superficial examination. I’ll be interested in what his organs have to say.”
“You’re not suggesting he died of natural causes.”
“Oh, no. It’s merely a little game I play with myself to keep the interest up.” He grinned, and the sunlight glinted on his spectacles in cold mirth. “Not every doctor gets a chance to know his patients inside and out.”
“You’re the coroner, aren’t you?”
“Deputy coroner. Ostervelt’s the coroner—he wears two hats. Actually I do, too. I’m pathologist at the Purissima Hospital. Name’s Lawson.”
“Archer.” We shook hands.
“You from one of the L.A. papers? I just got finished talking to the local man.”
“I’m a private investigator, employed by a member of the family. I was wondering about your findings.”
“Haven’t got any yet. I know there’re two bullets in him because they went in and didn’t come out. I’ll get ’em when I do the autopsy.”
“When will that be?”
“Tonight. Ostervelt wants it quick. I ought to have it wrapped up by midnight, sooner maybe.”
“What happens to the slugs after you remove them?”
“I turn ’em over to the sheriff’s ballistics man.”
“Is he any good?”
“Oh, yeah, Durkin’s a pretty fair technician. If it gets too tough, we send the work up to the L.A. Police Lab, or to Sacramento. But this isn’t a case where the physical evidence counts for much. We pretty well know who did it. Once they catch him, he shouldn’t be hard to get a story out of. Ostervelt may not bother doing anything with the slugs. He’s a pretty easy-going guy. You get that way after twenty-five or thirty years in office.”
“Worked for him long?”
“Four-five years. Five.” He added, a little defensively: “Purissima’s a nice place to live. The wife won’t leave it. Who can blame her?”
“Not me. I wouldn’t mind settling here myself.”
“Talk to Ostervelt, why don’t you? He’s understaffed—always looking for men. You have any police experience?”
“A few years back. I got tired of living on a cop’s salary. Among other things.”
“There are always ways of padding it out.”
Not knowing how he meant me to take that, I looked into his face. He was sizing me up, too. I said:
“That was one of the other things I got tired of. But you wouldn’t think there’d be much of that in this county.”
“More than you think, brother, more than you think. We won’t go into that, though.” He took a bite out of the tip of his cigar and spat it into the gravel. “You say you’ve working for the Hallman family?”
I nodded.
“Ever been in Purissima before?”
“Over the years, I have.”
He looked at me with curiosity. “Are you one of the detectives the Senator brought in when his wife drowned?”
“No.”
“I just wondered. I spent several hours with one of them—a smart old bulldog named Scott. You wouldn’t happen to know him? He’s from L.A. Glenn Scott?”
“I know Scott. He’s one of the old masters in the field. Or he was until he retired.”
“My impression exactly. He knew more about pathology than most medical students. I never had a more interesting conversation.”
“What about?”
“Causes of death,” he said brightly. “Drowning and asphyxiation and so on. Fortunately I’d done a thorough post-mortem. I was able to establish that she died by drowning; she had sand and fragments of kelp in her bronchial tubes, and the indicated saline solution in her lungs.”
“There wasn’t any doubt of it, was there?”
“Not after I got through. Scott was completely satisfied. Of course I couldn’t entirely rule out the possibility of murder, but there were no positive indications. It’s almost certain that the contusions were inflicted after death.”
“Contusions?” I prompted softly.
“Yeah, the contusions on the back and head. You often get them in drownings along this coast, with the rocks and the heavy surf. I’ve seen some cadavers that were
“You’re not suggesting he died of natural causes.”
“Oh, no. It’s merely a little game I play with myself to keep the interest up.” He grinned, and the sunlight glinted on his spectacles in cold mirth. “Not every doctor gets a chance to know his patients inside and out.”
“You’re the coroner, aren’t you?”
“Deputy coroner. Ostervelt’s the coroner—he wears two hats. Actually I do, too. I’m pathologist at the Purissima Hospital. Name’s Lawson.”
“Archer.” We shook hands.
“You from one of the L.A. papers? I just got finished talking to the local man.”
“I’m a private investigator, employed by a member of the family. I was wondering about your findings.”
“Haven’t got any yet. I know there’re two bullets in him because they went in and didn’t come out. I’ll get ’em when I do the autopsy.”
“When will that be?”
“Tonight. Ostervelt wants it quick. I ought to have it wrapped up by midnight, sooner maybe.”
“What happens to the slugs after you remove them?”
“I turn ’em over to the sheriff’s ballistics man.”
“Is he any good?”
“Oh, yeah, Durkin’s a pretty fair technician. If it gets too tough, we send the work up to the L.A. Police Lab, or to Sacramento. But this isn’t a case where the physical evidence counts for much. We pretty well know who did it. Once they catch him, he shouldn’t be hard to get a story out of. Ostervelt may not bother doing anything with the slugs. He’s a pretty easy-going guy. You get that way after twenty-five or thirty years in office.”
“Worked for him long?”
“Four-five years. Five.” He added, a little defensively: “Purissima’s a nice place to live. The wife won’t leave it. Who can blame her?”
“Not me. I wouldn’t mind settling here myself.”
“Talk to Ostervelt, why don’t you? He’s understaffed—always looking for men. You have any police experience?”
“A few years back. I got tired of living on a cop’s salary. Among other things.”
“There are always ways of padding it out.”
Not knowing how he meant me to take that, I looked into his face. He was sizing me up, too. I said:
“That was one of the other things I got tired of. But you wouldn’t think there’d be much of that in this county.”
“More than you think, brother, more than you think. We won’t go into that, though.” He took a bite out of the tip of his cigar and spat it into the gravel. “You say you’ve working for the Hallman family?”
I nodded.
“Ever been in Purissima before?”
“Over the years, I have.”
He looked at me with curiosity. “Are you one of the detectives the Senator brought in when his wife drowned?”
“No.”
“I just wondered. I spent several hours with one of them—a smart old bulldog named Scott. You wouldn’t happen to know him? He’s from L.A. Glenn Scott?”
“I know Scott. He’s one of the old masters in the field. Or he was until he retired.”
“My impression exactly. He knew more about pathology than most medical students. I never had a more interesting conversation.”
“What about?”
“Causes of death,” he said brightly. “Drowning and asphyxiation and so on. Fortunately I’d done a thorough post-mortem. I was able to establish that she died by drowning; she had sand and fragments of kelp in her bronchial tubes, and the indicated saline solution in her lungs.”
“There wasn’t any doubt of it, was there?”
“Not after I got through. Scott was completely satisfied. Of course I couldn’t entirely rule out the possibility of murder, but there were no positive indications. It’s almost certain that the contusions were inflicted after death.”
“Contusions?” I prompted softly.
“Yeah, the contusions on the back and head. You often get them in drownings along this coast, with the rocks and the heavy surf. I’ve seen some cadavers that were
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