"I'm Lieutenant Pekach, Doctor," Pekach said. "We just want to get a look at her face."
The medical examiner shrugged, and went on with what he was doing.
"Jesus," Pekach said. "What did he shoot her with?"
"I presume," the medical examiner said dryly, not looking up, "that the weapon used was the standard service revolver."
Pekach snorted.
"She shot Captain Moffitt the way she was shot up like that?" Pekach asked.
"Before," the medical examiner replied. "What I think happened is that she shot Moffitt before he shot her."
"I don't understand," Pekach said.
The medical examiner pointed with his scalpel at a small plastic bag. Pekach picked it up.
It held a misshapen piece of lead, thinner than a pencil and about a quarter of an inch long.
"Twenty-two," the medical examiner said. "Probably a long rifle. It entered his chest just below the armpit." He took Unidentified White Female Suspect's hand, raised it in the air, and pointed. "From the side, almost from the back. The bullet hit the left ventricle of the aorta. Then he bled to death, internally. The heart just kept pumping, and when he ran out of blood, he died."
"Jesus Christ!" Pekach said.
The medical examiner let Unidentified White Female Suspect's arm fall, and then pointed to another plastic envelope.
"Show these to Peter Wohl," he said. "I think it's what he's looking for. I just took those out of her."
The envelope contained three misshapen pieces of lead. Each was larger and thicker than the.22 projectile removed from the body of Captain Moffitt. The ends of all the bullets had expanded, " mushroomed," on striking something hard, so that they actually looked something like mushrooms. The other end of each bullet was covered by a quarter-inch-high copper-colored cup. There were clear rifling marks on the cups; it would not be at all difficult to match these jacketed bullets to the pistol that had fired them.
The very large young man looked carefully at the face of Unidentified White Female Suspect and changed her status.
"Schmeltzer, Dorothy Ann," he said. "Twenty-four, five feet five, one-hundred twenty-five pounds. Last known address… somewhere on Vine, just east of Broad. I'd have to check."
"You're sure?"
"That's Dorothy Ann," McFadden said. "I thought she was still in jail."
"What was she in for?"
"Solicitation for prostitution," McFadden said. "I think the judge put her in to see if they couldn't dry her out."
"She's got needle marks all over," the medical examiner said, "in places you wouldn't believe. No identification on her? Is that what this is all about?"
"Lieutenant Natali told me all she had on her was a joint and a.22 pistol," Pekach said. "And the needle marks. He thought we might be able to make her as a junkie. Thank you, Doctor."
He left the room.
Wohl and Hobbs were no longer alone. Lieutenant Natali and Lieutenant Sabara of the Highway Patrol had come to the medical examiner's office. Sabara looked askance at the Narcotics Division officers.
Natali saw it. "Ilike your sweatshirt, Pekach," he said dryly.
"Could you identify her?" Hobbs asked.
"Officer McFadden was able to identify her, Sergeant," Pekach said, formally. "Her name was Schmeltzer, Dorothy Ann Schmeltzer. A known drug addict, who McFadden thinks was only recently released from prison."
"Any known associates, McFadden?" Hobbs asked.
"Sir, I can't recall any names. It'd be on her record."
"If I can borrow him for a while, I'd like to take McFadden with me to the Roundhouse," Hobbs said.
"Sure," Pekach said.
"I guess you can call off the rest of your people, then," Hobbs said. "And thank you, Lieutenant."
"Now that I've got her name, maybe I can find out something," Pekach said. "I'll get on the radio."
"Appreciate it," Hobbs said. "If you do come up with something, give me or Lieutenant Natali a call."
"Sure," Pekach said. "Inspector, the medical examiner said to show you these. He said he thought that's what you were waiting for."
Wohl took the bag Pekach handed him and held it up to the light. He was not surprised to see that the bullets were jacketed, and from the way they had mushroomed, almost certainly had been hollow pointed.
"What's that? The projectiles?" Sergeant Hobbs asked.
Wohl handed the envelope to Sergeant Hobbs. They met each other's eyes, but Hobbs didn't say anything.
"Don't lose those," Wohl said.
"What do you think they are, Inspector?" Hobbs asked, in transparent innocence.
"I'm not a firearms expert," Wohl said. "What I see is four bullets removed from the body of the woman suspected of shooting Captain Moffitt. They're what they call evidence, Sergeant, in the chain of evidence."
"They're jacketed hollow points," Hobbs said. "Is that what this is all about?"
"What the hell is the difference?" Pekach said. "Dutch is dead. The Department can't do anything to him now for using prohibited ammunition."
"And maybe we'll get lucky," Hobbs said, "and get an assistant DA six months out of law school who thinks bullets are bullets are bullets."
"Yeah, and maybe we won't," Wohl said. "Maybe we'll get some assistant DA six months out of law school who knows the difference, and would like to get his name in the newspapers as the guy who caught the cops using illegal ammunition, again, in yet another example of police brutality."
"Jesus," Pekach said, disgustedly. "And I know just the prick who would do that." He paused and added. "Two or three pricks, now that I think about it."
"Get those to Firearms Identification, Hobbs," Wohl said. "Get a match. Keep your fingers crossed. Maybe we will be lucky."
"Yes, Sir," Hobbs said.
"I don't think there is anything else to be done here," Wohl said. " Or am I missing something?" He looked at Sabara as he spoke.
"I thought I'd escort the hearse to the funeral home," Sabara said. " You know, what the hell. It seems little enough…"
"I think Dutch would like that," Wohl said.
"Well, I expect I had better pay my respects to Chief Lowenstein," Wohl said. "I'll probably see you fellows in the Roundhouse."
"If you don't mind my asking, Inspector," Hobbs said. "Are you going to be in on this?"
"No," Wohl said. "Not the way you mean. But the eyewitness is that blonde from Channel 9. That could cause problems. The commissioner asked me to make sure it doesn't. I want to explain that to Chief Lowenstein. That's all."
"Good luck, Inspector," Hobbs said, chuckling. Chief Inspector of Detectives Matt Lowenstein, a heavyset, cigar chewing man in his fifties, had a legendary temper, which was frequently triggered when he suspected someone was treading on sacred Detective Turf.
"Why do I think I'll need it?" Wohl said, also chuckling, and left.
There was a Cadillac hearse with a casket in it in the parking lot. The driver was leaning on the fender. Chrome-plated letters outside the frosted glass readMARSHUTZ amp; SONS.
Dutch was apparently going to be buried from a funeral home three blocks from his house. As soon as the medical examiner released the body, it would be put in the casket, and in the hearse, and taken there.
Wohl thought that Sabara showing up here, just so he could lead the hearse to Marshutz amp; Sons, was a rather touching gesture. It wasn't called for by regulations, and he hadn't thought that Dutch and Sabara had been that close. But probably, he decided, he was wrong. Sabara wasn't really as tough as he acted (and looked), and he probably had been, in his way, fond of Dutch.
He got in the LTD and got on the radio.
"Isaac Twenty-Three. Have Two-Eleven contact me on the J-Band."
Two-Eleven was the Second District car he had sent with Louise Dutton.