Madman's Thirst by Lawrence de Maria Page B

added, “He waved to
me, but Ill be damned if I can remember his name.”
    “That’s Dr. Bimm.”
    “Medical Examiner?”
    The cop laughed.
    “Only thing he ever examined were
tits and asses. Was a plastic surgeon. Had clinics all over the place. Now he’s
some sort of special advisor to the B.P. Always around. Like fly shit.”
    “He has his own parking spot?”
    “What can I say? Guy is so fat,
we’re lucky he doesn’t take two spots.” 
    “Not bad,” Scarne said. “I had to
park in Kansas.”
    “You’re not in Kansas anymore,
Toto.”
    Scarne headed over to the adjacent
building where, after clearing security,  he was greeted warmly by Mary
McCallister, District Attorney Daniel O’Connor’s administrative assistant.
Scarne knew that McAllister had served O’Connor’s predecessor for many years, and
he was surprised to see her in the same job. He’d heard, from Dudley Mack, that
the new administration fired or transferred anyone they could and filled their
jobs with party hacks. She insisted on getting him a cup of coffee and rolled
her wheelchair over to the pot. After chatting for a minute, she buzzed him
into O’Connor’s office.
    The D.A. got up from his chair,
smiling broadly. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and his tie loosened. A blue
suit jacket was hanging on a rack in the corner.
    “Jake, how are you?” They shook
hands. O’Connor pointed to a pair of chairs in front of his desk and sat in
one. Scarne took the other.  “I see Mary’s already got your coffee.”
    “I was a little surprised to see
her still here. I thought the new B.P. cleaned house.”
     “Blovardi and I are in the same political
church, different pews. I shook up this place, sure. Too many of the old A.D.A.’s
spent their time in local gin mills. They’re in private practice now. I kept a
few of the best. Some of the detectives. And Mary.”
    Scarne and O’Connor had never been
close. But the man was basically decent. He and his predecessors, of both
political parties, did a capable job of keeping the borough free from violent
street crime. O’Connor was a thin man, much shorter than Scarne, with a
pleasant, if rather bland, Irish face, wispy blond hair and skin that needed to
avoid the sun. But his complexion was good. Scarne knew he neither drank nor
smoked.
    “Like you, Jake, I’ve known the
McCallisters since high school. One of the borough hall crowd came over and
told me to ditch Mary. His niece needed a job. I told him Mary had overcome
incredible hurdles to get ahead and was also the sole support of a widowed
mother. He called me a bleeding heart. I threw the prick out bodily. I also let
it be known that this office would look closely at any cases of disabled
employees forced out in other agencies.”
    “Jeez, you’re restoring my faith
in the human race.”
    “What can I do for you, Jake.”
    Scarne knew he had to be careful.
    “Anything new on the murder of
Bobby Pearsall’s daughter? That one must stick in your craw.”
    “You bet it does, Jake. That kind
of thing never happens out here. And I aim to make sure it doesn’t again.” He
looked generally pained. “I was there, you know, right after it happened. Got
the call and went right over. I can’t wait to get the bastard who did it. And
we will get him. But what’s your interest?”
    “Been asked to look into it.”
    “By who?”
    “A friend.”
    “Who’s the friend?”
    “Sorry, Dan. I can’t tell you. And
it really doesn’t matter. But I understand the cops are working under the
theory that it was a home invasion gone bad. Anyone consider the possibility
that it wasn’t that random? Maybe she was a target. Or maybe her father?”
    O’Connor leaned back in his chair
and crossed his legs.
    “What are you getting at, Jake?
Somebody had it in for her, or Bob Pearsall? Makes no sense. There was loot
piled up in the hallway, ready to go. Saw it myself.”
    “What about a contract hit? Maybe
Pearsall was working on a story that