Shassad grabbed the telephone impatiently as it jangled on his desk. An amateur like Thomas Daniels, lawyer no less, had managed to slip away from a professional surveillance team. Shassad was sore. Genuinely angry. It not only confirmed that Daniels was every bit as shifty as Shassad had thought, but also that the Department was promoting imbeciles to the rank of Detective. Daniels had now been missing for two days.
"Sergeant Shassad?" asked the exuberant voice on the line.
"De-tec-tive?" Shassad grumbled, already recognizing the caller.
"What is it now, Gary?"
"This is your favorite Keeper of Kadavers said Gary Dedmarsh, speaking by reason of vocation and avocation, and buoyant enough to refer to himself by the title he'd newly self-bestowed.
"Guess what I've got for you."
"For Christ's sake, Gary," implored Shassad,
"I'm not in the mood for games. What do you want?"
"I've got a floater for you. Someone you knew."
Shassad was silent for a moment, looking absently up at a clock, rubbing his chin and wondering who the hell had been fished out of the water.
"A pair of kids were playing on the waterfront near West Houston Street" explained Gary excitedly, 'when they saw this hunk floating in the Hudson. Well, the hunk was a male in his early thirties, maybe, and he'd been floating for about thirty hours " Gary, knowing how to deliver a punch line, paused before adding, "The floater had a piece of paper with your name and telephone on it. I was wondering, Sergeant, if you wanted to come down and give him a peek?" Another pause and then,
"He's all puffed up and waterlogged, but the features are intact and-' "Save it, Gary," said Shassad.
"We'll be down "Jesus, what a perverse kid, Shassad thought, setting down the telephone. There ought to be a law.
Shassad left Hearn at the precinct and drove down to the Thirtieth Street morgue. Gary was seated at a desk, waiting for him feet up and reading a racing newspaper.
"Got here fast, Sargel" said Gary, genuinely marveling.
"Must have been afraid he'd float out of here again before you got to view him. Want a look?"
"I didn't come for the conversation," said Shassad.
"Where is it?"
For some reason Shassad always referred to corpses by the indefinite pronoun.
Gary Dedmarsh had a cute act of forgetfulness, reserved for such occasions.
"Let's see now," he asked.
"Where'd I put him? Where'd he go?"
Shassad grimaced as if to say, Come on Gary, I'm not in the mood for comedy. He wasn't. Gary led him into a colder room, then down a corridor where the refrigerated drawers were kept. He looked for the proper number.
"Took a bullet right there," offered Gary, as if trying to interest Shassad in an attractive piece of merchandise.
"Must have been high caliber. Made a real mess. Right in the center of the chest.
Then after it had floated long enough, it all puffed up and-' "Just show it to me, just show it to me!" Shassad snapped, already envisioning the bloated features of the missing attorney.
Gary glanced at the detective. Hurt was on his face.
"Jeez," he said slowly,
"I didn't know you was in a bad mood."
"Just show it to me" "I won't say nothin'."
Gary unlocked the small door in the wall, pulled out a second panel, and pulled out the long slab. He unzipped the plastic bag.
On the flat board rested the puffy remains of a human body. Male, early thirties, just as Gary Dedmarsh had advertised.
Shassad looked into the swollen white face. He blanched slightly.
It was not the face he'd expected, not at all the features of Thomas Daniels.
"You looked surprised," said Gary soberly.
"I am…I know him?"
"I recognize him," said Shassad.
"He was a guard at a Romanian film company on Varick Street. I met him once. He caught me prowling around his building. I had to give him my card and number." Gary looked at the detective, then back to the corpse, trying to decide whether there was significance to what Shassad said. He found none.
For his part, Shassad was completely silent, clearly envisioning Thomas Daniels, but not even wishing to utter the missing attorney's name.