Page 91 of Precise Justice

“And probably every stitch of it on its way to a landfill by now,” Shelby Donner said.

“Characteristics?” Jefferson asked Donner.

“Average height, average build, probably average weight,” Donner replied.

“That narrows it down,” Johnson said.

“Who is he?” Jefferson asked, referring to the victim.

Johnson checked his notes and said, “A Phillip Friedman, Doctor. Licensed psychiatrist. His wallet was still on him with three hundred, forty dollars in it along with a Rolex on his wrist.”

“Rules out robbery,” Jefferson said.

“The guard who found him says he’s a member of the U’s hospital staff and a professor,” Donner said.

The three homicide detectives watched in silence as the body was placed on a gurney. The two aides from the M.E.’s office wheeled him away. Benny stopped to tell Jefferson he’d have something today.

Later, the night of the same morning Friedman was found, Jimmy Smith left the South End Bar and Pool Hall after midnight. He was feeling pretty smug about himself. He had over three hundred dollars in nontaxable cash in his pocket he had hustled from four suckers playing nine-ball.

Jimmy could shoot pool. Since dropping out of high school the day he turned sixteen, he had done little else. In fact, for tonight’s table of suckers Jimmy had purposely toned down his skill. Even letting one of them win once in a while.

Jimmy lit a cigarette then zipped up his fur-collared bomber jacket. It was a cold night tonight even though the temperature was rising a little. Once again Jimmy thought about Florida. Warm weather and low-hanging fruit to pick on pool tables.

As usual after shearing some sheep, Jimmy liked to call it, he went behind a random car in the bar’s lot, ducked down and waited. Sometimes the sheep realized they had been fleeced and followed him out. He smoked his cigarette and waited six or seven minutes. When none of them came out, he continued on to his car.

“Morning, Owen,” Detective Clyde Johnson said to Lt. Owen Jefferson.

Jefferson was just now arriving, his department car left on the street. They were in the parking lot of the South End Bar and Pool Hall. A place very familiar to every member of the MPD.

The Crime Scene Unit was finished and the on scene M.E. was walking toward them.

“Why was I called?” Jefferson asked the detective.

“I’ll let the kid doctor tell you,” Johnson replied.

“That kid doctor has been through medical school. From what I hear, you barely made it out of grade school. A little respect is in order, Detective,” Jefferson said.

Too early, again, for Johnson’s attitude, Jefferson thought.

The kid doctor was Nick Forner, a pathologist with Hennepin County. He was actually thirty-four but looked twenty-four.

“Morning, Lieutenant,” Forner said.

“Good morning, Doctor. What do you have?”

“For starters. He’s almost frozen. It looks like someone took a claw hammer to the top of his head.”

“Oh, shit,” Jefferson muttered.

“That’s why you got called,” Johnson said.

“Okay. Any ID?”

“Driver’s license has him as a James Smith. Address in North Minneapolis,” Johnson replied.

“What do you have?” Jefferson asked the CSU team leader, Kevin Sparks who had joined them along with Johnson’s partner, Shelby Donner.

“What he said,” Sparks said with a nod to Forner. “There’s blood, probably brain fluid, brain matter frozen next to the car. Looks like someone got him from behind. After he was dead, our victim was placed in the back seat of his car.”

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