Posts
SOUTHBOUND, INTERSTATE 5,
CLAIRMONT
1:49 P.M. PDT
“Look at these cars. Would you look at all these cars? Every year, it’s more traffic. Bet, in ten years, they close Camp Pendleton and we have one supercity from here to Frisco and 50 million people lollygagging in their goddamn cars.” Al banged on the steering wheel. “C’mon, you lollygaggers, let’s go!”
Pope’s cell rang and DECKER appeared on the display.
Decker saying, “You wanna tell me what you people are up to?”
Pope frowned. “What’s going on, Dave?”
“What’s going on, is, shortly after you left, DNS guys came by demanding Finch’s body. We said it was going up to the morgue. That was all they wanted to hear and they left.”
“Who demanded it?”
“Some guy named DeFonzio and another deputy inspector. 25 years old, straight out of Harvard and sporting serious attitude.”
“I’ve met a few of them, I know the type.” The bay was to their right, beautiful and blue, little boats and jetskis peppering the water, people out having a good time, enjoying their lives. Some were probably even retired. “Then what?”
Decker saying, “They showed up at the morgue same time the EMT van gets there, flashing credentials. When the EMT tech says he’s gotta check the body in, they follow him up. Then, without waiting for any interagency clearance, they take Finch’s body, hell, they even shoved the morgue tech in a drawer alongside Wilferd Wilcox when he tried to stop them. We’ve got them on camera loading the body into the back of their Cadillac like Finch is a set of golf clubs. Watching it, it’s like watching the mob go to work— Hold on a sec, Gideon, I’ve got another call. . . . Call you back.”
Before Pope could put his phone away, Gil Streets was calling.
“I imagine you’ve heard what happened down at the morgue?” be
“I heard it from a homicide Captain just now. How’d you hear?”
“From Burns. He says DNS feared the body could become infectious. They didn’t have time for proper protocol, so things got a little mixed up.”
Pope described the events as Decker had related them.
“You think,” Gil said, “this morgue tech might be exaggerating a litle?”
“Maybe. But all we have to go on is DNS’s word. And frankly, I’m not convinced DNS is the
more reliable party. Gil, if they were so worried about infection, why did they stuff the body into the back of their car?”
“You’re sure of this?”
“The homicide captain says it’s all on tape.”
“Hmm. Well we were told it was a van.”
“So they’re even lying about the mode of transportation? You’d think with all the money they spend, they could have at least afforded a phony van.” Pope frowned. “So what’d we find out about Finch?”
“Well, you’re not gonna like this, but it appears the dead guy found in that pool’s been dead two years.”
Pope frowned. “Come again?”
“You heard me. Leonard M. Finch of Plano, Texas died in a car crash, New Year’s Eve two years ago. So whoever this guy is, he was using bogus ID.”
Shaking his head, Pope said, “Sons of bitches. They just wanted the body so it couldn’t be identified. Gotta make you wonder just who he is.”
THEY CAME UPON A WRECKER hitched to a battered SUV and people tended by paramedics. Beyond the SUV lay an even more battered station wagon. Here were not paramedics but a fire team applying the jaws of life.
Pope said, “Wonder if anybody died.”
To which Al replied, “I sure the hell hope so. Means one less asshole in the world.”
Pope looked over at Al. “That’s really awful, you know that? Even by your callous standards.”
Al shrugged. “Hey, I’m just saying that if a car flipped over like that one there, it’s gotta be tailgating, which means it was their fault. Sorry, but they brought it on themselves.”
Taking in the ruined cars, Pope said, “It looks like they’re paying a price to me.”
“Maybe,” Al said, waving a hand dismissively. “But I tell ya what: if I’m king, there’s a law where, you get in an accident based on something stupid— for instance, you’re jawing on a cell-phone and rear-end somebody— I calculate the number of lost man-hours for people caught in traffic and that’s your sentence. Plus an exorbitant fine. That’d teach people to pay attention.”
A CHP officer waved them around the overturned minivan; on the road, Pope glimpsed a doll with her toes in the puddle of blood that ran from the overturned station wagon. Atop the wagon, a fire-captain was directing the Jaws of Life. Pope could’ve said something, but with Al, he just let it go; to argue with Al about the philosophical value of life versus efficiency and economics was an argument he’d never win.
No comments:
Post a Comment