Matter of Trust by Sydney Bauer Page B

his request to sit in on the autopsy.
    â€˜Why wouldn’t I?’ said McNally, who had never gotten used to people’s seemingly endless need to tiptoe around him. ‘I’m sorry, Sal,’ he said, after reading the embarrassment on the thoughtful ME’s face. ‘But according to my bosses, this new gig in homicide means I have to look at the bodies inside and out – kinda like the obligation a surgeon takes on when he hangs his shingle on the operating room door.’
    â€˜Except the doc usually goes in knowing his patient will be all the better for it,’ smiled Salicia, as she pushed her long brown hair behind her shoulder, the diamond stud in her right earlobe catching the light of the harsh white fluorescent above them.
    â€˜At least we get the chance to nail the asshole who put her on that slab in the first place,’ countered McNally.
    â€˜Lucky us,’ she replied, rolling her eyes to the ceiling before returning them to McNally once again. ‘So what else have you got?’ she asked.
    It wasn’t commonplace for an ME to ask a lot of questions about the progress of a police investigation, many preferring to detach themselves from the details of the case so that they could give an unbiased assessment during the autopsy, but over the years Sal had earned the respect of every cop in the department, and often came up with insights that assisted them in their fight to bring a perp to justice.
    â€˜Like I said,’ replied McNally. ‘All we have is the key we found in her dress pocket, and her watch which stopped at 2.10 am when, presumably, she was thrown into the Passaic.’ The victim had been wearing a Timex which froze at 2.10 in the early hours of Sunday, January 13. It was a fact the police had decided to hold back from the media and those not immediately involved in the investigation, in order to give the investigators a jump on any suspects who may try to establish an alibi.
    â€˜You’re lying,’ said Sal as she reached down to take off her high-heeled shoes before tossing them toward the now slumping skeleton model in the corner. ‘You have more than that and you know it, McNally.’ She gave him her
Don’t you dare hold back on me
glare. ‘You may be new to this detective gig, but I’ve seen and heard enough about your work over the years to know that stubborn mind of yours has already started picking this case to pieces.’
    McNally nodded, the slightest of smiles on his face. ‘Well, there is one other thing,’ he said.
    â€˜What is it?’ she asked.
    He took a breath before going on. ‘Those things are expensive, right?’ He pointed to the shoes that sat almost ridiculously near the skeleton’s bony feet.
    â€˜Sure,’ she said, her raised eyebrow indicating she was not too sure where this was going. ‘They cost a fortune and hurt like hell, but theylook fantastic with a pair of straight-legged jeans.’ She attempted a smile.
    â€˜Right, and it seems to me our Jane Doe felt the same way.’
    Sal shook her head. ‘Lots of women love shoes, McNally. And besides, I thought her shoes came off in the water.’
    â€˜One came off. The other one – a fancy stiletto – was caught on her right ankle, even though most of the rest of her foot had been devoured by the river’s greedy sea life.’
    â€˜So this shoe was expensive?’ asked Sal.
    â€˜A Malono,’ he said, unsure if he’d pronounced the name correctly.
    â€˜The vic was wearing a Manolo Blahnik?’
    â€˜Yeah, that’s the one,’ said McNally. ‘Torres said they cost a whole month’s salary.’
    â€˜For most people,’ she said, her brow now starting to furrow. ‘You’re thinking this woman had money?’
    â€˜Maybe.’
    â€˜Did you check the labels on her clothing?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said McNally, thinking that this was what a decent