William Bernhardt - Hate Crime

Her eyes narrowed. “Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you don’t mind the no-romance rule.”

“Not remotely. I’m relieved, actually.”

“Well, that’s a little more acceptance than was strictly necessary.”

“I’m just saying-”

“Good.” She pointed to the box on the desk. “The glazed doughnuts are under the cherry ones.”

Mike’s eyes brightened. “Yeah?” He dug deep and grabbed one. “Wanna split it?”

She shook her head. “I will not eat them in a box. I will not eat them with a fox…”

Ben had told Christina about this unique experience, but she rarely thought it was necessary that she experience it for herself. As with the jailhouse jaunts, when in the course of their cases this visit became necessary, Ben always did it. Once or twice she’d tagged along, but that was okay, because she just kept her eyes closed and pretended she was in Maui. Ben did all the work. And she was happy to let him.

She pushed open the glass-paned door lettered COOK COUNTY MEDICAL EXAMINER. My God, they never covered this in law school.

As soon as she stepped inside, Amber Wilson, the coroner, dropped everything-knives, sawtooth blades, and dismembered arm-and greeted her. “Kevin Mahoney phoned and told me you were coming.”

Christina forced a smile. “Dr. Wilson, would you be terribly offended if I didn’t shake your hand? I don’t mean to be rude. But… I know where it’s been.”

“I understand entirely.” Christina was having a hard time adjusting to the idea of this woman as a coroner. A coroner should be gray-haired and remote and perhaps slightly whacked. Amber Wilson was young and outgoing. She didn’t fit the mold at all. Except it looked as if she might be slightly whacked.

“What can I do you for?”

“Can I ask you about Tony Barovick?”

She nodded, returning to the main operating theater. “I thought that might be it. Let me tell you, Christina-your guy’s alibi is hopeless. Not even tenable. From a medical standpoint, it’s really a boring case.”

Wilson dug through a file cabinet until she came up with one marked BAROVICK. “So what’s your question?”

Christina considered how best to phrase it. “The thing is my client insists that he and his buddy did not kill the kid. Just roughed him up.”

“They broke both legs.”

“Would that necessarily be fatal?”

“No, but common sense tells me-”

“Right, right. The point is when they left him, at around 9:30, my client says he wasn’t dead. And he wasn’t in the fraternity house, either. He says they left him in a vacant lot, so crippled he couldn’t possibly move. Meaning someone else came along, killed him, and moved him. Or vice versa.”

Wilson shook her head. “Sorry, Christina. But I can positively guarantee that didn’t happen.”

“How can you be sure?”

She flipped through the pages of the file, refreshing her memory. “Medical science.”

“Are you so certain the body wasn’t moved?”

“No, that isn’t it. The corpse was in such bad shape, I couldn’t make any determination on that score. Not for certain.”

“Then what?”

Wilson closed her file. “The first thing I did at the crime scene was take decomposition readings to establish the time of death. Not that I enjoyed it. It was midnight, I was cold, and the joint had more posters of naked women than I’ve seen in my entire life. The DA was being an asshole and trying to tell me what to do and when. But I performed the tests, just the same. And the time of death was well after 9:30-more like 11:00, 11:15.”

Christina shook her head. “I don’t know. My client is pretty convincing.”

“Christina, if the beating took place in a vacant lot, don’t you think the police would’ve found traces?”

“The boys didn’t remember where it was. They said they were drunk and drove and drove-and stopped at a deserted place chosen at random. Of course, the cops never looked too hard, since they think Tony was killed in the frat house. And even if the vacant lot were found, it could’ve been cleaned up.”

Wilson dropped the file back in its drawer. “Christina, I realize you don’t know me, but I’m a straight shooter. If the DA’s case sucks, I’ll say so. But you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. Scout’s honor. Girl-to-girl. Your client killed the poor kid. There’s simply no other possible explanation.”

“Hello, handsome.”

Mike sighed, eyes still glued to his desk. “Look, Baxter, if this is-”

He stopped short. Wrong voice.

“Special Agent Swift! What the hell are you doing here?”

Mike rose to his feet and crossed his office to greet her. Just like the last time he’d seen her, she was wearing a black turtleneck. And looking fine in it, too.

“I’m on special assignment. How ya been, you big teddy bear, you?”

“Oh, all right. Nothing to-”

“Don’t just stand there. Give me a hug.” She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. And did not let go.

“Hey, Morelli, shouldn’t we be leaving to-”

They both turned to see Sergeant Baxter standing in the doorway.

“Oh, excuse me,” Baxter said. “I didn’t know you had… company. I’ll come back later.”

“No, no,” Mike said, “come on in. We’re just…” What the hell were they doing, anyway? “Baxter, this is Special Agent Swift. With the FBI. I told you about her. We worked on the Metzger kidnap case together. Before your time.”

Baxter looked at the other woman levelly. “Right.”

Mike turned back to Agent Swift. “And this is Sergeant Baxter. She’s my partner. For the time being.”

Swift extended her hand. “Glad to meet you, Baxter. Got a first name?”

“Yeah. But I think Morelli is afraid of them.”

“I noticed that. I’m Danny. Short for Danielle.”

“Kate.” They shook hands, but Mike noticed that Baxter seemed very tentative. “What brings a Chicago white shirt out to our lowly cop shop?”

“Special assignment,” she explained.

“Anything I’d know about?”

“Well, yes, actually. The drill bit boy.”

“That’s a homicide. What’s the FBI interest?”

“Sorry. I’m not at liberty to say.”

“You’re going to be working with us. But you can’t say why?”

“For the moment.” She leaned forward and spoke in hushed tones. “Don’t sweat it, Kate. I’ll spill something as soon as I can. I’m not much for the rule book-ask Mike. I just like to get the job done. And the best way to accomplish that is for us all to get along.”

“I think maybe we need to talk to Blackwell.”

“Don’t bother. I’ve just come from his office. He’s on board.”

Baxter frowned. “I won’t pretend I’m happy about this. These interjurisdictional things always turn out to be a headache. And I’ll be honest-I don’t much like working with Feebs. Neither does Morelli.” She paused. “Right, Morelli?”

Mike’s shoulders rippled. “Well, as a rule, working with the Bureau is not my idea of the good life. But I guess I don’t have any problems with this.” Baxter looked at him as if he’d just sold her into slavery. “At least I have some history with Agent Swift.”

“That’s right,” Swift said, jabbing him in the ribs. “And we got along pretty well, didn’t we, handsome?”

“Yeah. Except for the minor detail of the bad guys getting away.”

Baxter looked as if the top of her head were burning. “Just so you know, Swift, we don’t usually go in for that overly familiar flirtatious stuff.”

“Lighten up, Kate. We’re just joshing.”

“There’s nothing funny about inappropriate office conduct. Sexual harassment is not a joke.”