It's A Wonderfully Sexy Life by Hope Tarr Read Free Book Online Page A

Christmas present to herself.
    Hands shaking, she sat on the edge of her bed and pushed the pager’s call-back number. Her heart plummeted when she saw it was the switchboard number for the precinct, not a personal call. No Josh calling to wish her Merry Christmas or to set up another date or even just to say “Hi, I’m thinking about you.”
    Swallowing her disappointment, she picked up her cell and called back. “Delinski here. You paged me?”
    The shift commander on the other end of the line didn’t bother with “Merry Christmas” or other festive preamble. “You’re needed down at the morgue, pronto. Homicide. It’s a federal case, so get a move on, okay?”
    A federal case! Could this be her long-awaited “red ball,” the high-profile, career breakout case she’d been hoping for? Balancing the cell in the curve of her shoulder, she was already reaching for the locked drawer that held her badge and gun. “Don’t worry, Sarge. I’m as good as there.”

4
    Christmas night, almost midnight
    Consoling gal pal, Suz just left with bottle of Chianti and box of Kleenex, both empty. To say bubble of happiness has burst is like calling atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima “a little hand grenade.” On leaving Medical Examiner’s Office earlier, briefly considered heading to Penn Station and tossing self on train tracks à la Anna Karenina, but discarded as messy and melodramatic, plus would involve traumatizing civilians, so made SOS phone call to Suz instead.
    Not really sure what to do with self at this point but one thing’s for certain: no longer in position of having to wait and wonder whether or not he’ll call. No call’s coming now. Not now, not ever…
    T HE MEDICAL EXAMINER ’ S OFFICE , known among cops as the ME’s Chop Shop, was located on Penn Street near the train station in heart of the downtown. Mandy arrived to find two federal agents waiting in the reception area. Dressed in nondescript dark suits, pressed white shirts, and red-and-navy striped ties, they might have passed for twins except for the obvious difference in their ages.
    Pulling the outside door closed behind her, she said, “I’m Officer Delinski. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I just got the call to come down twenty minutes ago.”
    The agent with the salt-and-pepper hair reached out to shake her hand. “I’m Special Agent Walker.” He inclined his head to the younger man flanking his side. “And this is my colleague, Special Agent McKinney.”
    With his cropped hair and flawlessly symmetrical features, McKinney reminded Mandy of the Ken doll she’d got for Christmas one year as a kid—plastically perfect to the point of blandness. “I’m afraid you’ve left your family on Christmas for no reason, officer. In fact, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
    Leave, my ass . Digging in her heels, Mandy braced herself for a battle. Unfortunately turf wars were part and parcel of the landscape of modern day law enforcement. Rather than combining their resources and skills to bring closure to a case, more often than not federal and local authorities spent a ridiculous amount of time, energy and even taxpayers’ money butting heads over jurisdiction. It was too bad, really. The FBI might have the fancy crime lab and National Crime Information Center database for tracking fugitives, but no one had a better handle on the terrain of the city, including its criminal culture, than the street cops and detectives who knew just about every drug dealer, thief and snitch by face and name.
    Pulling back her shoulders, Mandy looked the fed straight in the eye. “With all due respect, the murder occurred in the southeast precinct of Baltimore City. By definition, the BCPD’s already involved.”
    “You misunderstand me. If Baltimore City Police wants to ride our coattails on this one, it’s fine by me. It’s not your precinct’s involvement we object to but yours.”
    “I’m sorry, but I don’t follow