Where There's Smoke полностью

“Lieutenant,” he said, “I couldn’t take that chance. Suppose a newspaper reporter got wind of this? I’d be the laughingstock of the profession. I called you immedi­ately.”

“You woke me up,” I said.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said.

“All right, tell me what happened.”

“Someone has stolen a corpse,” Abner said.

“I know that. When?”

“Last night sometime.”

“Where was the corpse the last time you saw it?”

“In the casket behind you.”

“Male or female?”

“Male.”

“Clothed or naked?”

“Fully clothed.”

“Wearing what?”

“Blue pin-striped suit, white shirt, dark-blue necktie, blue socks, black shoes.”

“Embalmed?”

“Yes, of course. I always do that at once. Certainly within the first two hours.”

“When was the body delivered to you?”

“At eight o’clock last night. It came directly from the hospital. Saint Augustine’s, on Third and Sussex.”

“How’d the man die?”

“In an automobile accident on the Harbor Highway. He broke his neck on impact when his car crashed into a con­crete pillar.”

“Give me his name.”

“Anthony Gibson.”

“Age?”

“Forty-two.”

“Height?”

“Five feet eleven, I would say.”

“Weight?”

“A hundred eighty-five, more or less.”

“Color of hair?”

“Brown.”

“Eyes?”

“Brown.”

“Any identifying marks, scars, tattoos?”

“None.”

“Except for your embalming incisions, you mean.”

“Yes.”

Over the course of twenty-four years on the force, I’d had ample opportunity to observe a great many corpses, those recently deceased as well as those exhumed for au­topsy. Most of the exhumed bodies had already been em­balmed, of course, and it doesn’t take much time to learn exactly where a mortician makes his incisions. To draw out the contents of the stomach, intestines, and bladder (forgive me, ma’am, but police work sometimes entailed a bit more than typing up a burglary report), the embalmer normally makes a small puncture in the upper middle region of the abdomen and then inserts a large hollow needle attached to a suction apparatus. This tro­car, as it’s called, is also used to drain the body of its blood, the embalmer’s incisions for this purpose being made over large blood vessels in the neck, the groin, and the armpit. Embalming fluid—a solution of formalde­hyde that causes coagulation of protein—is then injected by trocar or tube into the vascular system and the body cavities. On the off chance that Abner might have used a different technique (we all have our idiosyncrasies), I asked him exactly where he’d made his incisions.

“Neck, groin, armpit, epigastrium,” he said.

“Who contacted you regarding funeral arrangements?”

“His wife. Rhoda Gibson. She called me from the hos­pital at about seven.”

“And did she come here when the body was deliv­ered?”

“Yes. She and her son.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jeffrey Gibson. Big fellow with a red beard, maybe twenty-one, twenty-two years old.”

“Where do they live?”

“1214 Matthews Avenue.”

“And you say the body was delivered at eight last night?”

“Yes.”

“And you embalmed it immediately.”

“Well, as soon as the family left.”

“What time did you leave here?”

“At about midnight.”

“And what time did you open the place this morning?”

“I was here at seven-thirty. I called you the moment I discovered the theft. Will you help me, Lieutenant?’

“Maybe,” I said. “Any jewelry on the corpse? Rings, watch, identification bracelet?”

“Nothing.”

“All right, Abner, do you have any personal enemies or business rivals?”

“None who would do something like this.”

“Are you fooling around with anyone’s wife, mother, sister, or cousin?”

“I’m a happily married man.”

“Have you received any threatening telephone calls or letters?”

“Never.”

“Can you think of anyone who might want to cause you professional embarrassment?”

“Not a soul.”

“Have you had any recent arguments or disputes with families for whom you’ve made funeral arrangements?”

“None.”

“Have you been dunning anyone for non-payment of bills?”

“No.”

“What about your employees? Do you get along with them?”

“I work alone, except for my drivers. This is a very small operation.”

“Any of your drivers ask for a raise recently?”

“No. Lieutenant, why would anyone want to steal a dead body?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is there no longer any respect for the dead?”

“There never was, Abner. Anything else stolen? Be­sides the body?”

“Nothing. Will you help me?”

“Yes,” I said.

Maybe I was rising to the bait too quickly.

The Penal Law in this state is specific about the theft of dead bodies. The pertinent section is appropriately if unimaginatively titled Body Stealing, and it reads: