he’d think about it, and seek counsel from his colleagues. In the meantime, he thanked Jenner for a job well done, and thanked him for his discretion and sensitivity. He asked for a report in writing and an invoice, then told Jenner he could consider this engagement finished, adding that he’d be recommending him to attorneys in need of a forensic expert.
Outside in the main room, Ana had switched to Outkast, and was singing along to “Ms. Jackson.” Jun was sprawled on the couch, this time in brown cords, a long sage green knit sweater vest, and the gray Kangol, grinning.
Jun called out, “Dude! Your houseguest can’t sing for shit!
I feel sorry for you!”
“Just be glad I’m not singing.”
Ana said, “Jenner, what’s a kogal? Jun says he’s dating one, and he won’t tell me what that is.”
“A very colorful Japanese girl who likes to wear expensive clothes that other people pay for. He’s joking—Kimi’s great.”
Jun snickered. His girlfriend was coming over for lunch, then they were going shopping in NoLIta, where the boutiques were swankier than in the East Village and trendier Precious Blood
89
than in SoHo. Jun ordered scallion pancakes, crabmeat and pork juicy buns, and barbecued pork from Star of the East, which he said was definitely the best Shanghainese restaurant in the city; he was playing the New York Asian card, showing off for Ana.
Jun was at the door paying the deliveryman when Bobby Dowling called. Jenner took the phone back into the quiet of the TV room.
Dowling listened to Jenner’s news, congratulated him on nailing the link, and told him to hand the case file off to Garcia. They chatted a bit about the feds, about how they do it in NYC, and how other jurisdictions, even in small towns, sometimes do it better. “But, Doc, for chrissakes, don’t tell anyone I said that!”
The sound of laughter rose from the kitchen. Jenner said,
“Well, Bobby. It’s been good working with you—good luck with this case.”
“You’re out then, Doc? I know you signed on as a consul-tant, but I figured you’d want to see it through.”
“I kind of do, I kind of don’t. The Delores have buried their daughter now. I think my part in this is finished.”
“I wish I could say the same thing, but I have a feeling things will pick up for our investigation tomorrow, after the funeral. I thought I’d go, show the family some respect; I think a lot of the guys will.”
Jenner wasn’t following. “I’m sorry, Bobby—what funeral?”
“Sunday Smith’s. Her parents got back into town yesterday, they’re burying her tomorrow.”
“God! I thought she was buried weeks ago.”
“No, sorry, my fault, I should have told you she wasn’t buried. Her family’s Mormon, and they were in Asia, testifying or whatever they call it. It took forever to even notify them, let alone for them to get back stateside.”
Jenner thought for a second.
“Can I have a look at the body? Where is it?”
90
j o n at h a n h ay e s
“Romen Funeral Chapel, just outside of town.” He paused.
“As far as seeing the body . . . well, what do you mean by
‘have a look’? Shouldn’t be a problem for you to examine her, but if you’re talking about opening her up, that’s something else.”
Jenner thought about the autopsy report; if the autopsy protocol was so piss-poor, God only knew what they’d missed.
“It kills me to say this, but I think she needs a proper autopsy. No disrespect, but that first pathologist was clearly way out of his depth.”
“Well, Doc, that could be a problem. You’ve got no jurisdiction—heck, you’re not even technically an ME anymore.
They’re good people, the parents, but they’ve been through a lot. Their daughter had her head cut off, and they just flew ten thousand miles to bury her; I just don’t see them going for it.”
Jenner could hear the detective clicking on his ballpoint pen.
“Bobby, look: speak to them, see if they’ll agree. You know
Outside in the main room, Ana had switched to Outkast, and was singing along to “Ms. Jackson.” Jun was sprawled on the couch, this time in brown cords, a long sage green knit sweater vest, and the gray Kangol, grinning.
Jun called out, “Dude! Your houseguest can’t sing for shit!
I feel sorry for you!”
“Just be glad I’m not singing.”
Ana said, “Jenner, what’s a kogal? Jun says he’s dating one, and he won’t tell me what that is.”
“A very colorful Japanese girl who likes to wear expensive clothes that other people pay for. He’s joking—Kimi’s great.”
Jun snickered. His girlfriend was coming over for lunch, then they were going shopping in NoLIta, where the boutiques were swankier than in the East Village and trendier Precious Blood
89
than in SoHo. Jun ordered scallion pancakes, crabmeat and pork juicy buns, and barbecued pork from Star of the East, which he said was definitely the best Shanghainese restaurant in the city; he was playing the New York Asian card, showing off for Ana.
Jun was at the door paying the deliveryman when Bobby Dowling called. Jenner took the phone back into the quiet of the TV room.
Dowling listened to Jenner’s news, congratulated him on nailing the link, and told him to hand the case file off to Garcia. They chatted a bit about the feds, about how they do it in NYC, and how other jurisdictions, even in small towns, sometimes do it better. “But, Doc, for chrissakes, don’t tell anyone I said that!”
The sound of laughter rose from the kitchen. Jenner said,
“Well, Bobby. It’s been good working with you—good luck with this case.”
“You’re out then, Doc? I know you signed on as a consul-tant, but I figured you’d want to see it through.”
“I kind of do, I kind of don’t. The Delores have buried their daughter now. I think my part in this is finished.”
“I wish I could say the same thing, but I have a feeling things will pick up for our investigation tomorrow, after the funeral. I thought I’d go, show the family some respect; I think a lot of the guys will.”
Jenner wasn’t following. “I’m sorry, Bobby—what funeral?”
“Sunday Smith’s. Her parents got back into town yesterday, they’re burying her tomorrow.”
“God! I thought she was buried weeks ago.”
“No, sorry, my fault, I should have told you she wasn’t buried. Her family’s Mormon, and they were in Asia, testifying or whatever they call it. It took forever to even notify them, let alone for them to get back stateside.”
Jenner thought for a second.
“Can I have a look at the body? Where is it?”
90
j o n at h a n h ay e s
“Romen Funeral Chapel, just outside of town.” He paused.
“As far as seeing the body . . . well, what do you mean by
‘have a look’? Shouldn’t be a problem for you to examine her, but if you’re talking about opening her up, that’s something else.”
Jenner thought about the autopsy report; if the autopsy protocol was so piss-poor, God only knew what they’d missed.
“It kills me to say this, but I think she needs a proper autopsy. No disrespect, but that first pathologist was clearly way out of his depth.”
“Well, Doc, that could be a problem. You’ve got no jurisdiction—heck, you’re not even technically an ME anymore.
They’re good people, the parents, but they’ve been through a lot. Their daughter had her head cut off, and they just flew ten thousand miles to bury her; I just don’t see them going for it.”
Jenner could hear the detective clicking on his ballpoint pen.
“Bobby, look: speak to them, see if they’ll agree. You know
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