Random Hearts by Warren Adler Read Free Book Online Page A

river bottom, confirmed by relatives either waiting at
the Marriott or located in other parts of the country. A small number of the
dead still remained without confirmed next of kin.
    Among those who appeared on the passenger list but were
still not recovered were a Mr. and Mrs. Calvin Marlboro. Jane Doe did wear a
marriage ring, the inside of which was unmarked, but there was no way of
knowing whether or not she fit the age category of the couple. As yet no next
of kin had come forward for the Marlboros. McCarthy checked the telephone
companies of all the surrounding jurisdictions. He could not find a single
Marlboro listed. He found a number in Florida, but they reported all relatives
with that name accounted for.
    To make the process more complicated, the tickets purchased
by the Marlboros had been paid for in cash at the ticket counter. No telephone
number had been given or required. The ticket agent had absolutely no
recollection of the purchaser. A return trip had been booked for four days
later. In Miami, a rental car had been booked in Mr. Marlboro's name.
    For McCarthy, the little mystery offered a welcome
diversion from what had become a tiresome and predictable routine. As for
death, fifteen years with homicide had desensitized him to most aspects
concerning the victims. Once death occurred, there was no more pain in it for
the victim. To a professional like himself, a corpse was evidence, nothing
else. Pain was for the living. Yet, despite his hard-boiled facade and
attitude, he could still feel something at times, especially anger. A child's
untimely death reminded him of his own children. Although his divorced wife had
them most of the time in Philadelphia and he rarely saw them, he could still
feel a parent's loss. Occasionally he did feel pity in varying degrees, but
always for the living relatives, friends, and spouses. Most of the time he
could easily shrug it off, like the aftermath of a sad movie.
    In cases of murder he rarely dwelled on thoughts about
man's inhumanity to man. His job was to observe death, identify its victim,
define its real cause and, when the means of death went beyond the bounds of
legality, to pursue and bring the perpetrator to justice.
    He did not speculate on the philosophical aspects of death,
especially when it occurred randomly, like the plane crash. Long ago, when he
was first exposed to violent death, he had formed his opinions about life and
death. People were part good and part evil, part lucky and part unlucky. The
poor bastards who were killed crossing the bridge at the exact moment of the
crash were unlucky, as were the passengers who went down with the plane. The
four survivors were lucky, very lucky. He never called it fate. Just luck. In
his life he hadn't had much of that.
    As the day wore on, he found himself speculating more and
more on Jane Doe's identity. It was a loose end, and loose ends offered
challenges. He viewed the remains again with one of the assistant medical
examiners, and went over his report.
    "From all physical indications, a healthy specimen.
Not a scar on her body. A couple of larger birthmarks, one under the left
breast and one on a shoulder blade."
    He looked at the body, ignoring the smashed face. In
contrast with other ways of death, the body flesh looked pink and healthy, an
aberration caused by immersion in water of icy temperatures.
    The assistant medical examiner, who was very close to the
age of the victim, clicked his tongue.
    "Can't imagine that a specimen like that wouldn't have
people who really cared about her."
    "How do you know she didn't?" McCarthy asked.
    The assistant medical examiner flicked the tag attached to
the body's toe. It read Jane Doe in magic marker.
    "Then where the hell are they?" He shrugged.

6
    It was not until the middle of the night of the second day
after Lily had gone on her trip that Edward Davis began to feel the full impact
of the void created by her absence. Cold had replaced snow as the inhibitor of
work.