By the time I reached Pathology, Dr. Fraker was off again, but Marcy had told him I was coming and he'd instructed her to forward me, like a piece of mail. I trailed after her through the lab and finally came across him in surgical greens, standing at a stainless-steel counter with a sink, disposal, and hanging scales. He was apparently about to launch into some procedure and I was sorry I had to interrupt.
"I really didn't mean to disturb you," I said. "All I need is Kelly Borden's address and telephone number."
"Pull up a chair," he said, indicating a wooden stool at one end of the counter. And then to Marcy, "Why don't you look up the information for Kinsey and I'll keep her amused in the meantime."
As soon as she departed, I pulled the stool over and perched.
For the first time, I cued in to what Fraker was actually doing. He was wearing surgical gloves, scalpel in hand. There was a white plastic carton on the counter, a one-pint size, like the kind used for chicken livers in the meat section of the supermarket. As I watched, he dumped out a glistening blob of organs, which he began to sort through with a pair of long tweezers. Against my will, I feit my gaze fix on this small pile of human flesh. Our entire conversation was conducted while he trimmed off snippets from each of several organs.
I could feel my lips purse in distaste. "What are those?"
His expression was mild, impersonal, and amused. He used the tweezers to point, touching each of several hunks in turn. I half expected the little morsels to draw away from his probing, like live slugs, but none of them moved. "Well, let's see. That's a heart. Liver. Lung. Spleen. Gall bladder.
This fella died suddenly during surgery and nobody can figure out what his problem was."
"And you can? Just from doing that?"
"Well, not always, but I think we'll come up with something in this case," he said.
I didn't think I'd ever look at stew meat in quite the same way. I couldn't take my eyes away from his dicing process and I couldn't get it through my head that these had once been functioning parts of a human being. If he was aware of my fascination, he didn't give any indication of it and I tried to be as nonchalant about the whole deal as he was.
He glanced over at me. "How does Kelly Borden figure into this?"
"I'm not sure," I said. "Sometimes I have to look at things that end up having no connection whatever to a case. Maybe it's the same as what you do-inspecting all the pieces of the puzzle until you come up with a theory."
"I suspect this is a lot more scientific than what you do," he remarked.
"Oh, no doubt about it," I said. "But I'll tell you one advantage I have."
He paused, looking over at me again, but with the first genuine interest I'd seen.
"I know the man whose death I'm dealing with and I have a personal stake in the outcome. I think he was murdered and it pisses me off Disease is neutral. Homicide's not."
"I think your feeling for Bobby is coloring your judgment His death was accidental."
"Maybe. Or maybe I can persuade Homicide that he died as a result of a murder attempt nine months ago."
"If you can prove that," he said. "So far I gather you don't have much to go on, which is where your work differs from mine. I can probably come up with something conclusive here and I won't have to leave the room."
"I do envy you that," I said. "I mean, I don't doubt Bobby was killed, but I don't have any idea who did it and I may never have any evidence."
"Then I have it all over you," he said. "For the most part, I deal in certainty. Once in a while, I'm stumped, but not often."
"You're lucky."
Marcy returned with Kelly's address and telephone number on a slip of paper, which she handed to me.
"I prefer to think I'm talented," he was saying wryly. "I better not keep you in any case. Let me know how it comes out."
"I'll do that. Thanks for this," I said, holding up the slip of paper.
It was now five o'clock. I found a pay phone in an offshoot of one of the hospital corridors and tried Kelly s number.
He picked up on the third ring. I identified myself, reminding him of Dr. Fraker's introduction.
"I know who you are."
"Listen," I said, "could I stop by and talk to you? There's something I need to check out."
He seemed to hesitate at first. "Sure, O.K. You know where I am?"
Kelly s apartment was on the west side of town, not far from St. Terry's. I trotted back to my car and drove over to an address on Castle. I parked in front of a frame duplex and walked down a long driveway to a small wooden outbuilding at the rear of the property. His place, like mine, had probably been a garage at one time.
As I rounded some shrubs, I spotted him sitting on his front step, smoking a joint. He wore jeans and a leather vest over a plaid shirt, feet bare. His hair was pulled back in the same neat braid, beard and mustache looking grayer somehow than I remembered. He seemed very mellow, except for his eyes, which were aquamarine and impossible to read. He held the joint out to me, but I declined with a shake of my head.
"Didn't I see you at Bobby's funeral?" I asked.
"Might have. I saw you." His eyes settled on me with a disconcerting gaze. Where had I seen that color before? In a swimming pool where a dead man was floating like a lily pad. That had been four years ago, one of the first investigations I ever did.
"Chair over there if you have time to sit." He managed to get this sentence out while holding his breath, dope smoke locked in his lungs.
I glanced around and spotted an old wooden lawn chair, which I dragged over to the step. Then I took the address book out of my handbag and passed it to him, open to the back cover. "Any idea who this is? It's not a local number."
He glanced at the penciled entry and then gave me a quick look. "You tried calling?"
"Sure. I also tried the only Blackman listed in the book. Its a disconnect. Why? Do you know who it is?"
"I know the number, but it's not a telephone listing. Bobby moved the hyphen over."
"What's it for? I don't understand."
"These first two digits indicate Santa Teresa County. Last five are the morgue code. This is the I.D. number on a body we got in storage. I told you we had two that had been out there for years. This is Franklin."
"But why list it under Blackman?"
Kelly smiled at me, taking a long pull off his joint before he spoke. "Franklin's black. He's a black man. Maybe it was Bobby's joke."
"Are you sure?"
"Reasonably sure. You can check it yourself if you don't believe me."
"I think he was searching for a handgun out there. Would you have any idea where he might have started?"
"Nope. Place is big. They must have eighty, ninety rooms out there that haven't been used in years. Could be anywhere. Bobby would have worked his shift by himself. He had the run of the building as long as no one found out he was away from his work."
"Well. I guess I'll just have to wing it. I appreciate your help."
"No problem."
I went back to my office. Kelly Borden had told me that a kid named Alfie Leadbetter would be working the three-to-eleven shift at the morgue. The guy was a friend of his and he said he d call ahead and let him know I was coming out.
I hauled out my typewriter again and made some notes. What was this? What did the corpse of a black man have to do with the murder of Dwight Costigan and the blackmailing of his former wife?
The phone rang and I picked it up like an automaton, my mind on the problem at hand. "Yes?"
"Kinsey?"
"Speaking."
"I wasn't sure that was you. This is Jonah. You always answer that way?"