“Yeah. Made up of the two specials, Rinaldi, and Galimore. They interviewed the usual wits, family, known associates, yadda yadda. Searched the usual places. Ran the usual loops. Six weeks out, they handed in a report saying Gamble and Lovette most likely took off.”

“Why?”

“Maybe to get married. The girl was underage.”

“Took off where?”

“Theory was the Patriot Posse piped them in to the militia underground.”

“Wayne Gamble didn’t buy that theory. Still doesn’t.”

“Ditto Gamble’s parents.” Slidell paused. “Gamble had a teacher, Ethel Bradford. Bradford swore there was no way the kid would leave on her own.”

I thought about that. “I searched but found no news coverage of the incident. That strikes me as odd, given that a seventeen-year-old girl had vanished.”

“Eddie says in here there was a lot of pressure to keep things under wraps.”

“Out of the papers.”

“Yeah. He also hints there was a real squeeze to roll with the party line.”

“Squeeze from whom?”

“He don’t say.”

“Did he disagree with the task force’s finding?”

A full minute passed as Skinny picked through Rinaldi’s notes.

“Not straight out. But I can tell from his wording he thought something didn’t smell right.”

“What does he say?”

Slidell has an annoying habit of sidestepping questions.

“I’ve gotta do some canvassing on a domestic. Soon as I’m back, I’ll pull the original case file.”

“How’s Detective Madrid?” I asked.

Following Rinaldi’s death, Slidell had been assigned a new partner. Feeling he needed a tune-up in the area of cultural diversity, the department had paired him with a woman named Theresa Madrid. Boisterous, bodacious, and weighing almost as much as Skinny, Madrid referred to herself as a double-L: Latina lesbian.

Madrid turned out to be a crackerjack detective. Despite Skinny’s initial horror, the two got along well.

“Get this. The broad’s on frickin’ maternity leave. Can you believe it? She and her partner adopted a kid.”

“You’re working solo?”

“Ain’t it grand.”

As before, Slidell disconnected without an adieu.

The phone was still pressed to my ear when it rang again.

“Just finished the autopsy on your John Doe.” Larabee’s voice sounded odd. “Damned if it makes sense to me.”

Chapter 7

“YOU WANT DETAILS OR THE SHORT VERSION?”

“Short.”

“The guy had lesions in his airways and pulmonary edema. The organs were pretty far gone, but I saw hints of multifocal ulceration and hemorrhage in the gastric and small-intestinal mucosa.”

“Meaning he died of natural causes?”

“Meaning his lungs were full of fluid and something was screwing with his vascular system. But it’s not that simple. He’d also taken a blow to the left side of the head, resulting in hemorrhage into the temporal lobe.”

“The man either fell or was struck.”