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Minka’s smile grows larger. “Cute answering service, but I’m gonna need you to come in. We have a high-priority case and require you to run DNA this afternoon.”
“But I just sat down,” Raquel whines. “Chief! It’sSunday. Was I not clear enough?”
“You want a new tox tech, don’t you?” Minka settles back in her seat and cradles her bad arm. She wears a smile on her face, but I don’t miss how hard she works to cover the grimace of pain. “New budget’s coming,” she singsongs. “New financials. I can get you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”
“I’m on my way,” Doctor Raquel huffs. She moves so the sound of couch cushions rubbing together as they settle back in place carries down through the line. Then comes a dog’s bark that says the animal is unhappy about the intrusion. Soft footsteps touch hard flooring, then the beep of a microwave says the woman was likely settling in with popcorn and a movie.
“I want it on record I’m doing this under duress,” she grumbles. “I’m completely inconvenienced and unhappy about this. But,” she grabs a set of keys so metal clangs on metal, “I’m getting that tech. If you deny me after this, I’m gonna burn the city to the ground.”
“Fantastic.” Minka leans forward and grabs her phone. “By the way, Detective Malone is here right now and heard your threats.”
I chuckle in the back of my throat, though I don’t give a single shit about the spitfire’s bad mood or upcoming reign of terror. “See you soon, Doctor Raquel. Copeland PD appreciates your cooperation in this matter.”
“Mmhm.” She swings a door open and whistles, the answering sound of four paws sprinting along tile sending Minka’s brows shooting high.
As if she can hear her colleague’s incoming protests, Raquel explains, “I’m dog-sitting and can’t leave him home alone. So he comes.”
“You cannot bring a dog to the lab! Absolutely not.” No longer teasing, Minka jolts in her seat. “Doctor Raquel! The lab is a sterile space!”
“I’m aware. So I can leave him in your office, right?” She pauses for a beat and slams the door. “Due to the fact you’re demanding immediate testing on aSunday, I’m certain you’ll happily watch my dog while I’m otherwise occupied.”
“I will not,” Minka snarls. “No dogs inside this building.”
“Now you’re just being ableist. Humphrey is my seeing-eye dog. I have the papers to prove it.”
“You’re not blind! And you just said you’re dog-sitting for someone else.”
“Sure. I’m sitting for a blind person who is, right at this moment, in surgery. Humphrey needs a safe person to be with during this difficult time, and you need a tech who’ll run your DNA. Sounds to me like we have ourselves an opportunity to be mutually beneficial, Chief.”
“But—”
“I’ll see you soon. It would be super helpful if you could organize a bowl of water for your office, Doctor Mayet. Though, worst-case, he’ll happily drink from your private bathroom.”
“He’s not using my bathroom!”
“Hanging up now.” The other doctor kills the call and leaves Minka spinning out.
She doesn’t even want to deal with the cat we have, so she especially doesn’t want to deal with a dog she doesn’t know. But she needs the DNA testing done, because she wants to solve the crime of thetwice-married, lying sack of shitas much as I do.
Wide-eyed, she looks to me for help. For sense. For anything that won’t result in a dog drinking from her toilet. “Archer—”
“If Humphrey really is a guide dog, then he’s trained and will have better manners than even you and me. It’s gonna be fine.” I relax back in my chair and look past her, through the glass walls that separate us from autopsy room after autopsy room.
Weekend staff medical examiners do their work; some with a body, others, sitting at a computer. It’s quiet, since most folks are sitting at home in front of the television for a lazy Sunday afternoon. The dead bodies will come later tonight, when men are sneaking from one lover’s home to another. Or people are drinking away their sorrows, prepping for a new week at a job they hate.
If we weren’t already assigned to our John Doe/Kyle Andrews/Roger Wilson case, then we’d wake tomorrow to something else. Someoneelse.
“How’s your shoulder?” I bring my eyes back and watch Minka as she reaches up with her good hand and scratches the opposite side, dangerously close to her incisions. She’s itchy, but she’s also smart enough to know she can’t go too hard or get too close without reopening what’s already too tender. “Are you in pain?”
“It’s slightly better than mild.” Dropping her hand, she looks up at the ceiling and exhales. “I can feel it. It’s there. But it’s not so bad.”
“Do you need meds?”
She shakes her head and yawns, while a few walls and a door away, Mrs. Andrews continues to bellow her grief. “I’m good until later.”
“Tired?”
She nods reluctantly. “Woke up at four.” Closing her eyes to rest, she mumbles, “My body was ready, but now I wouldn’t mind a nap.”
