Hendricks and Jaworski saw them coming and looked angrily at each other. Since all three attendants were black, it was a good guess that they would side with Finchley if it came to a fight.

“Take him, then,” Hendricks spat out. “We got better things to do than look after some dead alkie anyway.”

He and Jaworski turned on their heels in unison and marched to the exit. I thought I heard one of them mutter “jigaboo” on his way out, but I didn’t want to make a federal case of it.

17

Another Chicago Float Fish

“Thanks, Terry,” I said gratefully. “I don’t know if they were throwing their muscle around just to have a good time or if there’s some real problem with the dead man.”

“Both,” Finchley said. “They like sticking out their chests and looking like storm troopers. And the guy they pulled out was dead before he went in the water. You think you know him?”

“We didn’t get that far. We’d like to be able to look at the body.” I tried to keep from sounding acerbic—Finchley had saved us from grief that might have taken the form of a blow to the jaw or an arrest.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Salvatore Contreras. The closest thing to family the guy we’re looking for has.”

Mr. Contreras held out a hand to Finchley automatically, but said, “Strictly speaking, you know that ain’t so, doll. He’s got a wife and a kid out in Arizona, at least they was last I heard about them. She walked out on him thirty-five years ago, same as any sensible woman would do if her husband was drinking away his paycheck every Friday and leaving her and the kid in rags. But Mitch and I go way back, and he really doesn’t have anyone else, Officer, Detective, I mean.”

Finchley blinked under the barrage. “I don’t think we need to send to Arizona for a next of kin. Let’s just take a look at him.”

He headed toward the dissecting room that lay to the right of the entrance. I put a hand on his arm.

“Maybe Mr. Contreras would rather look at the video screen. He’s not as case-hardened as you are.”

If you’re too squeamish for a direct look at a body, the county will run a video camera over it; you can watch a screen in a small viewing room outside the cooler. That way it can seem like one more TV show where the dead all rise to walk again.

“Don’t worry about me, cookie,” Mr. Contreras assured me when I explained the procedure. “I was at Anzio, in case you forgot.”

One of the attendants wheeled the body out of the cooler for us. A black plastic bag covered it up to the throat, but we got a good look at the head.