M Sellars - Miranda

“Exactly.”

She smiled and looked back to Ben. “So…since you arrived bearing gifts, I assume this isn’t a social call. What is it you need from me, Detective Storm?”

“Should be easy,” my friend answered. “Your people brought in a body early this mornin’, and we kinda need ta’ have a look at it.”

She shot Felicity and me a sympathetic frown. “I’m sorry. Is this an identification? Are you the next of kin?”

“No, actually,” I replied, shaking my head.

“Homicide investigation,” Ben explained, waving toward us. “They’re consulting on it for the MCS.”

“Ahh, then it must be something unusual.”

“You could say that,” he agreed.

“Well, if the body just came in early this morning, then we won’t have even started the post, so I don’t have any results for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “That’s not really what we’re here for.”

“I see. So then exactly what is it you would be here for?” she asked.

He shrugged and gave her a half nod, “That part’s a little complicated, Doc.”

“I thought you said this should be easy?”

“It mostly is.”

She peered over the top rim of her glasses at Felicity and then me. “So is something I’ve heard but I’m not supposed to believe what makes this so complicated, Mister Gant?”

I nodded. “That about covers it.”

She shot Ben a slightly bothered look then rolled her chair a few feet to the right and absently remarked, “Well, if the body came in early this morning, then the paperwork should be right over here on…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, then she lifted a clipboard from the top of the neatly arranged stack. She pushed her glasses farther up on the bridge of her nose then read aloud, “Doe, John… Caucasian, approximate age early twenties… Found nude in a front yard in Briarwood…”

“That’d be the one,” Ben told her.

She scanned the rest of the page in silence then lifted it and looked over the one beneath. Finally she said, “It looks as though the death investigator is finished and any external evidence has been collected…” She paused, frowned, and then said, “That’s interesting…”

“What’s that?” Ben asked.

“Possible cause of death acute hypovolemia, but no blood found at the scene.”

“Yeah…” Ben grunted. “It was a dump. We got another stiff just like ‘im in the cooler downtown too.”

“Really? Same apparent C.O.D. and circumstances?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded, muttered, “Interesting,” and then went back to scanning the pages. We stood there in silence while she continued to read. Eventually she arched an eyebrow and said, “Hmmm.”

Ben pressed, “And hmmm means?”

“Another layer to your complication, Detective,” she replied. After a brief pause, she looked up at me. “Among the evidence recovered was one of your business cards, Mister Gant. Apparently it was lodged in the victim’s mouth.”

Given that the first victim had been tagged with Felicity’s business card, I can’t say that this bit of news surprised me all that much. However, the fact that it was my card and not hers was definitely somewhat unexpected.

“Great,” I mumbled.

“And,” she continued, glancing briefly back at the page. “According to this, it seems that ‘welcome home little man’ was written on the back of it. Does that mean something to you?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I’m afraid it does.”

Doctor Kingston lowered the clipboard then pushed her glasses back down to the end of her nose and stared at all of us expectantly. “And you say you have another body downtown, Detective?”

“Yeah Doc, it’s a serial.”

“And the business card?”

Felicity piped up, “That time it was mine, actually.”

“Like I said, Doc,” Ben told her. “Complicated.”

“I’m not entirely certain that’s a strong enough word, Detective,” she replied.

“Yeah…” he agreed. “You got a better one?”

“Not one that I wish to use in mixed company.”

Ben nodded. “Uh-huh. That was my first choice, actually.”

“From you, I’m not surprised.”

“Sorry I’m late, Doctor Kingston,” a new voice joined the conversation as a harried young woman juggling her purse and a lunch tote shot past us. “Traffic on one-seventy was horrible this morning.”

“That’s okay, Krystal,” the doctor replied. “But now that you’re here, I have some things to take care of in the back.”

“Okay,” she replied as she tucked her belongings beneath the counter. Glancing at us, she smiled and said, “Good morning.”

“It’s been quiet so far,” Kingston told the receptionist as she vacated her chair. “But do me a favor and hold my calls for the next hour or so, okay?” She shot us a quick glance and added, “I have a feeling I’m going to be busy for a while.”

“No problem.”

Still clutching the latte, the doctor re-addressed herself to Ben as she snatched the pastry-filled bag from the countertop. Giving her head an animated nod toward the doorway where the receptionist had gone through to slip around behind the counter, she said, “Why don’t the three of you come back here and try to un-complicate this situation for me.” Holding up the bag while she turned, she added, “And fair warning. I’m eating this while I listen, and I don’t share my apple fritter with anybody.”

We were gathered in Doctor Kingston’s office with the door closed. She was seated behind her desk and, as promised, working very hard at making a portion of the huge pastry Ben had supplied to her disappear. Felicity and I were on the opposite side of the workspace, parked next to one another in a pair of moderately comfortable but still patently institutional-style chairs. Ben, on the other hand, was standing off to one side, in a not-quite-relaxed posture, with his back firmly against the wall so that he could see the entire room, including the door.

My friend had taken up his usual sentry-like position once the rest of us had settled in. He did this most everywhere, but I especially noticed it whenever he was at a morgue. I’d once asked him about the peculiar habit, and he had simply grinned and said, “Don’tcha ever watch zombie movies, white man?”

I knew the answer was intended as a joke; or at least, I assumed it was. Still, I suppose I couldn’t really blame him if it wasn’t. After all, his unofficial partner was a Witch who talks to the dead-or used to, anyway. In his mind, I doubt zombies were much of a stretch.

“All right, Detective Storm, let’s hear it,” Kingston said, focusing her attention squarely on him as she swiveled her chair his direction then leaned back with a piece of apple fritter between her fingers.

“Like I said,” Ben replied, executing a one-shouldered shrug in the process. “We just need ta’ have a look at the body.”

She nodded. “Okay. Why?”

“Part of the ongoing investigation.”

“Detective, I think we can all agree that’s fairly obvious. After all, it’s what we do,” she replied. “And before we waste any more time, you’ve already told me that it’s complicated, so let’s not go there again. How about something new and different that I don’t already know?”

Her demeanor was serious but didn’t seem particularly adversarial. At least things were starting off better than I’d seen them go during some of our visits with her city counterpart.

“Come on, Doc…” Ben groaned. “I’m just tryin’ ta’ do my job.”

“That makes two of us.”

“So let’s make it easy,” he said. “Give us ten minutes. Fifteen tops, and we’re outta your hair.”

“Look, Detective, the latte and fritter got you this far, but you’re going to have to work for the rest,” she explained. “Besides, I’m not saying no. I just want you to bring me up to speed before I allow the three of you to traipse around an autopsy suite. I don’t care if it’s only for sixty-seconds. My turf, my rules.”