I dialed my office and got Fielding on the phone.
“When were we notified about this body?” I asked him.
“Hold on. Let me check the sheet:” Paper rustled. “At exactly ten fifty-three.”
“And when was it found?”
“Uh, Anderson didn’t seem to know that.”
“How the hell could she not know something like that?”
“Like I .said, I think she’s new.”
“Fielding, there’s not a cop in sight except for her, or at least I guess that’s her. What exactly did she say to you when she called in the case?”
“DOA, decomposed, asked for you to come to the scene.”
“She specifically requested me?” I asked.
“Well, hell. You’re always everybody’s first choice. That’s noticing new. But she said Marino told her to get you to the scene.”
“Marino?” I asked, surprised. “He told her to tell me to respond?”
“Yeah, I thought it was a little ballsy of him.”
I remembered Marino’s telling me he would drop by the scene, and I got angrier. He gets some rookie to basically give me an order, and then if Marino can fit, it in, he might swing by and see how we’re doing?”Fielding, when’s the last time you talked to him?” I asked.
“Weeks. Pissy mood, too.”
“Not half as pissy as mine’s going to be if and when he finally decides to show up,” I promised.
Dockworkers watched me climb out of my car and pop open the trunk. I retrieved my scene case, jumpsuit and shoes, and felt eyes crawl all over me as I walked toward the unmarked car and got more annoyed with each labored step, the heavy case bumping against my leg.
The man in the shirt and tie looked hot and unhappy as he shielded his eyes to gaze up at two television news helicopters slowly circling the port at about four hundred feet.
“Darn reporters,” he muttered, turning his eyes to me.
“I’m looking for whoever’s- in charge of this crime scene,” I said.
“That would be me,” came a female voice from inside the Caprice.
I bent over and peered through the window at the young woman sitting behind the wheel. She was darkly tanned, her brown hair cut short and slicked back, her nose and jaw strong. Her eyes were hard, and she was dressed in relaxed-leg faded jeans, lace-up black – leather boots and white T-shirt. She wore her gun on leer hip, her badge on a ball chain tucked into her collar. Air-conditioning was blasting, light rock on the radio surfing over the cop talk on the scanner.
“Detective Anderson, I presume,” I said.
“Rene Anderson. The one and only. And you must be the doc I’ve heard so much about,” she said with the arrogance I associated with most people who didn’t know what the hell they were doing.
“I’m Joe Shaw, the port director,” the man introduced himself to me. “You must be who the security guys just called me about”
He wasj about my age, with blond hair, bright blue eyes and skin lined from years of too much sun. I could tell by the look on his face that he detested Anderson and everything about this day.
“Might you have anything helpful to pass along to me before I get started?” I said to Anderson over loud blowing air and rotating helicopter blades. “For example, why there are no police securing the scene?”
“Don’t need ’em;’ Anderson said, pushing open her door with her knee. “It’s not like just anybody can drive right on back here, as you found out when you tried.”
I set the aluminum case on the ground. Anderson came around to my side of the car. I was surprised by how small she was.
“Not much I can tell you,” she said to me. “What you see is what we got. A container with a real stinker inside.”
“No, there’s a lot more you can tell me, Detective Anderson,” I said. “How was the body discovered and at what time? Have you seen it? Has anybody gotten near it? Has the scene been contaminated in any way? And the answer to the last one had better be no, or I’m holding you responsible.”