Ulmer’s brows rose and he asked shortly, “Covered by what?”
“Masks. Check with OCME too. I need absolutely any report written up or evidence gathered.” Larkin began to walk away.
“Grim.”
He looked over his shoulder.
Ulmer was grooming his goatee with one hand in a self-soothing gesture. After a beat, he pointed and said, “I’m doing this because it’s my job.”
“It sure is.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you can drink Clorox.”
Larkin’s mouth twitched. “That’s certainly more creative than simply telling me to fuck myself.” He returned to his desk, took a seat, and looked at Doyle. Earbuds in, right leg bouncing—he probably didn’t notice—busily tracing the composite sketch from earlier to make a second rendition. Considering Doyle’s proven scientific understanding of bone and muscle structures, Larkin had no doubt the aging process would be just as accurate and impressive as the work he’d done so far.
Larkin left Doyle to it.
He picked up his phone, checked his department extensions, then dialed.
“Bosman” came the answer on the first ring. Good to know the newbie wasn’t clocking out at five.
“Detective Bosman, this is Everett Larkin.”
Silence.
In fact, Bosman was so quiet, Larkin could pick up the sounds of his bullpen through the line.
“Evie…. Apologize to him.”
Larkin cleared his throat and said briskly, “I would like to apologize for our last conversation. It was inappropriate of me to point out your personal… business.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“I, of course, don’t have the complete story, nor do I care. You have your reasons.”
“Are you still apologizing, or have we moved on to some sort of vague insult?”
“I’m still apologizing.”
“You’re not very good at it.”
“I don’t usually have reason to apologize for my deductions.”
Bosman laughed at that. Not a cruel or angry laugh, but one of honest amusement. “You’re a weird fucking guy.”
“I’ve been told that once or twice.”
“I bet. What did you need?”
With his free hand, Larkin grabbed the evidence bags containing the Polaroids and Andrew’s death mask. “Is CSU still at Ricky’s apartment.”
“Oh yeah. You saw it—crawled around in it, actually. They’ll be there all damn night.”
Larkin reached into his suit coat, retrieved the photos Jessica had supplied him with before the shooting, then stood. He cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder while shrugging the coat off and draping it over the back of his chair. “Have they found masks or more Polaroids.”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Keep on them.”
