Jonathan Kellerman - Deception

"What do you mean, Doc?"

"Freeman's body comes in, leapfrogs immediately over our backlog, straight to the table, along with an unsigned message slip on different paper from the ones we use with orders for me to get to it stat and keep the findings to myself. When I call my boss, he's not in, even though I know he is. My C.I. is sure the slip wasn't with the body when it came in, our drivers say the same thing, so somehow, this body got tagged without our spotting it. I figure maybe it was you, you're pushing our arrangement a bit, but fine. Then moments after the body hits the table someone calls my private cell line-the ones my kids use-and warns me to be discreet on Elise Freeman. I think the exact phrase was 'This needs to be handled ultra-quietly.' When I try to ask why, she hangs up."

"Who's she?"

"Someone who identified herself as calling from Parker. Is it true?"

"Probably."

"What's going on, Milo? I Googled Freeman and she's not rich or famous or otherwise noteworthy."

"It's complicated, Doc."

"Meaning shut up and cut," said Jernigan. "Well, I put my irritation aside and did both and here's what I've got for you: Freeman's blood alcohol was over three times the legal limit, plus she'd ingested some kind of opiate. No needle marks, so she probably snorted. Precise metabolites will take time to analyze. There's also clear pulmonary evidence of an overdose. In a relatively healthy young woman."

"Relative to what?"

"She had a smidge of atherosclerosis and some hepatic scarring-the beginnings of cirrhosis. Meaning she could've been hitting the sauce pretty hard. Clogged arteries could also be booze-related, or she had bad genetics. Or both. But none of that would've proved problematic in the short run, she had years to go before she slept. There are no signs of violence to the body, no damage to the hyoid to indicate strangulation, same for ocular petechiae. No sexual assault and she's never been pregnant. Cause of death is overdose, mode of death is up for grabs."

"Could it be an accidental O.D.?"

"Or suicide. Or homicide. My C.I. didn't spot any vomitus at the scene, or other signs of a seizure. Same for empty liquor bottles or drug Baggies. That dry ice bath is bizarre, never seen that before. I suppose it could've been some sort of erotic game that she played by herself, though it's hard to see how she could've withstood the agony."

"Could she have O.D.'d herself into stupor, slipped into the ice just before losing consciousness?"

"I suppose it's theoretically possible-talk about feeling no pain. Any idea where the ice came from? My C.I. didn't see any bags, either."

"I just got the case, Doc."

"Given a drugged state," said Jernigan, "I'd expect her to plunge rather than slip and that would've caused a mess, maybe even a head bump. There was none of that. Dry ice doesn't melt, it sublimates, so you wouldn't expect puddles. But still, she was tucked in too perfectly and skin burns say she'd been in there for a while. We both know this is homicide, but I don't have enough to put that in writing."

"Any way to know if she was alive or dead when she got put in?"

"Rosiness in the burns suggests alive but on the stand my answer would be 'I don't know.' How come you caught it when it's a Valley case?"

"My silence is profound, Doc."

"Got it," said Jernigan. "Well, good luck."

"Thanks, Doc."

"If you really want to show your gratitude," said Jernigan, "continue to keep me out of the loop."

Milo phoned the lab, ate some double talk, engaged in a spirited conversation with someone named Bill, and said, "I don't get clarification right now, I'm coming over to do a hands-on. Instructions from above."

Bill said, "What do you mean, above?"

"Use your imagination."

"I don't get paid for that."

"See you in thirty."

"That's not going to work, Milo. Per our specific instructions."

"My instructions are as of five minutes ago and they trump your instructions."

"Who are yours from?" said Bill.

"From where you can't go higher."

"Just like that, you've got a direct line to God."

"Santa, too. Don't believe me, here's the number. Now tell me what I need to know. Were there dry ice bags at the scene, empty booze bottles, drugs, or drug paraphernalia?"

"Negative on the bags," said Bill. "One empty Grey Goose bottle in the kitchen, negative on the dope. And here's a freebie: The only prints throughout the house are the vic's and that's just on a corner of the bed. Which is not right. My guess? Someone wiped the place down. But I'm not allowed to guess on this one. Now do me a favor, okay?"

"What?"

"Don't call for a while."

The following noon, Milo phoned. "Ready for a DTA meeting?"

It took a moment to process that. "There's a detective-teacher association?"

"There is now. His Exaltedness just let me know three members of Windsor Prep's faculty will avail themselves to me at two p.m., three fifteen, and four thirty. Not at the school, God forbid. Some address in Beverly Hills. I said, 'Arbitrary time limits don't help, sir.' He said, 'Be thankful you're getting more than a forty-five-minute hour, ask Delaware.' That was his way of saying you can be there."

"Are they coming with lawyers?"

"Didn't get the chance to ask. Here's the place."

McCarty Drive, two blocks south of Wilshire.

I said, "Nice neighborhood. Who lives there?"

"Guess we'll find out when we get there."

We got there twenty minutes early. The house was a white two-story Mediterranean with diamond mullion windows, a front courtyard teeming with flowers beginning to go to seed, a lawn greener than envy. A For Sale sign was staked to the left of a gracefully winding stone footpath.

The front door was unlocked. We stepped into a high, tiled entry. Clean, warm light filtered to the right of a sinuous staircase. In an otherwise empty living room, a woman sat reading in a folding chair. From what I could see, the entire house was vacant.

She put her book down. Ash blond, midforties, she wore a black pantsuit and a white silk blouse with ruffles that spilled over her lapels like whipped cream.

The book was a four-inch-thick bio of Lincoln. She placed it on the chair. "Lieutenant, Doctor, you're a little early."

"And you are…"

"Mary Jane Rollins." Her face was round, soft, and unlined. Pale eyes and lashes said the blond was probably a renewal of her childhood.

"Nice to meet you, Headmaster Rollins. Mr. Helfgott assigned you to me?"

"Dr. Helfgott," she said, standing. "He's got an Ed.D. in educational administration. And yes, he asked me to facilitate."

"Ed.D. from Brown?" said Milo.

Rollins cocked an eyebrow. "From the U."

"Going the public route, huh?"

"The U. runs a fine program in education, Lieutenant."

"You send many of your students there?"

"When appropriate. If you don't mind I've got some reading to do, we've set up a back room for your-"

"As long as you're here, let's chat-is it Dr. Rollins?"

Curt nod.

"What can you tell us about Elise Freeman?"

" Nothing Dr. Helfgott hasn't told you."

"Dr. Helfgott told me he doesn't get involved in faculty matters, so you'd be the person to ask."

"I can tell you about Elise's lesson plans but I'm sure that's not going to help you."

"Was she happy at Prep?"

"Of course."

"Of course?"

"Why wouldn't she be happy?" Smiling suddenly, jarringly. "As to her private life, that's a matter about which I have no information."

"No socializing with the help, huh?"

Rollins fingered the frothy blouse. "My knowledge of Elise is limited to the hours she worked at Prep. She was a diligent substitute teacher, unfailingly responsible."

"That's why you gave her a standing contract, whether or not she worked."