Page 34 of Murder Notes

“The whole pot please,” she says, turning over her cup. “But I’ll start with this.”

Rose fills her cup and looks between us. “Something to eat?”

Beth and I shake our heads, and the minute Rose is gone Beth lowers her voice and leans in closer. “What the hell is going on?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I’m here in East Hampton,” she says, as if that explains everything.

“You live here,” I say, and a light bulb goes off. “But . . . the medical examiner’s facility is in Hauppauge, and you just said you finished the autopsy this morning. There can’t be proper facilities here for that.”

“I’d call the facility I used early this morning acceptable at best.”

“Then why do it here?”

“Exactly what I said when I got the request, and I insisted that it be done in Hauppauge. Thirty minutes later, my boss—”

“As in the Suffolk County medical examiner director,” I confirm.

“Yes. Bridget Johnson. She called me and told me she was keeping this off the books for forty-eight hours. I needed to do the autopsy here.”

“I’m not even sure that’s legal.”

“You and me both.”

“Why do this?”

“She said Hauppauge is heavily staffed and filled with people who might talk too much. That point was made after she reminded me that East Hampton was filled with powerful people who don’t want to end up with news crews in their front yards.”

“My father did a press conference today. I think she’s misguided. The news is out.”

“A news conference in which he all but inferred there was a suicide, not a murder, last night.”

“Fuck me. Tell me he didn’t do that.”

“I wish I could.”

I slide my coffee cup aside. “What the hell is he thinking? He’s going to look like a liar.”

“He’ll say he was misinformed.”

“By you,” I supply, the quickness of her answer making me wonder whether this is a repeat offense.

“I do believe I’m the likely fall guy, especially since your brother backed him up.”

“Did you confront them?”

“I never got the chance. They made sure of it.”

“What’s the endgame here?”

“Rivera came to me this morning, hovering until I completed the autopsy report.”

“Which told you what?”

“Aside from what you and I both surmised from the crime scene, distance and height of the shooter, and the normal, random data you’d expect. No DNA. No trace evidence. No sign of struggle.”

“Tattoo?”