The Vulture by Frederick Ramsay Page B

you are…?”
    The guy reached into his coat. Tom had a permit to carry a gun. It came with the job, although why a medical examiner would need to pack was unclear, television depictions of the job notwithstanding. When he lived in Detroit he’d often carried a weapon, but not because of his job. It was Detroit, after all. Rockbridge County, Virginia, was not Detroit, so his Glock, still in the box it came in and coated with Class C Cosmoline, sat perched on the top shelf of a closet in his bedroom. Right now he wished he hadn’t put it there. Tom reached for the alarm button on his desk instead. The man paused and held his hand palm out, and then produced a wallet. He flipped it open.
    â€œFranklin, FBI,” he said and snapped it shut again. Quickly—too quickly, but the shield looked legit.
    â€œOkay, Franklin, FBI, what can I do for you? And yes, I am the ME.”
    â€œI just need to double-check. Is the stiff from the explosion…is it Schwartz?”
    â€œDental records say it is.”
    â€œI already heard that. I need something better. DNA?”
    â€œJust arrived. See for yourself.” Tom pulled a sheet from a manila folder and handed it to the agent.
    â€œI can’t read that. What’s it say?”
    â€œThe DNA sample from the body matches a sample on file.”
    â€œIt’s Schwartz?”
    â€œLike I said, the samples match. Is there anything else?”
    â€œNope, that’s all I need.”
    Franklin turned and left. Tom waited until the door swung shut and picked up his phone and called the security office.
    â€œThis is the medical examiner. Do you have surveillance footage for the last hour?”
    â€œYes sir.”
    â€œHow often do you overwrite the tape?”
    â€œUnless we get a request not to, every three weeks or so. Depends on the tape and if the system is down or something. I don’t know, so, yeah about three weeks.”
    â€œOkay, I need a secure copy of everything from an hour ago until my last visitor leaves. Got it?”
    â€œWell, yeah, I can do that. Is there a problem? The guy just walked out the door. Do you want me to apprehend him?”
    â€œNo, not necessary. I just need a copy made and locked up in a safe place for a while.”
    â€œSir?”
    â€œIt’s okay, son. Maybe I worked the big city for too many years. I have a feeling. If I’m wrong, we’ll dump the copy later.”
    â€œYes, sir. Copy will be made.”
    Franklin, FBI, he says…flips open the badge wallet and closes it. Nothing else…What’s wrong with this picture?
    Tom was a belt and suspenders man. You can never be too sure. You make a copy of everything.
    ***
    Ruth and Ike stared at the phone willing it to ring and maybe hoping it wouldn’t. It did. Three rings, pause, one ring…Ike picked up.
    â€œHello, Charlie, what have you got?”
    â€œNice to hear from you, too, Ike. I can assume that since it is you and not Ruth that answered the phone, that the reports of your death were grossly exaggerated?”
    â€œYou can, but you may not.”
    â€œAh, English 101. Got it. You are officially dead. I may not deny that, yes. Good. Would you like to know what I discovered about your most recent call?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œWell, unfortunately there is a difficulty. Whoever contacted you definitely did not want to be traced. We were able to connect the dots that bounced all over the grid and all the way to Idaho and there the path ended. It seems the line ended at a radio translator near the Idaho-Montana border. We couldn’t get past that. The people in the trace group said they will have to do some analysis of the tower in question to see if its signal is directional and determine its strength. Also it likely scrambles the signal. Right now that isn’t a problem because we aren’t into tapping the line, but we might be later. So, depending on what they discover about