woman’s identity.’’
Beneath Jesse’s voice I heard Gopher’s words. Yeah, right. You’re really Evan Delaney. Laughing, because he didn’t believe that. I ran my knuckles across my forehead. Something bad was unspooling all around me, and at the end of the line lay a dead woman on a slab.
‘‘You didn’t check fingerprints? Identifying marks? Missing persons reports?’’ he said.
I stared at the sheet, becoming aware of what I’d been consciously ignoring amidst the metallic sterility and cool of the room: a scent. Like a stagnant pond.
‘‘Did you take even a cursory look at her before calling Evan’s brother and telling him she was dead?’’ Jesse said.
Aguilar’s cheeks were turning pink. ‘‘She had a pocketful of plastic giving us a name. And if you’ll allow me to correct you, we have not identified this body. That, sir, is what you came here to do.’’
‘‘She drowned?’’ I said.
‘‘We haven’t determined cause of death yet,’’ Aguilar said.
The smell augured through me. It was the scent of the ocean.
‘‘Did she wash up on the beach?’’ I said.
‘‘Below More Mesa.’’ She gave the sheet a dispassionate look. ‘‘Near the black sands.’’
‘‘Jericho Point,’’ Jesse said.
I nodded distractedly. Jericho Point was what we called the beach below the eroding cliffs, because the walls collapsed and came tumbling down on hapless beachcombers. People died there with depressing regularity. And it was where the current could have carried someone who fell into the water in Isla Vista.
‘‘Let me see the body,’’ I said.
Jesse gave me an incredulous look. ‘‘You don’t want to do that.’’
‘‘I do. You go out to the lobby.’’ I looked at Aguilar. ‘‘Please.’’
Jesse took my wrist. ‘‘No, you truly don’t want to do that.’’
‘‘I can handle it.’’
His eyes were arctic. ‘‘Nobody’s told you.’’
‘‘What?’’ I looked from him to the sheet.
‘‘She didn’t drown, Evan. She was murdered.’’
At once I felt disconnected, as if the buzzing lights and chill air were biting at my face.
‘‘I don’t understand,’’ I said.
Aguilar looked somber. ‘‘The deceased was the apparent victim of a homicide. Viewing the body may be difficult.’’
My skin tingled. I couldn’t stop staring at the sheet. ‘‘I need to know.’’
‘‘Perhaps there’s another way,’’ Aguilar said.
Stepping to the tray, she lifted a section of the sheet and exposed one of the dead woman’s arms. I saw a delicate wrist wearing a silver charm bracelet. And a grayish hand twisted stiff with rigor mortis.
‘‘Does this look familiar?’’
She gestured to the charms hanging on the bracelet. A shamrock, a koala, a dolphin, a Chinese character. I shook my head.
‘‘May I presume that you can give us a negative on the ID? Mr. Blackburn—can you confirm that this is not Kathleen Evan Delaney?’’
Jesse was pale. ‘‘Jesus.’’ He pushed closer to the tray, staring at that wrist.
‘‘Sir?’’
He lifted a hand to pull the sheet off, only to stop himself. ‘‘Show me.’’
I put a hand on his shoulder. ‘‘What are you doing?’’
‘‘Take off the sheet.’’ Sparks in his eyes. ‘‘Do it, just do it, come on.’’
Aguilar looked uncertain. But with practiced formality she stepped to the side of the locker tray and folded back the sheet.
‘‘Oh.’’ The cry escaped my lips as I staggered backward. ‘‘God.’’
I had seen the dead before, but not this. ‘‘Shit. Oh, God.’’
If I force myself, I can see her blond hair, with one streak of blue, matted and packed with sand. A purple blouse, dried and wrinkled. Paper-gray skin. But then I smell the smell, and I start to swim, and I see her face.
‘‘Fuck. Damn, fucking hell.’’
Jesse said it, or I said it, stumbling away from that tray.
‘‘Do you recognize her?’’ Aguilar said. ‘‘Mr. Blackburn?’’
I banged