“Morning Mo’,” I said, doing a beeline to the desk. I called Blout at the precinct. After a couple of holds and transfers, I got him on the line.

“Something’s been bugging me,” I said.

Blout didn’t say anything, waiting for me to get on with it.

“Medical autopsies aren’t usually performed on John Does and homeless, are they? Why were they performed on the ones we got?”

Blout wasn’t impressed. “Well, the first one looked like he was thrown in the ditch. Possible homicide. The dumpster full I think you can figure out.”

“But my point is, usually medical autopsies aren’t performed on homeless found dead, are they?”

“Not if it looks clean,” Blout said. “Dental records are checked for identification and then cause of death is determined. Most of the time there’s no reason to open the chest, let alone the head.”

“What about senior citizens who die of natural causes in retirement homes and hospitals?”

“Same. What are you getting at?” Blout sounded a little upset, possibly because he thought I was ahead of the game and holding out.

“What about people who die of a chronic illness—AIDS, cancer, and the like?”

“There’s no reason to do an autopsy. The cause of death is presumed known by the circumstances of the illness.” Blout paused. “Look, are you going to tell me what this is about, or am I going to have to hang up?!”

“It’s just that I think we should consider the fact that deaths like these could have been going on for awhile, months or even years. We just lucked out because whoever or whatever is behind this got sloppy.” I was pleased with my coherent argument. “Is there any way we can get confirmation?”

Blout sighed hard. “I think you’ve got something there, but it would be next to impossible to find out. Usually John Does are cremated by independent funeral contractors. The rest could be anywhere. Besides, I can guarantee there’s no way I’d get clearance to exhume any bodies.”

I thought about that for a second. “I think it’s enough that we consider the chance that this might have been going on for awhile. Maybe a very long while.”

“I agree,” Blout responded reluctantly. Maybe he was doing the math, like I had. The possible body count was daunting.

Blout went on. “Cain’s personal belongings are stored in a warehouse next to the sixth precinct. I told them to expect you, so bring some ID and leave your freaky friend home.”

“Thanks. Anything else?”

“No.”

We hung up without good-byes.

The ghoul was standing by the window as usual. He was pulling up the shade I had asked him to close yesterday. Without looking my way, he spoke. “I tried to check out the subjects watching you, but when they saw me coming, they drove away.”

“Did you get any kind of look at them?”

“There were three of them. They appeared to be fairly young, late teens, maybe early twenties. Two male, one female. What I found odd was that they all were wearing wrist bands and scarfs of some sort around their necks.”