Page 104 of Evil Bones
Slidell circled a hand in the air. Showtime!
Winslow opened the truck’s rear doors, withdrew a gurney, popped the legs down, and began wheeling it toward Slidell. With a nod in my direction, Hawkins followed.
Alert to the possibility of grisly, ratings-boosting footage, the occupants of the WSOC van flew into action. One was male, the other female. Both looked to be fresh out of junior high.
The man, dressed in jeans and a black tee, pulled a camera-mic combo from the van’s rear and positioned it with the building as a backdrop. The woman, wearing a blue silk blouse and tan pants, took a moment to fluff her hair and apply lipstick using a compact mirror. I recognized her as a journalist who often did on-scene reports.
Wanting no part of the media hoopla, and knowing I might be a target, I beelined to Slidell’s Trailblazer. Slumped low in the passenger seat, I phoned Nguyen. As expected, I got the MCME’s messaging service.
I reported that the Idlewild Road remains would soon be in transit to the morgue. That the DOA was an adult male with multiple gunshotwounds and one missing hand. That the body appeared sufficiently intact to allow a normal autopsy.
I finished with an unenthusiastic offer to be present if needed.
Then I waited.
Slidell didn’t join me for another forty minutes.
We were almost to the Annex when my mobile rang. Seeing Katy’s name, I answered.
“Hey, sweetie.”
“Hey.” Her smiling face filled the screen.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Are you in a car?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“What have you been doing?”
“A recovery.”
“Oh.” The smile faltered a little, but she seemed curious.
“Anything exciting?”
“No.”
“How long have you been out?”
“Since early morning. Why?”
“So Ruthie’s not with you?”
“No.”
A slight pause, then, “I’m not sure where she is.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. I suppose not. Who knows?”
“That answer covers a range of possibilities.”
