Blood Orchid (Holly Barker 3)

“I do, but I’d rather you told me.”

“Come on, Chief, tell me.”

She walked over to the table and hoisted the cloth covering the body above the knees. “Take a look at that,” she said, pointing at the left knee.

The doctor looked at it. “Oh,” he said. “All right.” He began writing on his clipboard. “Severe bruising of the left knee.” He made a note of it.

“How old?” Holly asked.

“Hard to say: a few days, I guess.”

Holly parted the hair on her left temple. “Take a look at this.”

The ME looked at her head. “You’ve got severe bruising, too; are you and the deceased related?”

“It’s the age of the bruise I’m talking about,” she said.

“You think you and the deceased heal at the same rate, and in different parts of the body?”

“Come on, Doctor, could the two bruises have occurred at the same time?”

“You mean, you think the deceased might have bruised his knee while applying it to your temple?”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Answer my question, please.”

“Well, yes, his bruise and yours could have occurred on the same day. I wouldn’t want to put my professional weight behind that in court, if it came to that.”

“Thank you,” she said. Like pulling teeth. “How long has he been dead?”

“Since the wee hours of this morning,” the ME replied. “That’s my best guess; his being in the water most of the night screwed up body temperature as a way of determining time of death more precisely. He would have cooled off faster.”

“What else can you tell me about him?”

“He’s very well built, probably works out on a regular basis. His clothes were expensive—Italian labels—and he had a good manicure. If you blow-dried his hair, he’d probably have a good haircut, too, but river water doesn’t improve the look.”

“Any jewelry?”

“He’s got a whiter band on his left wrist, indicating that he or somebody else removed a wristwatch. And there’s this.” The doctor walked to a counter, picked up a plastic container, and emptied it into Holly’s hand. The contents consisted of a small gold locket on a light, matching chain, and a diamond stud earring of about half a carat.

“Looks like something a girl would wear,” she said, examining the stud.

“A lot of men wear earrings these days,” the doctor replied. “I can’t imagine why.”

Holly picked up the locket and opened it. A little Indian River water drained out. Inside was a photograph of a pretty Latino girl, perhaps in her early twenties. Holly dug out the photograph with a fingernail and looked on the back. Nothing. “Looks like a Polaroid, trimmed to fit the locket.”

“Well, somebody loved him, then,” the doctor sighed.

“Where are his clothes?” she asked.

The doctor pointed to another counter.

Holly walked over to the pile and went through them. Everything was black, the shirt silk and the trousers cotton. He had worn briefs, bikini cut, also black. The socks were cotton, the shoes Italian, Bruno Magli. They were moccasin-like, soft with rubber studs on the soles. “Driving shoes,” Holly said aloud. Also good cat-burglar shoes; they wouldn’t make much noise against a floor. “No wallet?”

“Nope, though there was some money and some car keys. In the container there.” He pointed to the counter.

Holly found a thick wad of bills, a set of keys to a Chrysler product, and some change. “Twelve hundred and eight dollars,” she said, counting the damp currency.

“Maybe it was payday,” the ME said.