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“How did he die?”
“The medical examiner will have to determine that, officially.”
“Unofficially, my guess would be a bullet,” the man said.
“Could be. Or he could have been fishing off the bridge last night, fell off and drowned, maybe hit his head on something. We won’t jump to conclusions.” Even if she had already jumped.
“I guess you know your job,” the man said.
“Thanks, yes, I do.”
“What are your chances of finding out who he is and what happened to him?”
“Better than fifty-fifty,” she said, though she didn’t really feel that confident.
“It’s organized crime,” the man said.
Holly held back a laugh. “We don’t have all that much organized crime around here.”
“You got a murder on your hands, Chief,” the man said.
When a citizen was right, he was right, Holly thought.
“I’d like to k
now how it comes out.”
“Watch the papers,” Holly said. She shook his hand, went back to her car, and headed for the morgue. Something had struck her about this corpse, and she wanted her curiosity satisfied.
19
Holly gave the medical examiner a couple of hours’ head start, then went to his office. She had seen more than one autopsy, and more than one was enough. When she walked into his lab, the ME was just finishing.
“Hey,” he said.
“What’s the story?” she asked, nodding at the corpse on the table under the sheet.
The ME consulted his notes on a clipboard. “Well-developed male, closer to thirty than forty, Hispanic, very probably Cuban. Death was from a single gunshot to the back of the head, probably while kneeling, hard-nosed bullet, forty-caliber, went through intact, took out the front teeth.”
“Anything I don’t already know?”
“Did you know he was Cuban?”
“The man who owned the dock where he was found thought so. Why do you?”
“Amalgam fillings,” the ME replied. “They still do them in Cuba, but not here so much. He had a mouth full of socialist-era dentistry.”
“Would that indicate that he was somebody special, having access to dental care?”
“Nah. The Cubans pride themselves on their medical system.”
“Did you find any other marks on the body?” She didn’t want to lead him.
“Bruised knuckles on the right hand; he might have taken a swing at whoever shot him.”
“Anything else?”
The ME peered at her. “Sounds like you have something in mind.”
