Cold Shoulder by Lynda La Plante

Author:Lynda La Plante [Lynda La Plante]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: General, Fiction, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9781849832625
Publisher: Simon & Schuster, Limited
Published: 2010-09-30T14:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

ROONEY AND his lieutenant waited in the anteroom of the City Morgue. They could do little until they had further information from the pathologist. The stolen vehicle, a Lincoln Continental, had been towed to the yard and was being checked over by forensic experts. The owner of the vehicle had been traced, having reported his car stolen the previous day from outside his bungalow in Ashcroft Avenue, LA. Rooney was morose, knowing that the press would be on to the killing and had, more than likely, given it front-page coverage as he had declined to say anything to the photographers and reporters waiting outside the mortuary.

The Lincoln had been left in the third storey of a garage where it could have remained for days, along with all the other cars on long-term contracts. The only reason it had been investigated was that the alarm had been triggered off when another car accidentally touched the rear fender. According to the attendant, the ringing had been driving him nuts for almost an hour so he had gone to take a look. No long-term parking ticket was displayed on the window or on the dashboard, and he was about to return to his booth when he saw something dripping from beneath the trunk. At first he presumed it was oil but on closer inspection, realized it was blood and called the police.

Rooney sighed. ‘He give a description of the driver?’

Bean shook his head. ‘He said he wasn’t on duty until late and the car was already parked. We’ve got a number for the daytime attendant but we’ve not spoken to him yet.’

Rooney checked his watch. ‘Get on to that right now.’

‘I’m on my way.’

Rooney waited another two hours before the doors opened and the masked and gowned attendant gestured for him to follow. Draped in green sheeting, the body dominated the white-tiled room, whose strip-lighting gave a surreal white brightness to all the rows of instruments and enamel sinks.

‘Morning, Bill,’ said Nick Arnold, the pathologist, as he washed his hands at a large sink. ‘You’re pretty impatient for this one, aren’t you? I hear you’ve been hovering outside – you should have come in.’

Rooney hated being anywhere near an autopsy. He’d never gotten used to the way corpses were sliced open, never been able to stand hearing the hiss of stinking gases or looking at the blood pumping out; the open, sightless eyes of the victim as their body was systematically inspected.

Arnold knew Rooney of old and understood he wouldn’t want to take a close look. He appeared distinctly greenish already. ‘Come and have a coffee,’ he said pleasantly. ‘It’ll be a while before we get the photographs and tests completed.’ He yawned. ‘Got called out of bed for this one.’

‘So did I,’ muttered Rooney as he slumped into a low chair, its cushioned seat puffing loudly as his bulk made contact. ‘So what you got for me?’

‘Death occurred late evening – can’t be more specific. Until I get my reports back, I can’t pinpoint the exact time but it was evening and the last meal was banana bread.

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