"When was this?" Joe asked.
The young officer pointed at the open page. "Then-when I was working at the airport. That's when I got Taser certified. I was issued the Taser and the holster." He tapped the weapon on his belt. "You can see where it's got places for two backup cartridges, but only one of them's full." He undid the Velcro flap on one of the compartments to reveal its emptiness. "I figured they'd run short or something," he continued. "And, to be honest, since there's not much action at the airport, I didn't see bothering them for extras."
He looked worriedly at his chief. "I hope I didn't screw up. I didn't think it was a big deal."
"Have you been down to the southern half of the state anytime recently?" Joe asked him.
"No, sir. I don't know anybody down there."
Giordi considered the binder thoughtfully for a moment before nodding in Palmiter's direction. "Okay, Brian. Give me your Taser and get issued a new one. I want to hang on to yours for a while."
The chief waited until the door had closed behind his now very nervous officer. He hefted the plastic gun in his hand. "I'll have someone run the computer memory in this thing-find out when it was fired last. What do you think?" he asked Joe.
Joe made a face. "On paper," he answered, "either Palmiter is lying or Aho screwed up. But my gut tells me it's neither. Something else must've happened."
Tim pushed out his lips thoughtfully before murmuring, "Once you get me some more information about all this, I'm still going to put them both through polygraphs, just to be sure. What've you found out about your John Doe?" he then asked. "And do you know for sure a Taser was even used on him? They do leave holes."
"The ME has the body," Joe answered, crossing the room and considering the view of the park outside. "She told us there were no outward signs of trauma. We don't even know the cause of death yet, much less anything about the guy. Complete mystery. I'm seeing Hillstrom next, since I'm in town, just to kick the tires personally."
He turned to face his old friend. "Tell me about Aho and Palmiter."
Giordi raised his eyebrows. "Fair question, if a little painful. I'm not too crazy about all the possibilities here."
Joe held up his hand. "It's just a question."
"Aho, I've had with me for years. He's solid, dependable, never messed up before. He worked as a street cop before becoming the supply officer, also for this department. I know his family, and everything seems stable there, too. Palmiter, I don't know quite as well. The kid's only twenty-one and he hasn't been with us long. So far, so good, though. He gets good ratings from his sergeant."
He paused to run his hand through his short, graying hair. "I will tell you I'll be checking this whole thing out with the proverbial fine-toothed comb-and probably making some procedural changes, at least."
"You asked me what I thought," Joe said. "How 'bout you? Any idea how the cartridge left the building?"
Giordi looked a little hapless. "You know how it goes, Joe. We do the best we can. We have the usual bells and whistles, but a lot of people go through this building every hour of every day. How big is one of those cartridges? Half a deck of cards?" He frowned before adding, "I'll be shaking things hard to see what falls out, but don't be surprised-and for Christ's sake don't think I'm holding out on you-if, in the end, I've got nothing to show for it."
Joe again made an appeasing gesture before shaking Tim's hand and retrieving his coat from where he'd draped it over a chair. "Not to worry," he told him, heading out. "I appreciate both the help and the pickle you're in. I promise I'll be in touch, and don't worry too much until you have to. At least I know for sure where that little tag originated-whether that's relevant or not, we'll both find out." Giordi shook his head. "Let's hope so."
Mandi144: Boring JMAN: what do u lik 2 do? Mandi144: Hang out. Try nu things JMAN: I lik nu things. Lik wat? Mandi144: Fool around JMAN: kool. ASL Mandi144: 14/f/Vermont – U? JMAN: kool. 24/m/Mass Mandi144: kool JMAN: U dun that a lot? Mandi144: Enuf JMAN: All the way? Mandi144: Sure JMAN: kool
Chapter 13
The office of the chief medical examiner, whose title was reduced throughout law enforcement to simply OCME, was located across town from the Burlington Police Department, in the cumbersome embrace of the awkwardly rebuilt Fletcher Allen Medical Center, Vermont's largest hospital and the home of the University of Vermont's nationally regarded medical school.
The OCME hadn't started here. As Joe first maneuvered through Burlington's dense traffic and then poked through the hospital's confusion of hallways and interlinked buildings, he recalled how Beverly Hillstrom had once kept an office down the block, above a dentist's office, and worked on her cadavers in the hospital's basement, not far from the loading docks.
It was a credit to her longevity, her efficiency, and her political prowess-not to mention a few friends in the right places-that all that had been replaced with a clean, modern, highly professional workplace, albeit one hard to locate for the uninitiated.
Joe was certainly not among those, having been here dozens of times. As a result, once safely aboard, he was honor bound to spend a few minutes with whichever staffers he encountered on his way to Hillstrom's corner office, catching up on local gossip.
"I thought I heard your voice," Beverly Hillstrom greeted him when he finally reached her threshold. She stood and came around her desk to kiss him on the cheek, an unheard-of familiarity in the old days, when, for years, they had addressed each other formally, by title-an eccentricity she maintained with everyone else outside the office.
He surveyed her with a smile. She was perfectly squared away, not a hair out of place, her clothes unwrinkled and pristine-an image of uncanny precision enhanced by her dust-free, immaculate office. If he hadn't gotten to know her all-too-human and vulnerable side, she might have remained as scary as she appeared to almost everyone else. But she had granted him that access at one point, and while he understood that it allowed him no special liberties now, he was grateful that it had welcomed him into a highly restricted personal inner sanctum.
"You look great, Beverly," he told her.
She smiled, flushing slightly. "Well, I should. Life is good, both here and at home."
He knew not to pry, but that was happy news. Their single night of intimacy had been partly created by her husband walking out on her. Joe had since heard that the two of them had been working to mend that rift. Clearly, things were paying off.
She considered him seriously. "I heard about your family and the accident, Joe. How are things progressing?"
"As well as can be expected," he told her. "My mom is completely fine. My brother survived, which is saying a lot, but he's touch-and-go in a coma."
"I know it will sound trite," she said. "But if there's anything at all I can do…"
"I know," he interrupted her. "And I appreciate it. I promise, I will call if I need to."
She nodded once. "Good." She then brightened somewhat and changed the subject, moving them both to firmer ground. "A wild guess tells me," she continued, "that you're now going to try to upset my apple cart a little. You are here for at least one of your John Does, are you not?"
He laughed, as much at the comment's phrasing as at its content. Hillstrom was unique among his friends in her use of an almost textbook English. "I am, but I'm hoping it'll just help things along. We've discovered something that might tie in to the first one we sent you-the floater in the stream. Do you still have the clothes he arrived in?"
She nodded and moved toward the door. "We do, although we were about to ship them to the crime lab for safekeeping." She passed over the threshold and headed toward the lab in the back, speaking as she went. "So you're not here for the body at all?"