Janet Evanovich - Finger Lickin’ Fifteen

“Maybe I’ll wait here,” I said. “It’s not so bad,” Gazarra told me. “He’s frozen stiff as a board. All the blood’s frozen, too. And the head was cut off nice and clean.”

I sat down on the bottom step. “I’ll definitely wait here.”

“I’ll get back to you,” Morelli said, walking the rest of the way with Gazarra.

The medical examiner’s truck rolled past and pulled into the lot. It was followed by a TV news truck with a dish. I saw Morelli glance over at the news truck and move a couple of the uniformed guys from the porch to the lot to contain the media.

I sat on the step for about a half hour, watching people come and go. Finally, Morelli came back and sat along-side me.

“How’s it going?” I asked him.

“The forensic photographer just finished, and the ME is doing his thing, and then we’re moving the body inside to a meat locker. He’s starting to defrost.”

“Is he staying here for the funeral?”

“Eventually. The body will have to go to the morgue for an autopsy first, and then it’ll get released for burial. Right now, I need someone to identify the body.”

“Do you think it might not be Chipotle?”

“This is a high-profile case, and there was no identification on the body.”

“Aren’t there tests for that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, and they’ll do them when they do the autopsy. I just need someone to eyeball this guy for a preliminary ID.”

“His sister?”

“We haven’t been able to reach her.”

“One of his ex-wives? His agent?”

“They’re all over the place. Aspen, New York, L.A., Sante Fe.”

“So who are you going to get?”

“Lula.”

“You’re kidding.”

“She saw him get murdered,” Morelli said. “I’m hoping she remembers his clothes and enough of his build to give me an ID. I’ve got two television trucks and a bunch of reporters sitting in the lot. If I don’t give them something, they’ll make something up, so I’m going to have to talk to them. Before I do that, my chief wants an ID.”

“Have you called Lula?”

“Yeah. She’s on her way over.”

There was activity at the top of the porch, and Morelli stood.

“Looks like they’re getting ready to move the body,” he said. “I’m keeping it on ice here for Lula. I thought it was easier than trying to get her to go to the morgue. I’d appreciate it if you could wait here for her and bring her in when she arrives.”

“Sure.”

Twenty minutes later, I saw my father’s cab drive into the lot. The cab parked, and Lula got out and waved to the knot of newsmen standing by one of the trucks.

“Yoohoo, I’m Lula,” she said to them. “I got called in to identify the body.”

I jumped up and sprinted to the lot, intercepting the horde that rushed at her.

“Lula will talk to you later,” I told them, herding Lula out of the lot. “She has to talk to the police first.”

“Do I look okay?” Lula asked me. “I didn’t have a lot of time to fix my hair. And I didn’t have my full wardrobe at my disposal.”

“You look fine,” I said. “The silver sequined top and matching skirt is just right for an evening decapitation identification.”

“You don’t think it’s too dressy?”

On everyone but Lula and Tina Turner, yes. On Lula and Tina Turner, no. It was perfect.

“I thought there might be television here,” Lula said. “You know how television always likes a little bling.”

“Does my father know you have his cab?”

“Everyone was asleep, and I didn’t want to bother no one, so I helped myself to the cab. I would have rather taken your mother’s car, but I couldn’t find the key.”

We went up the stairs and into the foyer. No problem for me now. I was real brave once the body was removed.

Morelli ambled over. “Thanks for coming out to do this,” he said to Lula.

“Anything to help the police,” Lula said. “Are the television cameras in here? Is that a tabloid photographer over there?”

“No television cameras,” Morelli said. “And the photographer is the department’s forensics guy.”

“Hunh,” Lula said. “Let’s get this over with then. It’s not like I was sitting around thinking I’d like to go look at a dead guy with no head. I got sensibilities, you know. The thing is, I hate dead guys.”

“It’s just a fast look,” Morelli said. “And then you can go home.”

“After I talk to the television people.”

“Yeah,” Morelli said. “Whatever. Follow me. We have the body in one of the freezers downstairs.”

“Say what? I’m not going downstairs to no freezer compartments. That’s too creepy. How many bodies does this guy have in his freezer?”

“I don’t know,” Morelli said. “I didn’t ask, and I didn’t look. Would you rather see this body in the morgue?”

“Hell no. Only way you’re getting me in a morgue is toes up.”

“Can we get on with it?” Morelli said. “I’ve had a long day and my intestines are a mess.”

“I hear you,” Lula said. “I got issues, too. I think there must be something going around.”

“I’ll wait here,” I said. “No reason for me to tag along.”

“The hell,” Lula said. “I’m needing moral support. I wasn’t even gonna come until Morelli told me you’d do this with me.”

I cut a look at Morelli. “You said that?”

“More or less.”

“You’re scum.”

“I know,” Morelli said. “Can we please go downstairs now?”

The funeral home had originally been a large Victorian house. It had been renovated, and rooms and garages had been added, but it still had the bones of the original structure. We followed Eli Morton down a hallway off the lobby. To our right was the kitchen. To our left was the door to the basement.

A couple years ago, the basement had been destroyed in a fire. It had all been rebuilt and was now nicely finished off and divided into rooms that opened off a center hall. Morton led us to the room farthest from the stairs.

“I have three cold-storage drawers and three freezer drawers in here,” Morton said. “I almost never use the freezer drawers. They were put in by the previous owner.”

The floor was white tile, and the walls were painted white. The fronts to the freezer drawers were stainless steel. Gazarra pulled a freezer drawer out, and it was filled with tubs of ice cream.

“Costco had a sale,” Morton said. “Your guy is in drawer number three.”

He rolled number three out, Lula gaped at the body without the head, and Lula fainted. Crash. Onto the white tile floor. I didn’t faint because I didn’t look. I walked in staring at my feet, and I never raised my eyes.

“Crap,” Morelli said. “Get her out of here. Someone take her feet. I’ve got the top half.”

Gazarra and Morelli lugged Lula into the hall and stepped back. Lula’s eyes snapped open, and we all stared down at her.

“You fainted,” I told her.

“Did not.”

“You’re on the floor.”

“Well, anybody would have fainted. That was disgusting. People aren’t supposed to be going around without their head,” Lula said. “It’s not right.”

“Was that Chipotle?” Morelli asked.

“Might have been,” Lula said. “Hard to tell with the frost on him, but it looked like the same clothes. I don’t know where they been keeping him, but he got freezer burn.”

Morelli and Gazarra helped Lula to her feet.

“Are you going to be okay?” Morelli asked her.

“I could use a drink,” Lula said. “A big one.”

“I have some whiskey,” Morton said, leading the way up the stairs and into the kitchen.

Morton poured out a tumbler of whiskey for Lula and took a shot for himself. The rest of us settled for a rain check.