pushers anyway–the snuff might be tied to dope intrigue. The watch boss said,
“How’s Mickey these days?,” added, “Submit a request through official channels,”
and hung up.
Pissed, Danny dialed Doc Layman’s personal number at the City Morgue, one eye on the bandstand. The pathologist answered on the second ring. “Yes?”
“Danny Upshaw, Doctor.”
Layman laughed. “Danny Upstart is more like it–I just autopsied the John Doe you tried to usurp.”
Danny drew in a breath, turning away from Coleman Healy gyrating with his sax. “Yes? And?”
“And a question first. Did you stick a tongue depressor in the corpse’s mouth?”
“Yes.”
“Deputy, never, ever, introduce foreign elements into interior cavities until after you have thoroughly spotted the exterior. The cadaver had cuts with imbedded wood slivers all over his back– pine–and you stuck a piece of pine into his mouth, leaving similar slivers. Do you see how you could have fouled up my assessment?”
“Yes, but it was obvious the victim was strangled by a towel or a sash–the terrycloth fibers were a dead giveaway.”
Layman sighed–long, exasperated. “The cause of death was a massive heroin overdose. The shot was administered into a vein by the spine, by the killer himself–the victim couldn’t have reached it. The towel was placed in the mouth to absorb blood when the heroin hit the victim’s heart and caused arteries to pop, Which means the killer had at least elementary anatomical knowledge.”
Danny said, “Jesus fuck.”
Layman said, “An appropriate blasphemy, but it gets worse. Here’s some incidentals first:
“One, no residual heroin in the bloodstream–Mr. Doe was not now addicted, although needle marks on his arms indicate he once was. Two, death occurred around 1:00 to 2:00 A.M., and the neck and genital bruises were both postmortem. The cuts on the back were postmortem, almost certainly made by razor blades attached to something like a pine slab or a 2 by 4. So far, brutal– but not past my ken. However . . .”
Layman stopped–his old classroom orator’s pause. Danny, sweating out his jolts of bonded, said, “Come on, Doc.”
“All right. The substance in the eye sockets was KY Jelly. The killer inserted his penis into the sockets and ejaculated–at least twice. I found six cubic centimeters of semen seeping back toward the cranial vault. O+
secretor–the most common blood type among white people.”
Danny opened the phone booth door; he heard wisps of bebop and saw Coleman Healy going down on one knee, sax raised to the rafters. “The bites on the torso?”
Layman said, “Not human is what I’m thinking. The wounds were too shredded to make casts from–there’s no way I could have lifted any kind of viable teeth marks. Also, the ME’s assistant who took over after you pulled your Side 24
Ellroy, James – Big Nowhere, The little number swabbed the affected area with alcohol, so I couldn’t test for saliva or gastric juices. The victim’s blood–AB+–was all I found there. You discovered the body when?”
“Shortly after 4:00 A.M.”
“Then scavenging animals down from the hills are unlikely. The wounds are too localized for that theory, anyway.”
“Doc, are you sure we’re dealing with teeth marks?”
“Absolutely. The inflammation around the wounds is from a mouth sucking.
It’s too wide to be human–”
“Do you think–”
“Don’t interrupt. I’m thinking that–maybe–the killer spread blood bait on the affected area and let some kind of well-trained vicious dog at the victim. How many men are working this job, Danny?”
“Just me.”
“ID on the victim? Leads?”
“It’s going well, Doc.”
“Get him.”
“_I will_.”
Danny hung up and walked outside. Cold air edged the heat off his booze intake and let him collate evidence. He now had three solid leads: The homosexual mutilations combined with Coleman Healy’s observation of Marty Goines being “fruit”; his “nance” “sugar daddy type”–who resembled the tall, gray-haired man the bartender saw with Goines, heading toward the stolen Buick last night–an hour or so before the estimated time of death; the heroin OD cause of death; the bartender’s description of Goines weaving in a junk nod–that jolt of dope a probable precursor to the shot that burst his heart; Goines’ previous addiction and recent dope cure. Putting the possible animal mutilations out of mind, he had one _hard_ lead: the tall, gray-haired man–a sugar daddy capable of glomming heroin, hypodermic syringes and talking a reformed junkie into geezing up on the spot and ditching his New Year’s Eve gig.