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Lawrence sits silent for a beat as I toss my gloves and reach up for my phone once more.
“So, in non-doctor-speak?”
“Shot in the chest. Passed through the muscle, broke a rib or two on the way, then landed in the lung, which subsequently filled with blood. Human needs lung to be filled with air to sustain life, not liquid. That’s how he died.”
“Only one bullet wound?”
“Confirmed. And no exit wound, obviously. Doctor Emeri is extractingthe bullet.” I glance across at the sound of metal on metal when she drops the slug in a little steel tray. “As we speak.”
“Detectives Malone and Fletcher have any clue of who shot one of our decorated policemen, Chief?”
“I literally have no idea.” I turn at the counter, resting my elbows on top, and stare out at the city. It’s a far sight better than the view I get when I look through the other window. “You might get more informative answers if you contact the detectives directly.”
“I’d rather ask you. Have you made any arrangements for New York yet?”
I roll my eyes, blissfully able to since I’m not talking to the man’s face. “No. My summons arrived while I was on Mercer’s crime scene. I told Archer what was happening, so he’s volunteered to make the arrangements. That’s as far as I’ve gotten on the matter.”
“Will he travel with you?”
“Allegedly. Is that everything, Mayor?”
I know he’s humored by me. I don’t see his face, but I swear, his lips curl into a grin. “Just about. How goes your search for a new Seraphina Lewis?”
“Sucky and exhausting. She found me some chick I don’t even know, who is too shy to speak above a whisper. I need someone who’s able to step in front of a camera, Mayor. Someone able to draft a statement and humble a reporter when their britches get a little out of control. I’m not sure a young, sweet, whisperer is the right fit for us.”
“Or perhaps the whisperer whispers because you’ve been especially unfriendly since she arrived. I’m not sure if you realize, Chief, but you come across as somewhat intimidating.”
“It’s not intimidating to expect people to speak and work! I don’t walk around with a baseball bat and a promise to bash their brains in. I simply ask them to do their jobs and report back whatever needs reporting.”
“As the youngest chief medical examiner in the history of this city, perched in your ivory tower, no-nonsense and to-the-point language, and a marriage to an equally formidable homicide detective, you can hardly blame the girl for being a little skittish.”
“Well, I do! I blame her. She needs to harden the hell up and do the job, or step aside and let a robot do it. Robots don’t have feelings. They don’t even need bathroom breaks.”
“And you wonder why people are afraid to speak to you,” he taunts. “Let the girl learn, Mayet. If you have nothing encouraging to say, say nothing atall. You’ve become accustomed to the directness Ms. Lewis possesses. But not everyone is built the same.”
“She won’t even tell me where she’s working next,” I growl. “This new boss must be a brainless whack job, considering no one called me to discuss her ethics or ability. I don’t even know if she’s staying in the friggin’ city. She’s being an asshole, and friends don’t do that to each other.”
“Vulnerability,” he tut-tuts. “For a minute there, I wondered if you, yourself, were a robot. Things are tense inside your building right now, Chief, but as a father to two girls who gave everyone hell during some particularly emotional years, I assure you, things will eventually calm down. Friendships will endure, and at the end of a long week, everything will be okay.”
“Says you. Your assistant is old, married, and not leaving your office until the day she passes of natural causes. Lucky,” I grumble. “I wish Fifi was old and ugly.”
He snickers, shaking his head so his coarse stubble scratches against the phone. “I wish I could convince myself you were joking. You remind me of my daughter. Did I ever tell you that?”
“Jen the biochemist? Or Tabby, who sticks her hand up animal butts daily?”
“And just so we’re clear, Tabitha is a vet. She doesn’t fondle the animals for her own sick satisfaction.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. Did you need anything else, or are we just wasting precious time at this point?”
“I suppose that’ll do for today.” He adjusts in his chair, grunting as he straightens in his seat. “Keep me apprised of the detectives’ investigation. Channel Seventy-Nine is already asking for a statement from my office.”
“Channel Seventy-Nine can kick rocks and choke on them after.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “And people accuse you of being hostile. I have no clue why.”
“It’s not hostility. It’s intolerance. Make your statement, Justin. Saves me from being on the stupid six o’clock news. The less I see myself on the television, the happier I am.”
“And I wish for your happiness,” he teases. “One more workday, and then you’re on a plane anyway.”
