“I got stuck on top of an ambulance,” I said.
“And I kept him company,” said Dooley.
“And then we suddenly found ourselves in a room full of dead people.”
“And Abe with his hands full of blood.”
“And Chickie on an operating table.”
“So horrible!”
“I know, I know,” she said. “Let’s get you guys home, shall we?”
She brought us back to her car and we happily jumped in. To our surprise, Harriet and Brutus sat waiting for us in the backseat. Before Odelia closed the door, though, she said, “Let me just check something. I’ll be back in a sec.” And stalked off.
After a moment, Dooley said, “She’s probably gone to get us some more liverwurst.”
Chapter 15
It had been a long time since Odelia had set foot inside the medical examiner’s office, and she did so with a sense of unease. The clinical feel of the place did little to encourage her to venture into its inner sanctum: the operating room where Abe conducted his autopsies. He was a dedicated professional and actually enjoyed his work, which she found both admirable and a little hard to fathom. Cutting open dead people seemed like a strange way to make a living. Then again, to each their own, of course.
She found Abe as he removed his plastic gloves. He was humming a little tune. His assistants, meanwhile, returned Chickie to a semblance of good form for the funeral.
“And?” she asked, deciding to ignore the work in progress lest she lose the bagel she’d eaten while driving over here for her urgent cat rescue operation.
“Oh, hey, Odelia,” said Abe as he glanced up. He walked into his office and gestured for her to follow him. The office was a mess, documents strewn about, his desk piled high with work-related files. He sat back for a moment as he frowned. “Um… you’re here for…”
“Chickie Hay? The woman you just examined?”
“Oh, that’s right,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Chickie Hay. Well, as I suspected she died from strangulation. And the person didn’t use a cord or a rope or anything like that.” He held up his hands instead, and wiggled his fingers. “He or she used this.”
Odelia gulped. “Anything on the perpetrator?”
“Nothing yet, except that they must have really hated Chickie. Strangulation usually indicates a personal motive. The killer has to get in there, up close and personal.”
“So was it a he or a she? I mean, you can probably tell from the size of the hands?”
But Abe shook his head. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be pinned down. “I’m sorry. Could be a man. Could be a woman. I can’t tell you with absolute certainty, Odelia.”
She sank down onto a chair. “Incredible. Usually we don’t have any suspects and in this case we have too many.”
“Hasn’t your uncle made an arrest?”
“Yes, but I’m not entirely convinced he’s the person we’re looking for.”
“Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you, then. What about your cats? Are they all right?”
“Yeah, they’re fine. They must have been dozing on top of the ambulance when it took off.”
He chuckled. “Funny little creatures.” He lifted his hands. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I need to write my report. Your uncle is waiting, and I’ll bet a great deal of other people are, too. She was quite the celebrity, wasn’t she, this, um…” He frowned.
“Chickie Hay.”
His face cleared. “That’s right. Chickie Hay. I’m not into her style of music, I have to confess. Pop singer, was she? I’m more of a jazz man myself. This pop music…” He indicated a hand flying right over his head to show her what he thought of pop music. “Here today, gone tomorrow, whereas jazz will always survive the test of time, whether its performers are alive or have been dead for years. Now that’s real music for you.”
She got up. “Thanks, Abe, for giving me the scoop on this.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I know you’re not one of those annoying reporters who are always ready to screw up an investigation by printing stuff they have no right to. Well, good luck with your investigation, and let me know what you find.”
“Will, do, Abe,” she said, and raised a hand in farewell before leaving the office.
This case was quickly proving a real head scratcher. Usually they had a limited number of suspects but in this case they seemed to multiply the longer she worked on it. There was Laron Weskit and his wife Shannon, Charlie Dieber and his girlfriend Jamie, Nickie Hay and Yuki Hay, Hortense, Tyson, Olaf Poley, and a dozen others, members of Chickie’s staff and security team. And then there was the worrisome fact that anyone could have scaled the fence that morning and snuck into the house to commit murder.
For a person who was as universally beloved and popular as Chickie Hay, the pop star had collected a surprising number of enemies.
What she needed to do, Odelia thought as she reached the car, was make a list of all possible suspects and their motives. Maybe then she’d finally start making some progress.
She got into the car and turned to the four cats anxiously waiting in the backseat.
“And?” she said. “What have you guys discovered so far?”
“Not much,” said Max.
“Except that a coroner’s office smells like a hospital,” said Dooley, “and that it’s full of dead people kept in a very big freezer.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“But where do all these dead people come from?” asked Harriet.
Clearly Max and Dooley had been regaling the others with the story of their eventful trip.
“This is the medical examiner’s office for the entire county,” Odelia explained, “so all the suspicious deaths, all the suicides, and all the murders are brought here to be examined. And if you know that nine hundred autopsies are performed in Suffolk County every year, you can imagine Abe and his team have their hands full processing them.”
“Creepy,” said Brutus, who looked a little freaked out.
“Yes, it’s a very particular profession,” said Odelia, turning back to face the front and inserting her key into the ignition, “and personally I don’t have the stomach for it.”
“Me neither,” said Max. “I wouldn’t want to do what Abe does. No way.”
“Well, that probably goes for a lot of professions out there,” she said as she started up the car and put it in gear. “There’s lots of people who wouldn’t want to be a doctor, or a baker, or a plumber, or a painter. That’s why it’s important to choose a profession you know you’re passionate about. Like me. I love being a reporter. It’s more than just a job for me. It’s something I enjoy, and would probably even do if no one paid me to do it.”
“So what professions do you advise for us to take, Odelia?” asked Harriet.
“Um…”
“I’ll start,” she said. “When I grow up I want to be a singer. Like Celine Dion. And tour the world with my band, and play in big arenas for thousands of people. I think I’m an entertainer at heart, and I think people would pay good money to watch me perform. Your turn, Brutus. What do you want to be?”
“Uh…” said Brutus, who clearly had never given this a moment’s thought. “I guess… I could come and watch your show?” he said tentatively.
She slapped him on the paw. “That’s not a job, silly. You could do my backing vocals, though. All good artists have people to do their backing vocals and you could do mine. That way we get to travel together on my tour bus and fly around the world on my jet.”
“Yeah, I’d like that,” said Brutus, scratching his nose. He didn’t seem overly excited about the prospect of singing backing vocals. Not for Harriet or anyone else.
Odelia had swerved out of the garage and was now cruising along the highway.
“What about you, Max?” asked Harriet, who clearly loved this game. “What is your greatest passion?”
“Well, I love to eat,” said Max. “Especially now, being safe and sound and on my way home, I suddenly feel very hungry.”