sprawled across Chris’s side of the bed. He didn’t have the heart to kick him off.
66 P.A. Brown
He would never admit it to anyone, least of all Chris, but it was comforting to have something in the bed with him. He refused to entertain the image of Jairo taking Sergeant’s place. That played havoc with his already well defined fantasies.
Sergeant snored.
Tuesday, 8:15 AM, County Coroner’s Office, North Mission Road, East
Los Angeles
Inside the drab white coroner’s, David greeted the forensic pathologist Fenton and Detective Yamagata while they waited for the body to be wheeled in and transferred to the autopsy table. David knew Captain Fredericks had already cleared it with Central’s chain of command to allow them to observe the post.
If Yamagata had any issues with that, he wasn’t letting on.
The first round of photos were taken, then the woman’s bloody and torn clothes were cut off her and stored in paper bags. The pockets were searched, but no ID or wallet was recovered. More photos were taken of the now naked body.
Fenton had the photographer take a couple of extra pictures of the victim’s face. He frowned. “Some pretty heavy damage done to the facial striata. Not entirely consistent with an impact.
In fact...” He leaned closer. “It looks like the wounds were beginning to heal, so they were definitely pre-mortem. Skin appears to have been sliced, possibly with a razor or a very sharp knife.”
“Scalpel?” Yamagata asked.
“Possibly.”
“So she was cut before she was tossed?”
“Looks that way. I can tell you more after I get a better look.”
Fenton then pointed out a small, angular tattoo on the upper thigh. It looked like a series of triangles and diamond shapes. “Looks like a weird scarecrow.” The photographer L.A. BONEYARD
67
caught it at several angles. The X-rays taken revealed one anomaly. “And some kind of writing. BEREHENYA.”
“Something else,” Fenton said. “Gold teeth.”
David straightened. “What?”
“Gold teeth.” Fenton shone a strong light into the back of her mouth and David caught the glitter of metal. “Two upper molars. We’ll include that with the dental records. Can’t be too many women with gold molars.”
Yamagata caught David’s interest. “That mean something?”
“We caught a pair of DBs in Griffith Park, female Caucasian and her unborn. She had gold teeth too. And some unusual tattoos, similar to that.”
“Other than the teeth, no gross abnormalities,” Fenton went on. “Normal Caucasian female,” Fenton lifted each eyelid and peered into her eyes. “Severe facial lacerations, blunt force trauma to the skull. No petechial hemorrhaging in the conjunctiva.”
Y incision, then weighing and measuring everything took the better part of an hour. Through it all, Fenton’s gravelly voice intoned each observation. Finally the reproductive organs were removed. Fenton’s voice changed. “Got another similarity for you. Subject is approximately fifteen weeks pregnant. Fetus appears to be a normally developed female.”
David met Jairo’s startled gaze.
“Does that mean something?” Yamagata asked.
David chewed on his lip. He addressed Fenton. “Any idea what’s happening to the second body from that grave? Has an autopsy been scheduled on that?”
“I believe a forensic anthropologist has been called in for it.
The bones are in the process of being denuded. You want to be notified for that autopsy, too?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll let him know.”
“Thanks,” David said. “So, can you give us a cause of death?”
68 P.A. Brown
“Severe trauma, intracranial hemorrhage, intraparenchymal bleeding and subarachnoid hemorrhaging.” The blank looks on everyone’s face made him add, “Bleeding in the area between the arachnoid membrane and within the brain’s ventricles.”
“That’s a lot of help,” Jairo muttered. “I didn’t know you had to have a medical degree to do this job.”
Fenton, unfazed, smiled, showing a gap between his teeth.
“That’s okay, I didn’t know I had to be a legal eagle to work here. But it helps. Layman’s terms? She hit her head so hard on the pavement it cracked her skull open and she bled out into her brain. There’s other trauma too—broken bones, burst spleen, but those things she might have survived with prompt medical attention. The head thing, not so lucky. Even if she’d fallen from the top floor of the USC medical center, she wouldn’t have made it.”
“Can you run a full tox screen?” David asked.
“Already in the works,” Fenton said. “The original incident report stated the officer thought she appeared drugged. It will take a few days for all the screens to be run. We’ll test her stomach contents. If anything’s there, we’ll find it.”
David glanced at Yamagata. “If the primary agrees, I’d like to hear the results of those tests.”
Yamagata nodded. “I’ll see you get them. This related to something you’re on?”
“Our Griffith Park DBs.”
The autopsy ended and the body was returned to storage for future internment if an identity could ever be established. No one in Northeast had to write up an incident report on this one.
That would be Yamagata’s job. If Yamagata was feeling generous, he might cc the report to David. David would keep himself in the loop as much as possible, but he had his own caseloads to contend with. Not to mention he had a randy rookie D to keep in line. Still, he intended to approach Lieutenant McKee about rolling this case into his Griffith Park case.
L.A. BONEYARD
69
Outside the morgue he stripped off his sterile coverall and Tyvek booties and dumped them in the hamper. Then he headed back to the station, Jairo following. There was a note from the division captain; he wanted David’s 60-day reports on his desk by roll call tomorrow. He also wanted a status report on Jairo’s progress. David was really looking forward to that.
With nothing new on any of his cases, and no new ones, David called it a day at six. He grabbed a French dip from Philippes and walked in on Chris just starting up on his supper, a tasteless looking plate of gray potatoes, grayer meat and something that might have been green beans, except they were gray, too.
Chris looked up at his entrance, and the bag swinging at his side. “Thank God, I was thinking I might actually have to eat this stuff.”
He practically inhaled the sandwich and Coke and lay back with a sigh. “You just saved my life.”
“Glad to be of service,” David belatedly stooped down and collected a kiss, which tasted of beef and au jus. He perched on the edge of the bed, holding Chris’s hand in his lap.
“Talked to the doctor today,” Chris said, playing with the fingers of David’s hand. “He’s sending me home tomorrow.”
“Good, Sergeant misses you.”
“Oh, and you don’t?” Suddenly he dropped David’s hand.
“It’s good, but I also saw Dr. Jantz today and he wants me to fly out to New York, to meet his partners.”
“Jantz?”
“You know, the new contract...”
“They want you to fly out east? What does the doctor say about that?”
Chris shrugged. “As long as I take it easy and don’t try anything strenuous, he’s okay with it.”
David raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but he doesn’t know you very well, does he?”
70 P.A. Brown
“I’m not going to get into trouble, if that’s what you’re implying. I don’t do that anymore.”
“Leopards don’t change their spots.”
“This one does,” Chris purred, stroking David’s thigh.
David stirred uneasily, all too aware of the open door.
David caught his hand and held it captive. “The dog misses you. We’re both tired of going to bed alone.”
“It’ll only be for a few days. I really need to do this.”
“Hey, I understand,” David said. “It’s your job.”
“I’ll make it up to you...” The smile he gave his lover was alive with promise. “Seriously. Do me a favor, pack a bag for me tonight. I’ll call you when I know what time my flight leaves.”
“What about dinner this weekend? Or will you be back by then?”
“Better if I reschedule. But, call the vet, will you? I posted his number on the fridge. Find out who else we can call about the dog. Call them.”
“What if they want the dog back?”
Chris looked away. “Then you do what you gotta do. I’ll understand.”
I might not.
But David couldn’t very well say that, not after making such a big deal about finding the dog’s real owner. He didn’t want to admit he’d miss the big goof. After a rocky start they’d started bonding. It was fun having a jogging partner. He did his best not to think of his other jogging partner and the thoughts that kept playing in his head as he remembered things that never should have happened.
David stayed until visitor’s hours were declared over.
Reluctantly he leaned over the bed and kissed Chris soundly, determined to wipe out all treacherous thoughts of Jairo from his overactive imagination.
Then he drove home and found his nemesis parked in the driveway, his chocolate lab gamboling on the lawn, the next door neighbor out with her own yellow lab.
L.A. BONEYARD
71
David nodded at his neighbor, told her Chris was doing much better, and would be home soon, then introduced Jairo, though he could see the two were getting on like a house on fire. The personable young man didn’t seem to have any trouble making friends.
David took hold of his elbow, and led the compliant Jairo into the cool foyer, away from his nosy neighbor. He was forestalled from giving his partner a piece of his mind by Sergeant’s greeting. By the time he got out of his work clothes, and changed, Jairo was waiting serenely by the front door with both dogs.
“You have got to stop doing this,” David snapped.
Jairo handed him Sergeant’s leash. “Why? It’s not like I’m dragging you up to bed, though I admit I’d like to. But I promised I’d be good.”
“What the hell would you do if I called your wife up and told her what you were up to?”
“She wouldn’t believe you. She wouldn’t understand why you were saying it, and she wouldn’t believe you.”
Just like the cops down at Northeast wouldn’t believe what was going on right under their noses. They wouldn’t see what they didn’t want to see. He sighed, wishing Jairo would just give it up. Wishing he would leave. But a treacherous part of his mind didn’t want Jairo to go away. And that horrified him.
Could he really give in to temptation that easily? He’d always seen himself as rooted in honor. He loved Chris. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Something more important than what he wanted to do to Jairo, right now, right here.
“So I guess if I can’t get rid of you until we’ve walked the dogs, let’s get it over with.”
Tuesday, 9:15 AM, Northeast Community Police Station, San Fernando
Road, Los Angeles
David spent most of the morning at his desk, fielding phone calls and trying to track down tattoo parlors that might recognize the weird lettering. He’d had to do this before when a tattoo was the only distinguishing mark on a dead victim. It still amazed him how many tattoo artists the city of L.A had.
Jairo wasn’t. “Oh, yeah, getting inked is cool. Don’t you watch TLC?”
“No, what’s that got to do with anything?”
“L.A. Ink—it’s a show about people getting tattooed. They do some cool shit. Lot of celebrity clients.”
David shook his head. To him, tattoos were synonymous with jail house ink and gang tats. “Don’t tell me, you’ve got them.”
“Sure.” Jairo popped pulled his shirt out of his belt and pointed to a sinuous double headed snake engraved on the solid muscles of his back. “A
coatl.
Aztec. It’s something, ain’t it?”
David started at the expanse of brown skin and forced himself to look away. “Yeah, it’s something. The Lieutenant won’t be happy he sees you doing that.”
Jairo tucked his shirt back in. He shrugged his jacket back in place and straightened his clip-on tie.
David’s phone rang. He scooped it up. It was Chris.
“You going to be able to run me out to the airport? Jantz booked me a non-stop from Burbank, so at least you don’t have to fight traffic all the way to LAX.”
“Sure, what time’s your flight?”
“United 6532, one-thirty.”
74 P.A. Brown
David glanced at his watch. “How about I get you in half an hour? Can you be ready?”
“I’ll be ready.”
David hung up. Jairo met his gaze. “Chris going someplace?”
“New York on business. Don’t get any ideas.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Chris was still moving stiffly when David put him in a wheel chair and took him down to his car. He’d brought the Chevy with him, so there wouldn’t be any problem with giving Chris a ride in a city vehicle. Chris eased himself down into the seat, and gingerly clipped on the seat belt, wincing when it rubbed his bruised rib cage. While a worried David watched, he popped a couple of pain pills, and took shallow breaths.
“You sure you’re okay with this?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Reluctantly, David dropped Chris off at the United terminal and headed back to work. At one he got a phone call about his tattoo. Someone in Hollywood might know the artist. He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.