Part 93 (1/2)
Part Seven Chapter 31 Sha.s.sad 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. Sha.s.sad was sore. Genuinely angry. It not only confirmed that Daniels was every bit as s.h.i.+fty as Sha.s.sad had thought, but also that the Department was promoting imbeciles to the rank of Detective. Daniels had now been missing for two days.
”Sergeant Sha.s.sad?” asked the exuberant voice on the line.
”De-tec-tive?” Sha.s.sad 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 t.i.tle he'd newly self-bestowed.
”Guess what I've got for you.”
”For Christ's sake, Gary,” implored Sha.s.sad,
”I'm not in the mood for games. What do you want?”
”I've got a floater for you. Someone you knew.”
Sha.s.sad was silent for a moment, looking absently up at a clock, rubbing his chin and wondering who the h.e.l.l 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 Sha.s.sad.
”We'll be down
”Jesus, what a perverse kid, Sha.s.sad thought, setting down the telephone. There ought to be a law.
Sha.s.sad 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 Sha.s.sad.
”Where is it?”
For some reason Sha.s.sad always referred to corpses by the indefinite p.r.o.noun.
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?”
Sha.s.sad 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 Sha.s.sad in an attractive piece of merchandise.