lot because she always fell short on the rent. He'd landed
in foster care by the time he was twelve and found stability, but the pattern
had already been in-grained for life.
He
opened the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a premixed protein shake. He
popped the top and drank it down. Hardly satisfying but it would get him
through the next couple of hours, and it was far healthier than the burger he'd
been tempted to grab on the way back from the crime scene.
His
cell rang and he removed it from the holster on his hip. "Warwick."
"It's
Tess. I'm at the morgue. Jane Doe has been delivered and is in a drawer."
"Good."
"I've
also collected Jane Doe's clothes and bagged them."
"Anything
catch your eye?"
"Not
yet. But I'm on my way back to the lab to process them." She sounded tired.
"Good.
What about the coroner? He going to take care of Jane
Doe today?"
"Not
likely. He has a backlog. Two of the doctors are out sick with the flu or
something. But he expects to do the autopsy in the morning."
Impatience
crept into his voice. "And he's going to call me when he's done?"
"He
has his marching orders."
Jacob's
chair squeaked as he leaned back. "What about the fingerprints?"
"I've
rolled them and will run them through AFIS when I get to my office." AFIS was
the Automated Fingerprint System, a database that held literally millions of
fingerprints on file. "If Jane Doe had ever been printed she'd turn up in the
system."
"You're
fabulous, Tess."
"I
know." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I'll call you when I have
something new."
"Do
me a favor. No talking to the press on this one."
"I
don't anyway."
"Good."
She
hung up.
Jacob
absently set the phone back in its holster. All the wheels were in motion. Time
and a little luck and they'd have an identity on their Jane Doe.
His
mind turned to the riverbank where the victim had been found. There'd been no
footprints leading up to her body. The snow had hit the city on Sunday and kept
the survey crews away since last Friday. The body easily could have been out
there for seventy-two hours.
He
made a note to search boat landings within a twenty-mile radius of the site.
Zack
appeared in his doorway. He had two cups of coffee in hand and set one on
Jacob's desk before taking the seat opposite the desk. "Any
word from Tess?"
Jacob's
chair squeaked again as he leaned forward and picked up the cup. The heat felt
good against his bruised fingers, which still ached from the cold. "Thanks." He
gave Zack the rundown. "If our victim is in the system we should know about it
by closing time. If she's not, it could take a while to find out who she is."
He shifted the cup to his left hand and flexed it.
Zack
sipped his coffee. "I heard you won the boxing bout."
"Yeah."
Zack
shook his head, his expression serious. "So why do you keep pounding the crap
out of people?"
Jacob
smiled. "Since when did you become the department shrink?"
"Just asking, man."
"You're
one to talk. You ride that damn bike like you're possessed."
That
coaxed a half smile. "Point taken."
Boxing
had given him so much. He was most at home in the gym. And giving up the sport
meant surrendering the best things in his life.
"Your
hands are going to turn to hamburger at the rate you're going."
Zack's
comment struck a nerve in Jacob. His foster father had said the same thing
during one of their last meetings just before he died. Jacob had done his best
to hate the old man after the truth came out, but he'd never quite managed it.
He'd been so pissed. Felt so betrayed. A couple of times he'd stood at the guy's grave and railed at him. But to his shame he'd never
been able to extinguish the love he'd felt for the old guy.
The
old guy had saved him from God knows what kind of life and deserved his
loyalty. But he never talked about the guy, not even to Zack. He let his arrest
record do the talking.
The
phone on Jacob's desk rang. He punched the button for line one and picked up
the receiver, hoping it was Tess
in foster care by the time he was twelve and found stability, but the pattern
had already been in-grained for life.
He
opened the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a premixed protein shake. He
popped the top and drank it down. Hardly satisfying but it would get him
through the next couple of hours, and it was far healthier than the burger he'd
been tempted to grab on the way back from the crime scene.
His
cell rang and he removed it from the holster on his hip. "Warwick."
"It's
Tess. I'm at the morgue. Jane Doe has been delivered and is in a drawer."
"Good."
"I've
also collected Jane Doe's clothes and bagged them."
"Anything
catch your eye?"
"Not
yet. But I'm on my way back to the lab to process them." She sounded tired.
"Good.
What about the coroner? He going to take care of Jane
Doe today?"
"Not
likely. He has a backlog. Two of the doctors are out sick with the flu or
something. But he expects to do the autopsy in the morning."
Impatience
crept into his voice. "And he's going to call me when he's done?"
"He
has his marching orders."
Jacob's
chair squeaked as he leaned back. "What about the fingerprints?"
"I've
rolled them and will run them through AFIS when I get to my office." AFIS was
the Automated Fingerprint System, a database that held literally millions of
fingerprints on file. "If Jane Doe had ever been printed she'd turn up in the
system."
"You're
fabulous, Tess."
"I
know." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I'll call you when I have
something new."
"Do
me a favor. No talking to the press on this one."
"I
don't anyway."
"Good."
She
hung up.
Jacob
absently set the phone back in its holster. All the wheels were in motion. Time
and a little luck and they'd have an identity on their Jane Doe.
His
mind turned to the riverbank where the victim had been found. There'd been no
footprints leading up to her body. The snow had hit the city on Sunday and kept
the survey crews away since last Friday. The body easily could have been out
there for seventy-two hours.
He
made a note to search boat landings within a twenty-mile radius of the site.
Zack
appeared in his doorway. He had two cups of coffee in hand and set one on
Jacob's desk before taking the seat opposite the desk. "Any
word from Tess?"
Jacob's
chair squeaked again as he leaned forward and picked up the cup. The heat felt
good against his bruised fingers, which still ached from the cold. "Thanks." He
gave Zack the rundown. "If our victim is in the system we should know about it
by closing time. If she's not, it could take a while to find out who she is."
He shifted the cup to his left hand and flexed it.
Zack
sipped his coffee. "I heard you won the boxing bout."
"Yeah."
Zack
shook his head, his expression serious. "So why do you keep pounding the crap
out of people?"
Jacob
smiled. "Since when did you become the department shrink?"
"Just asking, man."
"You're
one to talk. You ride that damn bike like you're possessed."
That
coaxed a half smile. "Point taken."
Boxing
had given him so much. He was most at home in the gym. And giving up the sport
meant surrendering the best things in his life.
"Your
hands are going to turn to hamburger at the rate you're going."
Zack's
comment struck a nerve in Jacob. His foster father had said the same thing
during one of their last meetings just before he died. Jacob had done his best
to hate the old man after the truth came out, but he'd never quite managed it.
He'd been so pissed. Felt so betrayed. A couple of times he'd stood at the guy's grave and railed at him. But to his shame he'd never
been able to extinguish the love he'd felt for the old guy.
The
old guy had saved him from God knows what kind of life and deserved his
loyalty. But he never talked about the guy, not even to Zack. He let his arrest
record do the talking.
The
phone on Jacob's desk rang. He punched the button for line one and picked up
the receiver, hoping it was Tess
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