“You weren’t involved in that, were you?” He eyed me suspiciously, held the bottle out ready to pour into my extended glass, waiting for the correct answer before he commenced.
“No, I wasn’t involved,” I lied. “I’ve been working with them, the English team, trying to get a handle on what sort of individual would be doing this.”
“That’s easy, like I said, some whack job.”
“Yeah, of course. But, part of the stalking has been someone mailing severed fingers to one of the girls.”
“Fingers?”
“Yeah, always the middle finger, minus the fingertip, by-the-way. Mailed the things to a couple of different cities where they were. Then in Chicago, he slipped one under the door of the hotel room.”
“No shit?”
“So far, none of the fingers correspond to any DNA in the data base. Well, actually we’ve only been able to get results back on one. By the way, it had been frozen. I mean frozen at some point, not after the thing was delivered.”
Andy nodded like this made sense, then took a sip.
“God, and people kid me about my business,” he said, gazing at the ceiling.
“Andy, how hard would it be for someone in your line of work to acquire fingers?”
“Harder than you think,” he said, not blinking. “You’re dealing with families. Now-a — days, it wouldn’t be uncommon to have an open casket prior to the actual funeral service whether at a mortuary or a church. From there you’re on your way to the cemetery for the graveside service, the casket’s locked, lowered, covered then and there. It’s pretty traditional for hands to be exposed while the deceased lies in repose. There’s family hovering around at all time. It would be very risky for someone to try what you’re suggesting, not to mention absolutely crazy on about a dozen different levels.”
“What about a morgue?”
“Same sort of process, think of the morgue as more like a holding facility, but the body is almost always turned over to a mortuary at some point.”
“How the hell could someone have access to a steady supply of fingers?” I asked.
“I really can’t see it from our industry, anything’s possible, but there are so many checks and balances. So much scrutiny and it’s very common for people to be putting a last minute something into the coffin, a letter, a photo, it just, it would be really difficult. What about some industrial circumstance?”
“Yeah sure, I can just imagine OSHA going easy on some place where guys routinely lose fingers.”
“Yeah, I get your point.”
Andy seemed to think for a long time, staring at his liquor urn, he sipped some more.
“You know, there is one way, maybe?”
“Oh?”
“A crematorium.”
“How does that work, the body is reduced to ashes, or in your case a fifth of Jameson.”
“Actually, it’s reduced to dried bits of bone fragments. They grind those up in what’s called a cremulator, then…”
“Okay, okay, too much information.”
“It’s extremely rare that a family would watch the actual cremation. Perhaps, you know, just before that process begins, you could get in there, harvest what you wanted and any telltale sign would be almost immediately destroyed.”
“Harvest?” I asked.
“Yeah, harvest.”
Maybe, I thought, then held out my glass for another refill.
“What about a hospital?”
“Sure it’s possible, but one thing.”
“Which is?” I asked, then sipped.
“Hospitals don’t amputate healthy fingers. The finger would have to be damaged, severely, before they would amputate. Of course there are all sorts of procedures and controls for disposal, they don’t just toss the things in the dumpster.”
That seemed to make sense.
“You said someone had removed the tip of the finger, so the fingerprints couldn’t be checked?”
I nodded.
“Well unless the thing was also severely damaged, which would seem to be obvious to anyone viewing it, I don’t think the hospital or a surgery clinic is your source.”
“My first thought was something along the lines of a homeless guy or a druggy but there’s four separate incidents of this, you’d think someone, somewhere, would report an attack or something. So I don’t know, I guess I’m back to your end of things,” I said.
“Possibly,” Andy replied and sipped some more Jameson.
Chapter Nineteen
The following morning I was in my office watching co-eds waiting for the Randolph Ave. bus across the street. They didn’t look too happy. Maybe that was just because it was morning and they couldn’t stay in bed. Maybe it was exam week. Maybe it was because they were nursing a hangover like mine.
I was thinking about what Andy Lindbergh had told me yesterday, about the difficulty someone at a mortuary would have getting fingers. Harvesting was the term he had used. My cell phone rang, disturbing my complete lack of productivity.
“Haskell Investigations.”
“Hi Dev, its Justine.”
“Hi Justine, how’s it going.”
“Pretty good, say, we got a call from Jimmy McNaughton.”
“Yeah.” I said, cautious.
“He’d like you to give him a call, would you mind?”
“Any idea what he wants?”
“Yeah, he’s going to ask you to talk to Felicity Bard, see if things can’t be smoothed out and everyone can just move on. Would you mind, terribly?”
“She still sticking to her story?”
“I don’t know, I would guess yes, she is. But, I sort of understand, I mean it seems pretty obvious she’s lying, all her support has vanished. I think they’re just hoping to put the whole thing behind them and move on. We’ve scheduled a bout with them in a couple of nights, they’re trying to resurrect their schedule, get something put together so the trip over here isn’t a complete disaster.”
I felt like telling her yes, I minded, a lot. Then ask her what my standing was with the Bombshells? Her in particular, but I was still too mad to care. Justine and the Bombshell’s didn’t back me when I needed it so why should I come to the rescue now? So I said; “I’d be happy to talk with her, and I’ll be happy to call Jimmy?”
“Would you mind, terribly?”
Yes, I did mind terribly.
“Not a problem, I’ll call him as soon as we’re off the line.”
“Oh, Dev, that’s great, I don’t know how to thank you.”
I could think of a couple of ways, Spankie, but didn’t think it wise to elaborate. I dialed Jimmy’s number, he answered on the second ring. I had a feeling he’d been prepped to expect my call.
“McNaughton.”
“Hi Jimmy, Dev Haskell here, got a half minute to chat?”
“I do, how can I help you?”
“Look, I’m wondering if I came over and had a heart to heart with Felicity if that wouldn’t help to smooth things over and maybe we could all get this ahhh, situation, behind us and move on.”
“I think that’s a splendid idea, when can you come over?”
“You name the time, I’ll be there.”
“We take our lunch at one, they’ve a team meeting before that. Why don’t you plan on arriving oh, say quarter past two. I’ll bring you up to their room, myself.”
“Would you mind staying there, too? No offense, but I don’t think it would be the best of ideas to be in there alone with Felicity.”
“I can do that.”
“See you a little after two, then,” I said.
“Best to find me in the dining room, I’ll be having my tea.”
I thought it would be bad form to bring a baseball bat and beat Felicity across her fat head. So, I arrived dutifully a little after two. As promised, I found Jimmy sipping tea in the hotel dining room.
“Jimmy, nice to see you again.”
“Dev, thank you for coming in, would you care for a tea?”