Name Withheld : A J.p. Beaumont Mystery (9780061760907) by Judith A. Jance Page A

necessarily agree with that theory,” I mentioned while Kramer shot me a withering look.
    â€œWhat does she say?” Captain Powell asked.
    â€œShe’s calling it a double,” Kramer grumbled. “And she’s going for a full-court press.”
    â€œAnd I’m sure you three are going to give her your full cooperation,” Powell said with an encouraging smile.
    â€œAbsolutely,” Detective Kramer replied at once, deftly executing a judicious U-turn. It amazed me that he could pull it off without so much as missing a beat. And without Captain Powell catching on to his game, either. “No question about that,” Kramer continued. “We were just about to start dividing up responsibilities.”
    â€œHow?” Powell asked.
    No one had previously discussed the division of labor, but once again Kramer covered himself. “Since Beaumont here was already tracking down the floater’s background and next-of-kin notification, we thought he should go on with that while Detective Arnold and I go to work on the neighborhood here.”
    The captain nodded. “Sounds reasonable,” he said. “Let’s not stand around here jawing about it, either. Get busy. I was in a meeting with Chief Rankin when the call came in. Do you realizethat, counting this one, the city of Seattle now has a total of four homicides in just over two days? And if the one critical-condition drive-by victim at Harborview kicks off, that’ll make five? Believe me, that doesn’t bode well for the year, and it doesn’t bode well for the chief, either. I’m putting you both on notice that he’s going to be wanting progress. Immediate progress!”
    â€œSo what else is new?” I asked with a shrug. I couldn’t resist the jibe. When the brass starts jumping up and down and demanding results yesterday, when they lose track of the fact that instant results often breed long-term disaster, that’s when I have a hard time keeping a civil tongue in my mouth. In those situations, faced with all that bureaucratic huffing and puffing, I think a little healthy disrespect is good for all concerned. Kramer’s exasperated answering glower warned me that he disagreed.
    No doubt he wanted to distance himself from my moderately disrespectful jibe. Maybe he was worried that some of my reputation as Homicide’s smart-ass-in-residence might rub off on him. And, although my comment may have irked Detective Kramer, it seemed to have very little effect on Captain Powell, who was more than capable of taking recalcitrant homicide cops in stride.
    â€œWhere do you stand on your end of it, Detective Beaumont?”
    â€œI’d best be making some phone calls,” I told him. “If Lizbeth Wolf turns out to be alive and well down in San Diego, then our tentative identification is wrong and we’ve got a Jane Doe dead in that apartment and two sets of next-of-kin notifications to handle.”
    â€œGet with the program, then,” Powell told me. He turned to Kramer and Arnold. “And you two guys are canvassing the neighborhood?”
    Kramer nodded. “And talking to the people in the building? All we’re waiting on is an approximate time of death so we have some idea what to ask.”
    About that time, the elevator door opened. A police photographer stepped into the hallway. Captain Powell waved her into the apartment just as Audrey Cummings emerged, peeling off a pair of latex gloves. She must have heard the tail end of Kramer’s answer.
    â€œI’d say she’s been dead for days. My guess, pending the autopsy, is two or three, but it could be less. The extreme heat in the apartment may have distorted the condition of the body. Who’s going to be working on the identification?”
    â€œI am,” I answered. “I.D. and next of kin both.”
    Audrey nodded. “Good. Let me know what you find out. And remember, Beaumont. Positive I.D.