“I had a rather odd encounter with one of their detectives.”
“in connection with Eddings?” He began to rinse the body, and long dark hair flowed over bright steel.
“Right.”
“You know, it’s weird but Eddings had just called me.
It couldn’t have been more than a day before he died,” Fielding said as he moved the hose.
“What did he want?” I asked.
“I was down here doing a case, so I never talked to him.
Now I wish I had.” He climbed up a stepladder and began taking photographs with a Polaroid camera. “You in town long?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Well, if you need me to help out in Tidewater some, I will.” The flash went off and he waited for the print. “I don’t know if I told you, but Ginny’s pregnant again and would probably love to get out of the house. And she likes the ocean. Tell me the name of the detective you’re worried about, and I’ll take care of him.”
“I wish somebody would,” I said.
The camera flashed again, and I thought about Mant’s cottage and could not imagine putting Fielding and his wife in there or even nearby.
“it makes sense for you to stay here anyway,” he added.
“And hopefully Dr. Mant isn’t going to stay in England forever.”
“Thank you,” I said to him with feeling. “Maybe if you could just commute several times a week.”
“No problem. Could you hand me the Nikon?”
“Which one?”
“Uh, the N-50 with the single-reflex lens. I think it’s in the cabinet over there.” He pointed.
“We’ll work out a schedule,” I said as I got the camera for him. “But you and Ginny don’t need to be in Dr. Mant’s house, and you’re going to have to trust me on that.”
“You have a problem?” He ripped out another print and handed it down.
“Marino, Lucy and I started our New Year with slashed tires.”
He lowered the camera and looked at me, shocked.
“Shit. You think it was random?”
“No, I do not,” I said.
I took the elevator up to the next floor and unlocked my office and the sight of Eddings’ Christmas pepper surprised me like a blow. I could not leave it on the credenza, so I picked it up and then did not know where to move it. For a moment, I walked around, confused and upset, until I finally put it back where it had been, because I could not throw it out or subject some other member of my staff to its memories.
Looking through Rose’s adjoining doorway, I was not surprised that she wasn’t here. My secretary was advancing in years and did not like to drive downtown even on the nicest days. Hanging up my coat, I carefully looked around, satisfied that all seemed in order except for the cleaning job done by the custodial crew that came in after hours. But then, none of the sanitation engineers, as they were called by the state, wanted to work in this building. Few lasted long and none would go downstairs.
I had inherited my quarters from the previous chief, but beyond the paneling, nothing was as it had been back in those cigar-smoky days when forensic pathologists like Cagney nipped bourbon with cops and funeral home directors, and touched bodies with bare hands. My predecessor had not worried much about alternate light sources and DNA.
I remembered the first time I had been shown his space after he had died and I was being interviewed for his position. I had surveyed macho mementos he had proudly displayed, and when one of them turned out to be a silicone breast implant from a woman who had been raped and murdered, I had been tempted to stay in Miami.
I did not think the former chief would like his office now, for it was nonsmoking, and disrespect and sophomoric behavior were left outside the door. The oak furniture was not the state’s but my own, and I had hidden the tile floor with a Sarouk prayer rug that was machine-made but bright.
There were corn plants and a ficus tree, but I did not bother with art, because like a psychiatrist, I wanted nothing provocative on my walls, and frankly, I needed all the space I could find for filing cabinets and books. As for trophies, Cagney would not have been impressed with the toy cars, trucks and trains I used to help investigators reconstruct accidents.