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Fylgja
*Chapter Four*
Julianna parked behind the Cavalier. Lewis stood up, dropping the worn little notebook back inside his pocket. John stopped his singing. All the guys in the squad room had a thing for Julianna. And they all knew she and Kellerman had a little romance going on the side, so of course they would never act on their feelings. The Brotherhood of Cops and its Laws of Loyalty went far beyond their working lives. Yet they didn't hide their attraction for her—not around Mikey, at any rate. In fact they flaunted it, just to get his goat. It was simply too much fun to see that anger darken his face. They sometimes took bets on how many seconds it would take to get the vein in his forehead to bulge.The Brotherhood had its fun side, too. The only person these men were subtle around (they thought) regarding their admiration of Julianna was Julianna herself. But she knew.
Lewis and Munch watched Julianna as she walked confidently around to the back of her vehicle and lifted a medical bag from the trunk of her car. Her chin length, glossy black hair swung as she slammed the lid and turned towards the detectives, shining a smile at two men who stood stiff as statues, arms crossed tightly across their chests. Their stance mirrored each other, yet with their very different looks Cox thought they resembled a mis-matched pair of socks. They smiled back, furthering the odd effect.
Lewis leaned sideways towards John a bit and quietly said out of the corner of his mouth, "Did you see how fine that was? How... perfect? Who would have thought slamming a trunk could be so graceful!" Lewis had slipped out of his street talk. "She probably studied ballet when she was a little girl."
Munch didn't notice the change of lingo. He leaned back towards Lewis, saying, trying not to move his lips, "You're wrong, my friend. She's too smart, she'd would have been bored stiff. She was a reader."
"Ballet dancers read, too," Meldrick hissed back through his teeth as he continued smiling at Julianna. "What about that one they called The Swan?" Munch stiffened is surprise, but his eyes never left the ME. As she neared, both men went into action. Lewis reseated his hat, smoothed his goatee. Munch ran his hands through his hair, cleared his throat. And the closer she got, the more they fidgeted. When she was about a foot away, they both lunged so suddenly for the tape that she reared back, luckily, she thought, as they smacked right into each other, so hard they almost bounced. Meldrick's hat flew again, and Julianna dipped her head quickly, pretending she didn't see, but really to stifle her laughter. As the men were busy giving each other dirty looks, Cox lifted the tape herself and walked under.
"So, boys!" she said brightly. "What have we got here?" she asked, looking down at John Doe.
Lewis got his cool back first. He stepped away from Munch. "Ms. Cox," he said, stooping next to the body and sweeping his large hand over its chest like he was a game show model showing some lucky winner a brand new car, "What we got here is known as a witch's teat! Now, they're not as uncommon as you may think!" She frowned, puzzled, so Lewis pointed at what appeared to be a spot on the chest. Julianna leaned over to see an extra nipple. Munch was standing behind her, dumfounded.
"Wow!" she exclaimed, "I've never seen one of these before!" She squatted next to Meldrick. Using a pencil, she moved a shard of shirt out of the way for a closer look. The infamous nipple was situated about a quarter inch from the left one, nearer to the center of the chest, where corpse's heart lay quiet. "Do you think this has anything to do with the murder?" she asked.
"All kind'a things motivate killers," Meldrick said in a professional voice. I haf'ta to consider every little thing, no matter how common or weird—especially weird."
"Then I suppose in your line of work it's important to know all kinds of strange little trivia." Cox volleyed back.
Lewis went in for the kill. "I make it my business to know these things," Slamdunk! Munch's mouth fell open. He was completely incredulous.
"Well, it's no wonder you're such a good detective." Julianna gave Lewis a warm smile. Lewis beamed. He did a tiny back and forth dance with his head, tilting his chin sideways and back, very pleased with himself.
John recovered slightly, enough for him to stop catching flies at least. Positively bristling, he growled, "Yeah, he's all that and a bag of chips!" Aw, jeeze, did I just say what I think I said? The horrible thought paralyzed him. Brilliant comeback, Bright-eyes, he thought.
Lewis stood, laughing. "Com'on, Munchkin, let's go see if any of our bald vultures can talk, maybe do a little door to door socializing. We'll leave Ms. Dr. Cox to her work here." He tipped his hat to Julianna, smiling, as he slipped his arm through John's and pulled him towards the crowd.
Munch shook him off, embarrassed and furious both. The kahunas on this guy! he thought. In the squad room the Munchkin handle could get annoying, but it was part of the banter, and he allowed it up to a point. And in quieter moments, he even admitted to himself a slight affection for the nickname, although he definitely drew the line at warm and fuzzy. But now it had been used in front of Julianna! He was appalled. "Dr. Cox." he said professionally and stormed off after a nod. Lewis gave her a grin over his shoulder as he followed John. This time Julianna laughed out loud. And then she got busy with what she did best.
When the uniforms saw her removing the internal thermometer from the bag, they spread their arms wide to move the audience further back from the scene. Doe may be a dead Doe, but even the dead deserved privacy and dignity. In their line of work, it could be any one of them getting the rectal thermometer on a cold city street in broad daylight, and they all knew it.
And the crowd backed off like nervous lambs, shuffling, stepping on each other's toes, bumping into each other. The ones in the rear started fanning out in all directions, purposefully away from the scene—some nonchalant, trying not to draw attention to themselves, others blatantly sprinting. It wasn't the action of the cops that brought on the exodus—it was the two detectives heading towards them that started the stampede. These people knew the drill, and not one of them wanted to spend an hour in the box with a couple of snarling sheepdogs biting at their heels.
*****
A few hours later Lewis and Munch pulled up outside the morgue. It was a large, weather-beaten brick structure, plain and depressing. Many nondescript vehicles and a few squad cars filled the closest available spaces in the lot, so John had to park some distance away. He pulled up his collar as they hoofed it through the cold wind. They strode past the wagon, parked at the loading dock next to a ramp. At the top of the ramp under the shade of the overhang, sat an empty metal gurney. Munch shivered.
As they neared the building, John, as was his habit, checked out the two rows of handicap spaces,10 slots on each side of the main entrance. He saw what he expected to see, and shook his head. Empty as usual, he thought with annoyance. Government overkill of any sort was a pet peeve of his. He started a healthy rant to Lewis about it, but let it fade as they walked in and the heavy glass doors closed behind them. The place had that effect on everybody.
"Why is it always so damn cold in here?" Meldrick whispered, rubbing his hands together as they started down the hall.
Munch whispered back, "I've got an even better question. Why do we always whisper in here? Considering most of the occupants are dead—which is why it's cold, by the way—we're not in danger of offending anyone."
Lewis and Munch continued quietly down the long empty hall, side by side. They passed many doors, each one holding mounted signs reading Positively No Admittance, or, Authorized Personnel Only. The autopsy room was at the end of the hall. Its doors carried both messages.There's something about this place that just puts a muzzle on people, Lewis thought. Just walking through the damn doors shuts folks up—even John finally shut up! His attempt at humor didn't take away his unease. Whenever he was there, Meldrick's head buzzed with strange thoughts, and he hated it.
Their silent foot falls seemed to echo back at Lewis off the yellowed and cracked tile walls. Now, that's just impossible, he thought. Silence don't make no echo. You got to get a'hold of yourself, man! He then got the eerie sensation that the building itself demanded silence. And if I broke that silence, then what? He stopped, suddenly and without a word, in the middle of the hall. He felt hot all over. He threw his hat to the floor and ripped off his coat, as if the quick removal of the physical offense would coax the removal of the mental offense. He just didn't know what else to do.
John stooped and picked up the hat. He knew not to say anything. Lewis concentrated on folding his coat but with one sleeve inside-out he was getting nowhere fast. He finally wrapped it into a lump and shoved it first under one arm, then under the other, stalling, as he fought off the thought inside of him. Finally he just stopped, defeated and confused. He looked at Munch, who was watching him with concerned, unabashed curiosity. That did it for Lewis. He snapped out of it. Scowling in anger at himself, he took it out on John. "What you lookin' at!" he demanded, voice raised, a real echo surprising both of them. Meldrick then shoved his coat none too gently into Munch's belly, adding. "Here. YOU hold it," and stormed off into the nearest men's room.
Wow! Must be one helluva case of the heebie-jeebies, thought John. And here I am, a guy who deals almost daily with gruesome murders, yet I can't take hospitals or morgues. Go figure. He didn't know most all of the homicide detectives felt that way.
When Lewis came back out he was his old self again. Munch was leaning on the wall waiting for him, the coat folded and the hat resting on top of the neat bundle. John could tell by the dampness of Meldrick's hair that he had probably stuck his head under cold water. Meldrick said pleasantly, "Thanks." And took his things. Again they walked in silence, and soon arrived at their destination.
Both men stopped just outside the autopsy room and took deep breaths. It was so automatic neither one ever noticed doing it, even though it was practically a ritual—and it was a ritual all detectives practiced.
*****
They pushed through the swinging doors like they owned the joint, and walked up to Julianna, who stood leaning on the counter next to one of many hand-washing stations, watching their approach with a smile. She was briskly rubbing lotion onto her hands. The constant washing of them, especially during winter, left them reddened and painfully raw if she didn't keep up on it. She carried lotion with her everywhere, and there was a large bottle at every sink, situated just underneath the foam soap dispenser. When she was finished she reached behind her and took a large men's ring off of the emergency eye-wash station that hung on the wall. It was her father's ring. She slipped it onto her forefinger. "Gentlemen?" she said.
Lewis gave her a wide grin. "We just stopped by to axe you a question," he said. Munch looked puzzled until he heard, "Do you know why vultures got no feathers on their heads?" Then his eyes narrowed, and an audible, strangled sound came from his throat. Meldrick turned to him with a wicked grin. "Wass' up, Partner, chokin' on a kabob? Got you a hairball or somethin'?" he asked.
Munch opened his mouth, but before he could retort, Julianna jumped in. "What an absolutely fascinating question, Meldrick!" Meldrick's smile faded as she added, "You and Munch must be spending much more time together now that you've bought the Waterfront. He's starting to rub off on you."
"Thank you!" John said. "And a little too much time, I might add."
Lewis laughed. He would have teased John endlessly, but the jig was up on this one.
"What'cha got for us, Ms. Dr. Cox?" he changed the subject.
"I'm afraid what I have for you isn't much," she sighed, getting serious. They followed her to a gurney close by, stood on each side of her as she pulled back the sheet. The three of them looked down at the body, its eyes now closed by someone who had time to care, probably an assisting tech. "Serrated knife, a good-sized one, too. Oh, and sharp, very, very sharp. 16 stab wounds, each one of them deep enough do the job right the first time. I'm no detective, guys, but I'd say without a doubt you've got one very angry perp out there."
"You're a detective of the anatomy, Julianna," said Munch.
"Why, thank you, John," she answered, visibly pleased.
Meldrick agreed totally with John, and while he wanted to join in on the compliment (anything to have that smile turn back towards him—and away from Munch) he couldn't, because Munch was the one who came up with it, and worse, said it. Goddamn, he thought. And, his male pride also couldn't allow the unintended but unavoidable compliment to John that would have resulted by his, Lewis's agreement. So he ignored the whole situation completely, and said to Cox, "Fibers? Defense wounds? Any of that there, what'cha call, DNA under them nails?"
"We'll have to wait on the lab for any results from the scrapings." She tilted her head, looking up and down at the body as she spoke. "A few fibers," she looked at the thigh area. Munch wondered if her looking over the body helped her to remember all the evidence collected for the lab. "Some hairs that may or may not belong to our Doe," she looked toward the right shoulder. "I put the death roughly between 11 p.m. last night and 3 a.m. this morning." I'll be damned... John swore she looked right at the heart when she said this. Now she actually grasped the body's wrists and turned the arms, showing the palms and the pale, cold undersides of the forearms. She continued, "And as you can see, there are no defense wounds, which I find odd, since he was attacked from the front."
"Told ya she was a detective," Lewis whispered to Munch. Munch ignored him.
Did you find any witnesses on your door-to-doors?" Julianna asked.
"Nary a one," John sighed. Everybody was sleeping like sweet babies last night. Wish I knew the secret..."
"We do have one or two a'what I call the 'pretendin' not to be homes' to drop in on, though." Lewis interrupted. "Maybe in a day or two. Catch the suckers off guard, give 'em a little time to forget to pretend. Maybe we'll luck out, catch us an insomniac."
"Highly doubtful, my friend," said John. "In this business, I find most witnesses claim to be a victims of somnambulism."
They looked at him blankly.
"Somni. It means sleep. Old Latin I think." Julianna smiled, knowing where this was going. Munch rolled his eyes. "And ambulate, or walk. As in 'walk in your sleep,'" Munch continued. "Sleepwalking."
"I get it, already!" Lewis pleaded.
"Anyway, what it really means is just more damned flat-foot dancing to look forward to," John said, "and probably to that same old tune, "I didn't see nothing," he sang in the "nah, nah, nah-nah, nah melody. He looked pointedly at Meldrick, smiling. "Oh, and by the way—you'll be waltzing with Kellerman, because when this shift is over, your current and temporary partner is leaving the dance floor. That's 5 o'clock p.m. my friend, and I'm outta here. Permanently. That's what I look forward to."
"What, you can't even wait 'til midnight, Cinderella? Am I that b—" Lewis started.
"Whoa, there," Julianna laughed. "I really do hate to end this lively discussion, but take a look around you, fellas. You see all of these bodies here? See how they're politely waiting their turns, everybody nice and quiet, nobody arguing for attention..." John and Meldrick gave each other looks that said, She's talkin' about YOU! "...and I'd like to reward their patience with a little TLC, so if we could have a bit of privacy," she smiled innocently at the detectives and batted her long lashes. My God, she thought, they're actually blushing!
The men beat a hasty but dignified retreat. Lewis tipped his hat, Munch bowed. They turned their backs on a lovely smile and headed towards the swinging doors. "Mmm, mmm, mmm! That just ain't fair! Look like a fella gotta be dead to get TLC from our good doctor. Ain't she somethin,' " Lewis finished his speech. "I think you should go for it," John coaxed. "And that explains Mikey!" Then turning to walk backwards, he called out to Julianna, "Stop in at the Waterfront later, Dr. Cox, and over some fine liquid relaxation, I'll tell you many fascinating facts about birds of prey."
Not to be outdone, Lewis too walked backwards, adding, "And that's on the house, for you, Ms. Dr. Cox," he added.
And then they both banged into the door. More bows, from both, and they disappeared.
Julianna, pulling on a fresh pair of powdered gloves, shook her head, laughing.
*****
The men had nothing to say to one another as they walked away from the room, each lost in his own thoughts. They walked fast. Everybody walked fast on the way out of the building, anxious to escape the constant reminders of mortality it held—not that homicide police didn't get almost constant reminders anyway, but at least there were breaks from it on the streets and in the squad room. Also, the building reeked—all powerful smells—of death, disinfectant, and orange for chrissake. Always that bizarre orange odor, some kind of aerosol to cover the ever-present smell of death. And the spray didn't work. It rather, unfortunately, seemed to mingle. Many of the morgue workers smeared Vicks VapoRub under their noses, while homicide detectives carried it in their pockets. They might forget their guns, but nobody forgot to take their "rub" (Munch called it peppermint camphor), and they horded it like Chapstik. And nobody ate oranges any more, either.
John suddenly broke the silence, startling his companion. He said quietly, "There, my friend, is the answer as to why we whisper."
He tilted his head towards the exit they were nearing. Meldrick looked to see a uniform standing aside from the glass door, holding it open for a middle-aged man and woman. The man had a supporting arm around the sobbing woman, who was near to collapse in her grief. He was pale, weary, and had a dull hopelessness in his eyes that the detectives recognized instantly.The cop looked very, very tired. He nodded at Munch and Lewis who, unnoticed by the couple, had stepped backed against the cold tile, out of the way. They stood watching as the trio made their way down the long hallway. The man's knees buckled at the door to the autopsy room.
