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Picking up my soda, I take a long sip, and groan when the sugar hits the back of my throat. “I’m tired, too. And Fifi’s being mean to me.”
His eyes snap to her and narrow.
It’s instinct, I think;protect Minka. Even if my current threat is a beauty queen in a pencil skirt.
“I’m not being mean,” she huffs. “I’m doing my job. She, on the other hand, insists on being back in the office when she shouldn’t be, but then doesn’t fulfill her duties the way shesaysshe will.”
“My duty is to autopsy dead bodies.” I set my good arm on the bar and rest my chin in my hand. My last stand before I fall asleep. “I autopsied John Doe. That’s my job. Talking to the media is not.”
“It is!”
And because she’s a little too uptight about things, she takes out her phone, scans her documents file, then pulls up my job advert from last year.
“‘The Chief Medical Examiner will perform and administer autopsies. He will study the deceased and determine cause of death. The Chief Medical Examiner will draft reports stating such conclusions, and submit such reports to the appropriate authorities. The Chief Medical Examiner may be called upon as a witness in the courts of law, he will aid in the investigation of cases, review forensic pathology functions, manage his staff, and liaise with the media as required.’”
Smug, she meets my eyes and purses her lips. “Did you catch that last part? ‘And liaise with the media as required.’”
“That description is misleading.” I sip a little more Coke and lean to the side to rescue my phone from my pocket. Unlocking the screen and begrudging the fact I have only two hands, which means I’m forced to hold my head up using only my neck, I search for Archer’s name and hit dial. “First of all, the ad assumes the chief M.E. would be ahe. That alone discredits your source material.”
“Mayet?” Archer responds before the second ring. “Where are you?”
“Second,” I hold Fifi’s gaze. “‘As required’. I do not, at this junction in time, feel my liaising is required. Archer?” I bring my attention back to him and yawn. “Catch a killer yet?”
I cup my phone in my palm, and press the lot to my ear so I’m kind of, somewhat, supporting my head. Meanwhile, Tim gets busy pouring sodas for my colleagues, now that he’s got sugar flowing into my veins.
“Not yet,” Archer responds. “But we think the vic’s name is Kyle. We don’t have a positive ID, and no surname. But we followed a few leads and ended up at a bar across the city namedObscure. It sounds kinda pretentious and high-end, but as soon as we walked in the door, we realized Tim’s is classier.”
I study my surroundings: the Budweiser sign, and the wall of booze. The jukebox situated in the far corner, and the well-worn booths filled with cops blowing off steam after dealing with assholes all day.
“Really?”
“Really,” he chuckles. “Maybe they were trying to attract an upmarket clientele with their name choice, but Obscure is a bar just like a million others, serving day drinkers, drunks, idiots, and the highly annoying. After flashing John Doe’s picture around the place for an hour with no luck, we almost called it a day. But then we came across one guy—likes to keep to himself, never talks to anyone. Doesn’t want to make friends.”
“So relatable,” I sigh. “That’s my dream life.”
He snickers. “He hasn’t met our vic, they’ve never exchanged words, but he says the face is familiar, and he thinks his name is Kyle.”
“Kyle.” I chew on my bottom lip and tilt my head to peek at Aubree. “The guys think his name is Kyle.”
She considers my words for a beat, her brows pulling in tight. Then she sips her soda and nods. “It works, I suppose. I would’ve pegged him as being, like, an Arthur, or maybe a Michael. Not a Kyle. But,” she shrugs. “Okay. Does Kyle’s family know he’s dead?”
“We don’t know who his family is. And it doesn’t seem like anybody is looking for him. Missing persons hasn’t given us anything yet ,” Archer continues. “We’ve run his face through the system: nada. We have no prints, so that’s out. Fletch gave social media a swing, since we have a face and a first name, but he got nothing there either. If we’re still unsure by this time tomorrow, we might need to put his picture on the news. Get the media onto it. That’ll flush his name out.”
“What about the method of killing?” I ask. Energy beats low in my blood, and a yawn sits just below my consciousness. But solving a mystery has always kept me awake. “It’s pretty gory stuff. Specific, too. You don’t have anything similar in your computers?”
“No,Detective,” he drawls. “Nothing has popped so far. The knife wounds, yes. The eyes, yes. Tying the target to a chair, yes. Tossing him off the bridge, yes. It’s all been done before.”
“But not all together,” I guess. “Got it. No overlap at all?”
“We’re pulling some names where their MO meets two or more of the same factors as Kyle’s torture. None hit every element, but there are a few that match up a little. We’ve checked in with a couple of those guys today.”
“And they’re innocent?”
He snorts. “Several are still in prison. Most still have anklets and parole officers. It’s the few cases that haven’t been solved yet that hit closest for us.”
“So solve those first,” I joke. “Then you can swing back around and solve yours. Easy peasy.”
“Mmhm. You’re at Tim’s?”
