As Tessa went back to her room to get her satchel, she thought about the conversation she’d just had with Patrick. On the one hand he was right, it didn’t seem to make sense-she wanted to live her own life, but she also wanted to be part of his: to need him but also be free of him. It was kind of weird, or maybe it was normal, she didn’t know. She was still trying to get used to the whole idea of having a dad around.
Besides, Patrick wanted two things just like she did. He wanted to work on his cases but also spend time with her. Both were important to him, she knew they were. So what was the difference?
Maybe she and Patrick weren’t all that different after all.
She grabbed her satchel, as well as the lotion to rub on her scar, and walked back to the elevators.
On my way to the car, the medical examiner returned my call but scoffed when I asked about an autopsy. “We already know how John Doe died-death by trolley. Besides, there wasn’t enough left of him to put in a Ziploc bag, let alone enough for an autopsy.”
You have to hand it to these MEs. They really know how to humanize a tragedy. “I was hoping we could look into this a little more,” I said. “There’s something here that doesn’t add up. Have there been any other suicides like this recently?”
“Bowers, this is the sixth largest city in the country. What do you think? The guy had no driver’s license, no social security number, no passport, and thus, no identity. As far as the system’s concerned, he doesn’t exist.”
“What about relatives?”
“No one showed up to claim the body, and no one will. This is a city of 1.3 million legal residents, plus nearly three hundred thousand illegal ones. What do you want me to do, interview each one of them, see if I can find someone who’s related?” He paused to catch his breath. “I need to get back to work.”
I thought maybe I could speak to one of John Doe’s relatives at the funeral, but when I asked the ME about the time of the interment, he said, “Unless someone claims the…” I could tell he was searching for the right word and body wasn’t it. “Unless someone claims the remains, there’ll be a public burial on Thursday. That’s all I know.” And then, in a tone bordering on compassion, he added, “So, why does this guy matter so much to you, anyhow?”
“Because he deserves to matter to someone.” I reached into my pocket and felt John Doe’s tooth, then the ME ended the call and Tessa arrived.
Trying to put the tragedy of his suicide out of my mind, I slid into the car next to Tessa and we headed to the aquarium, where Lien-hua had agreed to meet us.
At exactly 11:56 a.m. Creighton Melice discovered Randi’s cell phone in his car.
He’d decided to move the car eight blocks away from the warehouse so there would be no way of connecting him to it, or it to him.
But when he opened the car door and saw a phone on the dashboard, he realized it was hers. A tight knot formed in his gut.
Where was the phone Shade had provided him? Creighton searched between the seats and then beneath them and then behind them, but the phone was not in the car.
Creighton remembered Randi grabbing a phone as he shoved her out of the car.
She took the wrong one.
Randi now had the phone Shade was going to call.
And in that moment, despite how strongly he felt about not blaspheming, Creighton Melice did exactly that.