Hunter and Garcia exchanged another concerned look.
‘But we can prove that he was dead way before he jumped.’
‘Hypothermia?’
‘Not this time, but there are other similarities to Shaun Daniels’s case.’
‘And where’s that body now, Doc?’ Hunter asked.
‘Right in front of me.’
‘Are you at the morgue?’
‘No, I’m at the Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center in Westwood – Main Pathology Theater.’
Hunter reached for his jacket.
‘We’re on our way.’
Nineteen
The Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center in Westwood wasn’t just a fully functional teaching hospital. It was also ranked the fifth best hospital in the whole United States, providing students and the community with research centers covering nearly all major specialties of medicine and nursing, as well as dentistry. It was located in the southwest quadrant of the UCLA campus, just by Westwood Village, which was about fifteen miles away from the Police Administration Building.
Garcia took a parking space by a black Mercedes Benz, on the second floor of the visitors’ multi-story car park.
The main entry lobby to the Ronald Reagan Medical Center was so spacious it looked like a Vegas hotel reception foyer, minus the slot machines. It was brightly lit and airy, with the floors decked out in two-tone marble and the walls in white polished granite, giving the entire hall a very clean, welcoming and comforting feel.
The main pathology theater was located right at the end of the ground-floor concourse, just past a large auditorium.
‘Doctor?’ Hunter called, as he pulled open the door so that he and Garcia could step inside a very spacious, conference-type classroom.
‘In here.’ They heard Dr. Hove’s voice call from around the corner, just past a wall of wheeled hospital-style partitions.A second later, her head popped out from behind the last of those partitions. ‘In here,’ she said again, this time with a head gesture.
Hunter and Garcia rounded the partitions to find themselves in what they knew looked exactly like an autopsy room, just four times bigger. The five autopsy tables from Dr. Hove’s class earlier that day had been wheeled away, with the exception of one. The body on it had, once again, been covered up by a teal-colored medical sheet. Standing by the examination table were Dr. Hove and a second woman, who was as tall as the doctor herself, but at least twenty-five years her junior. She wore a conventional coroner’s coverall, the same as Dr. Hove, and a pair of typical surgical clogs. Her black hair was tied back into a short ponytail, but had it been loose, it would’ve fallen to just above her shoulders, framing a delicate and attractive face.
‘Robert, Carlos,’ Dr. Hove said, as she introduced them. ‘This is Carol Sixtree, one of my top students.’
Kay chuckled as her gaze skipped from Hunter to Garcia, then to Dr. Hove. ‘What the doctor really means is – “I’m her top student”. And please, call me Kay.’
‘She’s also very modest,’ Dr. Hove added. ‘As you can tell.’
Hunter stepped forward to offer his hand, but Kay halted him by lifting her gloved ones. ‘I was just working on the body. I don’t really think that you want to shake these.’ She wiggled her fingers.
‘I suppose not,’ Hunter said, taking back his hand.
‘But it’s a pleasure to meet you both,’ Kay added.
‘Likewise,’ Hunter said back.
Garcia simply greeted Kay with a nod.
‘Kay was the one who discovered all the inconsistencies between the body’s injuries and the information that we were given,’ Dr. Hove explained, handing Hunter the occurrence report.
‘OK.’ Hunter flipped open the folder.
Garcia stepped closer to have a look.
‘Terry Wilford.’ He read the name at the top of the file before his and Hunter’s eyes scanned the rest of the report, which wasn’t longer than just a couple of pages.
