"Welcome to the romantic world of pathology," Gail grinned. Slicing connective tissue, she flipped Estrella's chest plate over his chewed face. After cutting through the ribs she pulled them out, exposing lungs and the pericardial sac. A few more slashes with the knife and the green sides of Estrella's abdomen fell away, exposing the discolored abdominal organs.
The younger of the two deputies pawed his foot, muttering, "I hate this fucking job," and for once, Frank had to agree. Gail let the path residents make conclusions before she lifted out the organ block and laid it on the dissecting table. Then she sawed through Estrella's skull and lifted the calvarium, giving them a look at his brain. Frank thought she saw a slight edema but no obvious trauma, and Gail confirmed that into the dictaphone.
After years of self neglect, Luis Estrella was in pretty bad shape. Clusters of bacteria around his heart indicated mild endocarditis from using dirty needles. As the autopsy progressed, he turned out to be a compendium of the "-itis's" associated with long-term drug abuse — esophagitis, pyelonephritis, pancreatitis, cholecystitis, and his liver looked more like pate than beef, indicating advanced alcoholism. All his organs were congested and his bladder contained almost 700cc of urine. A conscious person would have been in considerable pain with such a full bladder, so Gail assumed Estrella was unconscious at the time of death, explaining why he hadn't voided. Coupled with the respiratory edema and no obvious signs of trauma, Gail's preliminary ruling was that Estrella had overdosed into coma and eventual respiratory arrest.
Leaving the mess for the tech to clean up, Gail led her troupe out of Room C into relatively fresh air.
"Depending on the lab results, what I'm calling it right now is accidental death due to overdose. Questions?"
The sheriffs men shook their heads, happy with Gail's verdict. They left before she could change her mind and the students went to wash up.
"Their paper," Frank reminded.
"Oh, yeah," Gail said slipping away.
Noah asked, "What do you think, boss?"
Frank shrugged, "Looks like we're in the dark until we get some lab results back."
"Okay, here's what I'm thinking."
"We've got blood spatter on the sweatshirt. We've got what looks like the same pattern on this guy's shoes. With blood on them. For whatever reason — and maybe this is what his sister's holding back from us — he's pissed at his family and he whacks them. He takes off in his car. Maybe he's stoned out of his fucking mind. He stops at his sisters, tells her what he's done — which would also explain her lack of cooperation — and he takes off. Just driving anywhere. The guy's a junkie, probably all he wanted to do was get a stick in his arm. So he shoots a hot load — he's not being too careful 'cause he's shook — he gets out of his car at the overlook, maybe to take a leak or something, wanders down the road. He's disoriented, he slips, down he goes. It's dark. He can't find his way out 'cause he's too stoned. Goes into coma. End of story."
"Very tidy," Frank said, watching Gail return with a manila folder.
"Here you go," the ME said, "Those two are positively antediluvian."
"Think we could get a bug guy to look at those maggots? Make sure they're not from a housefly?"
"I can do that," Gail nodded.
"And you'll let me know tox results as soon as you can?"
"Of course."
Noah asked, "So we gonna see you at the Alibi tomorrow?"
"I don't know," Gail said doubtfully. "Last time I was there Johnnie set some poor woman's hair on fire."
"Ah, that was an accident," Noah insisted.
The woman was a redhead that Johnnie had been lusting over. She and her friends had been snubbing him all night, so in an inebriated moment of vengeance Johnnie'd "accidentally" lit her hair while he was lighting his cigarette. This enabled Ike and Johnnie to douse her with their fresh drinks and put the fire out.
That little antic had cost Johnnie another conduct unbecoming write-up and Frank suppressed a frown. Sober, Johnnie was a great cop; drunk, he lost all impulse control. That was his third CUBO in just over a year, not good stats to have in his file.
"Come on, doc. You're due."
"I assume you'll be there," she said to Frank. "Most likely."
"We'll see then," she replied, fanning her nose. "You stink. Go change."
Chapter Five
On Friday night the Alibi was thick with suits, civilians, and a handful of uniforms. The ninety-third squad ringed a table in the middle of the crowded bar with a shapely rookie in the center. Ike and Johnnie were barely giving the pretty boot room to breathe and Frank wondered what might happen before the night was over.
She surveyed her crew, happily awaiting the lab work that would convince them Luis Estrella was responsible for his family's homicide. Not only that, the nine-three had had two closures during the week, one a double homicide. Frank wished she could celebrate with her boys but she was catching this weekend. Besides, she wasn't as convinced about Estrella's guilt.
Drinking old coffee, she circled her finger over the table when she caught Nancy's eye. A few minutes later the harried waitress set down two slopping pitchers of Budweiser, confiding into Frank's ear, "You'd think I'd lose all this weight on Friday nights."
Nancy glanced around, making sure everyone was taken care of, and Frank encouraged, "Don't lose an ounce. Looks perfect just where it is."
She batted Frank's shoulder and disappeared into the throng. Noah poured more beer and smiled. Over the din, Frank said, "Guess who I saw the other day."
Noah played their old game, answering, "Elvis?"
"Not so many sequins."
"Pat Boone?"
"Not so white."
"Tupac."
"Not so dead."
"Hey, he's not dead. He's headlinin' at Caesar Palace with Elvis."
Frank shook her head. The rules required the right answer to be given up after the third wrong answer, so Frank said, "Placa. Gave her a ride home the other night. She was walking through Playboy 60 turf like she owned it."
"Oh yeah? How's she doing?"
"Good. Too skinny. Big circles under her eyes."
"Think she's using ?"
"Didn't seem like it. You know how intense she is. But then guess who calls me at work today."
"The governor?"
Frank shook the blonde hair against her neck.
"That was yesterday."
"Hmm. The president?"
Frank shook again.
"Much more interesting."
Swirling a finger in his beer foam then licking it off, Noah settled back, enjoying the game.
"Let's see .. . Julia Roberts?"
"Not that interesting."
"I lose," Noah sighed, hands up.
"Placa. Said she wanted to meet me Sunday. Six o'clock. Behind Saint Michael's."
"S'up with that?"
"Don't know. Kinda odd though, don't you think?"
Ike bent an ear to the conversation and interrupted, "You said Placa wants to see you?"
"Yeah."
"What for?"
"No clue. Said she had to show me something and would I be there or not? I said sure and asked her what it was about but she said I had to promise not to tell anyone. Then she whispered something — I couldn't hear what she said — and hung up, like she didn't want to get caught talking to me."
Noah's face clouded.
"Think she's in trouble with this Estrella thing?"
"Maybe. Seemed like something was buggin' her the other day, but you know Placa. Stoic."