Brady continued his summary.
“Sergeant Chi got a search warrant and met Detectives Sackowitz and Linden at the hotel. Room three twenty-one was registered to Joan Murphy, who lives locally, over in Seacliff. Murphy’s body was completely naked on the bed. She had a gunshot wound to the right shoulder and another that had grazed her hip. She was covered with blood and had no detectable vital signs. Hear that, Conklin? Not breathing. No heartbeat.”
“Unreal,” said Conklin. “Keep going.”
Brady said, “Continuing. The male victim is in the morgue and isn’t talking or breathing. He’s white, in his thirties, and was also found naked and lying on top of the female. There was no wallet, no ID to be found. He was wearing a wedding band. The male vic took three shots, two to the back, one in the left arm. The murder weapon wasn’t found.”
Brady took a slug of coffee and then went on.
“Sackowitz and Linden waited for the wagon to arrive. ME techs pronounced both victims DOA. Sac and Linden started a canvass in the hotel. They’ll look at surveillance video and do the interviews, et cetera, but I agree with you that they could use help.”
Conklin said, “Good to hear that. My desk is clean, Brady. Use me.”
Brady said, “I don’t have anyone free to partner up with you.”
“It’s just for a few days, Lieu.”
Brady said, “Should be okay, I’m thinkin’, since Joan Murphy can probably ID the doer. I’m betting the shooter was the wife of the John Doe. Stay on Murphy and get her story.”
Brady lifted his icy blue eyes from the computer and turned them on Conklin.
“We’re going to need you to use your famous charm when you interview Miss Murphy, Conklin. This is a sticky situation. We don’t want her to sue the city for taking her to the morgue before her time.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Conklin went back to his desk and downloaded the notes from Sac and Linden. Then he called Claire’s office, leaving a message with her receptionist.
He said, “Greg, tell Dr. Washburn I’m on the case. I want to see the John Doe, ASAP.”
Chapter 8
Conklin made the short walk from the back exit from the Hall of Justice lobby, along the breezeway to the ME’s office in under two minutes. He was thinking about this murky case of a dead woman who was not actually dead, and a John Doe who was gunned down in flagrante delicto.
Conklin reviewed Sackowitz’s case notes one more time. He’d written that no weapon had been found at the scene of the crime and that the John Doe’s wallet was missing. He and Linden were still working the hotel angle, trying to get an ID on the dead man.
If they could figure out who the John Doe was, they might be able to learn why he was shot in the first place.
Was the John Doe the target? That would make Joan Murphy a victim of circumstance. And why hadn’t the shooter finished off Joan Murphy? She had witnessed the crime, after all. Had the shooter assumed that she was dead?
Could be.
According to the reports, she’d been covered with blood, both hers and the John Doe’s. Her muscles had gone rigid. Her breathing and pulse had hardly been there, and were so delicate that they’d become undetectable. Apparently, neither the cops nor the ME techs had ever seen anything like this before, and Murphy’s deathlike state had fooled them all. How scary was that?
Conklin pulled open the double glass doors to the ME’s office as another question popped into his head. Why hadn’t anyone heard the shots?
But he shook his head, clearing out his mind. There were several people waiting in the reception area to see Claire: some were cops, others legal aides and administrators who worked at the Hall. He needed to get control of this situation before it got out of hand.
The receptionist knew Conklin, so as soon as he saw him he said, “She’s waiting for you, Inspector. Go on in.”
Conklin knew his way around the ME’s office and took the main corridor, which led to the autopsy suite in the back.
Claire was gowned and masked. Her assistants were backing her up as she worked on the postmortem assessment of a young boy with a visible head injury. She saw Conklin come in and covered the child with a sheet. Then she shucked her gloves and put on a clean pair. She picked up a large brown paper bag from an empty table and said, “Let’s go into my office, Richie.”
As he stood with her in her office, Conklin watched Claire open the paper bag on her desk and take out the large, blood-red leather handbag with what looked to be expensive stitching and details.
Claire said, “This purse belongs to Joan. I also have bags of her clothes and those belonging to the John Doe. But let’s look at the contents of her handbag first.”
She began taking items out of the handbag. There was a nice-looking wallet, a makeup case, keys, and an assortment of other commonplace items.
“This is a pricey bag,” Claire told Conklin. “It appears that Mrs. Murphy is a woman of means.”
She handed over the wallet. Conklin opened it and looked through the contents.
Claire said, “Look at this.”
She was pointing to a photograph under plastic of a man and woman at a resort, their backs to the ocean. Claire flipped the sleeve over, and Conklin read the inscription. “Robert and Me, Cannes, Second Honeymoon, 2016.”
Claire said, “Notice the necklace Joan is wearing in the photograph. That pendant is a helluva big diamond. There is a similar enormous rock in her engagement ring, and the wedding band is encrusted with other precious stones. Look at all the glittering bangle bracelets. Joan clearly likes her diamonds.”
“A girl’s best friend, right?”
“That’s what they say. But, Richie, no jewelry was found on her person or in her bag.”
“She was robbed.”
“That’s my first guess.”
Conklin made notes, then said, “What do you say, Claire? Can you introduce me to Mr. Doe?”
“I’m dying to meet the man myself,” said Claire.
They walked back to the autopsy suite and Claire pulled open the drawer next to the one that had been vacated recently by Joan Murphy.
Conklin found the unknown man to be as described. He was a white male who seemed to be in his thirties. He had a slight paunch and a lot of chest hair. From his conservative haircut and manicure, Conklin guessed that the guy was some sort of businessman. He looked like he could be a sales executive of some sort.
Conklin told Claire what Sackowitz had put in his case notes. “He was found naked, lying on the naked body of Mrs. Murphy.”