Page 156 of Cold, Cold Bones
“That’s a bit unusual.”
“How would a law enforcement request come in?”
“Usually via phone or email.”
“What about from family or the public?”
“We ask them to put in writing what they want and their reason for wanting it. Same deal, email or snail mail.”
“And they get a copy that easily?”
“Some things are public record, like the coroner’s report. As youknow, that’s a short, thumbnail sketch of the investigation. Anyone can have those. Other info is available only to the legal next of kin, PR, or via subpoena.”
“Autopsy, tox, anthro, odont reports, and so on.”
“Correct.”
“How are copies supplied?”
Herrin sighed slightly. I think I was exceeding my question quota. “Either via mail or email or by personal pickup. Except autopsy photos. Those must be collected in person or sent by certified mail.”
“Can you do me a solid?”
“Another?”
“Sorry, but it’s important. Someone requested the Cruikshank file three years ago. Can you pry loose a name, maybe an address for that person?”
“Okay,” said Herrin with what sounded like less than wild enthusiasm. A pause, then, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”
“Name your beverage of choice.” Assuming Herrin’s last two comments were hints. They weren’t.
“We usually charge a fee for copies.”
“Payable by credit card?” I asked, catching the drift.
“I’ll have to check about procedure back then.”
“But there might be a trail there?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Hot diggity damn.”
After disconnecting, I ordered two bottles of Taittinger Prélude Grand Cru sent to the office of the CCC.
Discussing Cruikshank got me thinking about Boldonado. I pulled up the dossier and studied the autopsy photos. Spotted a detail I hadn’t noticed before.
The phone was still warm when I dialed Ryan. Got his voice mail.
Crap!
Unable to sit still, I decided to view my neighbor Walter’s video again, hoping for a detail I might have missed. I was on my fourthrun-through, slo-mo advancing, then rewinding my nighttime caller, when hooves thundered beside me. Hoss? Little Joe?
Again, Ryan’s voice had a quality I couldn’t read. It was ragged with sleep deprivation, yes, but now sparked with a frisson of something else.
“Slidell’s BOLO generated a call from upstate. Guess who’s in the can.”
“Just tell me.” Wanting to get to my news.
