“Geez,” one of them said.
I took the folded disposable sheets off the stretcher and Marino helped me spread one of them open on the floor.
“You guys lift her a few inches and we’re going to scoot this sheet right under her,” I instructed. “Good. That’s fine.”
She was on her back. Gory eyes stared out of shattered orbits. Plasticized paper rustled as I covered her with the other sheet: We lifted her up and zipped her inside a dark red pouch.
“It’s getting icy out there,” one of the paramedics let us know.
Marino’s eyes darted around the store and then out the door into the parking lot where red and blue lights still strobed, but the attention had significantly waned. Reporters had, dashed back to their newsrooms and stations, and only the crime-scene technicians and a uniformed officer remained.
“Yeah, right,” Marino muttered. “I’m suspended but you see any other detective here to work this thing? I ought to just let everything go to hell.”
We walked back to my car as an old blue Volkswagen Beetle turned into the parking lot. The engine cut so abruptly the clutch popped, and the driver’s door flew open and a teenaged girl with pale skin and short dark hair almost fell out, she was in such a hurry. She ran toward the pouched body as the paramedics loaded it into the ambulance. She raced toward them as if she might tackle them.
“Hey!” Marino yelled, going after her.
She reached the back of the ambulance as the tailgate slammed shut. Marino grabbed her.
“Let me see her!” she screamed. “Oh, please let go of me! Lei me see her!”
“Can’t do that, ma’am,” Marino’s voice carried.
The paramedics swung open their doors and jumped in.
“Let me see her!”
“It’s gonna be all right.”
“No! No! Oh, please, God!” Grief tumbled out of her like a waterfall.
Marino had her from behind, holding tight. The diesel engine rumbled awake and I couldn’t hear what else he said to her, but he let go of her as the ambulance drove away. She dropped to her knees. She clamped her hands on both sides of her head and stared up at the icy, overcast night, shrieking and wailing and crying out the slain woman’s name.
“KIM! KIM! KIM!”
25
Marino decided to stay with Eggleston and Ham, also known as the Breakfast Boys, while they connected the dots with string at a scene where it wasn’t necessary. I went home. Trees and grass were glazed with ice, and I thought all I needed now was á power outage, which was exactly what I got.
When I turned into my neighborhood, every house was dark, and Rita, working security, looked-as if she were holding a séance in the guardhouse.
“Don’t tell me,” I said to her.
Candle flames wavered behind glass as she stepped out, pulling her uniform jacket tightly around her.
“Been out since about nine-thirty,” she told me, shaking her head. `That’s all we ever get in this city is ice.”
My neighborhood was in a blackout as if a war were going on, and the sky was too overcast to see even a smudge of the moon. I could barely find my driveway and almost fell going up my front stone steps because of the ice. I clung to the railing and somehow managed to find the right key to unlock the door. My burglar alarm was still armed because it was on a backup battery, but that wouldn’t last longer than twelve hours, and outages due to ice had been known to go on for days.
I punched in my code, then reset the alarm. I needed a shower. There was no way in hell I’ was going out to my garage to toss my scene clothes in the wash, and the thought of running naked through my pitch-dark house and jumping into a dark shower filled me with horror. Silence was absolute except for the quiet smacking of sleet.
I found every candle I could and began strategically placing them around the house. I located flashlights. I built afire, and the inside of my house was pockets of darkness with shadows pushed back by several small logs with thin fingers of flame. At least the phone was still working, but of course the answering machine was dead.