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Michelle glanced over to see Kyle smiling at her. “The medical office is the same way. And Doc doesn’t like to track stuff into the autopsy room, even though it’s not like the most sterile place—pretty dirty, in fact. We have a locker room where we put on scrubs and shields, but sometimes I think she’d rather change out here for fear of contaminating some piece of evidence. I say get a life.”
“Actually, it’s nice to hear there are still dedicated people,” said King stiffly.
While Kyle hung by the doorway waiting for his boss, Michelle ran her gaze around the rest of the room. On the shelf behind Sylvia’s desk were several photos of a man either alone or with Sylvia. She picked one up and showed it to King with a questioning look.
“That’s George Diaz, her late husband,” he explained.
“She still has his pictures displayed at work?”
“I guess she really loved the guy.”
“So how come you’re not still seeing each other? Were there issues?” she asked in a playful tone.
“You’re my business partner, not my shrink,” he shot back.
A moment after Michelle put the photo back, Sylvia appeared in the doorway.
“Thank you, Kyle,” she said curtly.
“Right,” he said, and he and his superior smile marched off.
“Does your assistant have a slight attitude, or is it just us?” asked King.
Sylvia slipped off her lab coat and hung it on a hook on the door. Michelle took a moment to look the other woman over. A little under medium height, she was dressed in black slacks and a white linen shirt. She wore no jewelry, presumably because of her work. An earring or ring ending up in a corpse’s slit-open stomach would probably not be a good thing. Her skin was smooth and lightly freckled around the jawline. Her
red hair was tied back in a bun, revealing perfectly formed ears and a long, slender neck. Her brow was furrowed, and her look was one of distraction as she sat behind her desk.
“Kyle just turned thirty and doesn’t really want to be here.”
“I guess it’s hard to pick up women in bars with the line ‘Want to check out some great corpses?’ ” said Michelle.
“I think Kyle’s dream is to be in a world-famous rock band,” said Sylvia.
“Right, along with twenty million other guys,” said King. “He needs to get over it. I did when I was seventeen.”
Sylvia glanced at some papers on her desk, signed them, closed the file, stretched out her arms and yawned. “I’m sorry. I haven’t done three autopsies so close together for quite some time, and there’s been an outbreak of spring flu. That’s what I was doing next door.” She shook her head wearily. “It’s a little schizophrenic. One minute I’m looking at the throat of a fifty-year-old woman, the next moment I’m cutting up someone to see how they were murdered. Usually, there are months when I don’t even step foot inside the morgue. But not lately.”
“It takes a very special person to do what you do, Sylvia,” said King.
“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment, just simply stating a fact, but thanks.”
She turned to Williams, who was looking paler by the minute. When she spoke, her tone was not exactly one of warmth and honey. “I trust you’ve recovered from the first autopsy.”
“I think my head has, not sure about my gut.”
“I was really hoping to see you at the Canney and Pembroke posts. Having the lead investigator in attendance is usually quite helpful,” she added in an admonishing tone that made her point quite clear.
Williams looked miserably at her. “I was planning to but then got called away.”
“Of course.” Sylvia glanced at King and Michelle with a suddenly hardened expression. “Do you both have strong stomachs?”
Michelle and King looked at each other. King answered for them. “Strong enough.”
Sylvia turned to Williams. “Todd, do you have any objection to their seeing the bodies? Of course I also want you or at least one of your men to attend as well. It might appear strange to a jury that somebody from the police force hadn’t viewed the bodies at least post-autopsy.”
Williams looked angry but then seemed to wage an inner debate with himself. Finally, he shrugged. “Hell, let’s go.”
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