“That’s why I called, actually.”
I scoop Agosti’s large intestines up and place the sausage-like length in a clean steel bowl. “How so?”
“I saw the mass accident on the freeway.”
“You saw it? As in, you were there?”
“No, I saw it on the news. Traffic isn’t flowing yet, but I caught our van on scene and knew you’d get a bunch of fresh meat today. I can come in if you w?—”
“No, thank you.” I set the bowl with the first and drag my gloves away, all so I can pick up the camera andsnap, snap, snapsome images. “You may not be in Jamaica, Doctor Emeri, but you’re still on your honeymoon. If you come to work, Tim will pout, and if he pouts, he might not let me have custody of my coffee machine.”
“Your coffee machine?”
“Yeah, the one at the bar. I want to move it into my new bedroom, since it has a little kitchenette space and,oh my gosh, how amazing would it be to consume my first coffee of the day before I even have to leave my bedroom? No Cato. Not even clothes, if I don’t want to. That’s our space now, mine and Archer’s, and having a coffee machine in there would make everything a million times better.”
“Sounds like you’ve adapted to your new lifestyle inside a mansion. Didn’t take you long.”
“Hush. You’re the one who lives in a mansion. I’m just staying at someone else’s unusually large house until Steve feels better. Then everything goes back the way it was.”
“You think so?” She laughs. “You moving back to the apartment in a few months, Chief? Even after you’ve become accustomed to coffee-machine-in-your-bedroom, and ensuite-bathroom life?”
“A few months?” I scoff. “No. A few weeks. This isn’t a forever thing.”
“Mmhm. If you say so. What are you working on right now?”
I lower the camera and shoot a look across to Numbers One and Two. “DB. Mid-fifties. Unattended death. Apparent suicide.”
“Apparent?”
“Slit his wrists. But you know how it goes: we have to run the case from start to finish and rule out foul play. Vic appears to have lived a sedentary lifestyle. Cardio health is down. Lungs were compromised. Fatty tissue surrounds every organ. White-collar kind of guy. Married.”
“Who found him?”
“The wife, I believe.”
“Archer and Fletch are primaries?”
“Er… nope. I’m not sure what they’re working on today.” I set the camera down and pull on a fresh pair of gloves. And seeing as how this is not arealcase, and there will be no court appearance for me to testify at, I reach in with a scalpel and slice the pulmonary artery clean in half. “He was damn near clogged, Aubs. Pulmonary plaque buildup was at…” I flip myshield down and lean closer, thrilled at the opportunity to work with less scientific care. Instead, I grab the edges of Agosti’s artery kind of how I would the opening of a standard party balloon if I wanted to look inside. “He was at about twenty percent.”
“Impact?”
“No, functionality. It’s too bad,” I grumble to myself. Even without the slit wrists, he would’ve died soon, anyway. “I swear, he might’ve eaten a block of butter for breakfast six days a week.”
“You mention suicide, but you also note bad lungs and a busted heart. Perhaps he knew he was sick and went out on his own terms.”
“Hm. Maybe.” I use the tip of my scalpel to widen the incision and squeeze Agosti’s artery. It’s almost like popping a pimple, satisfying in a horrifyingly gross way. “What are you up to today?”
“Besides coming to the office?”
I snort. “You’re not coming in. If the sex was even half as good as you claim it is, you’d happily stay with T3 and let him have his way.”
“Calling him T3 is crass, even for you. And he’s been having his way. A lot. I have beard rash on my thighs, and I’m severely dehydrated.” And to prove her point, she noisily chugs what I assume is water. “I’m tired. I’m sore.”
“You’re young and limber,” I snicker. “You’ll be fine.”
“His stamina is surprising, considering how little exercise he manages outside the bedroom.”
“Must be good genes.” My cheeks burn bright red as our conversation takes a turn I wasn’t entirely planning on. Peeking up from my work, I get caught in Number-One’s hard stare, and Number-Two’s complete and total inability to meet my eyes at all. He’s squeamish.And shy. “You didn’t answer my question, Doctor Emeri. What are your plans for today?”
