“Yolie, why don’t you go have a look?” Soave said. “I’ll check out the body with Des.”
“I’m on it.” Yolie immediately went charging off.
“It’s real slippery up there,” Des called after her. “Watch your step.”
“I always do,” Yolie Snipes responded, smiling at her over her shoulder.
“She’s an eager one, isn’t she?” Des said as she watched her make her way across the parking lot, big bottom shake-shake-shaking. Des could only imagine what was happening to the girl’s front end.
“Twenty-four-seven,” Soave agreed, smoothing his former mustache. “You slap her down, she bounces right back up. That’s Boom Boom. She makes me feel middle-aged, you want to know the truth.”
“Rico, you are middle aged,” Des informed him as they started their way down the footpath to the base of the falls.
“Between us, the wife can’t stand her. Thinks she’s a scheming slut bomb. Not true. This is a good kid. Tawny’s just jealous, you ask me.”
“Does Tawny have any reason to be?”
“Hell no,” Soave said indignantly. “I’m a happily married man. Me and Tawny just put in an offer on our first house. Besides, Boom Boom’s hooked up with my cousin Richie.”
“The one who works Narcotics?”
“The two of them are real tight. You know what they’re calling her up at the Headmaster’s House?” Soave glanced at her slyly. “The next Des Mitry. How do you like that?”
She didn’t. It made her feel like she’d retired to Boca Raton or died.
“I’m telling you, Boom Boom’s the complete package,” he said, stepping his way carefully over the bare roots in the path. “Plus I never have to worry about her drowning.”
Des shot a cold look at him in response.
He immediately reddened. “Sorry, Des, you know how I backslide when I’ve been away from you.”
“I do know that, Rico. But I still keep hoping for a miracle.”
Tito was in the middle of his final photo shoot as they scampered down onto the rocks. The assistant ME was photographing the star from every possible angle before they transported his body to Farmington for the autopsy, which was automatic whenever there was an accidental or unexplained death.
“What a stupid waste,” Soave said, shaking his head at the dead actor disgustedly. “Okay, what are you selling, Des?”
“I’m not selling anything, Rico. I just wanted to point out something about the way he landed.”
“What about it?
“The back of his head took the brunt of the impact. That’s not consistent with a swan dive. He should have landed facedown, not up.”
Soave considered this for a moment, his wheels starting to turn. “So he somersaulted in the air, end over end.”
“If that were the case then his head would be where his feet are. He’s turned completely the wrong way around, Rico.”
“You’re right, he is.” Soave furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “Maybe the water shifted him around after he landed.”
“The man’s dry, and there’s no blood anywhere else. He’s lying right where he hit.”
“So he spiraled in the air. That would explain it. The wind can do that.”
“There was no wind last night.”
“What are you saying, Des?”
“That the position of his body is consistent with someone who was standing with his back to the edge of the cliff and then pitched over backwards. Or got pushed.”
He peered at her, his eyes narrowing. “Still can’t get used to the slow lane, can you? You want back in the game.”
“I am totally fine right where I am, Rico. I just thought I’d share my professional concerns with you before you call it. But if you want to blow me off that’s totally fine by me.”
“Come on, don’t get all huffy.”
“I do not get huffy. I get riled. I get pissed. I get-”
“Whoa, I agree with you, okay?” Soave said, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “It don’t read right. That makes it a suspicious death. And that’s how we’re going to play it.” He ordered the crime scene technicians to proceed with maximum care, and to relay that up top to Yolie. Then they started their way back up the path toward the gate. It was becoming very hot out. Soave was perspiring heavily. “Good catch, Des,” he said, swiping at his face with a handkerchief. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“You’re very welcome,” she said crisply.
“You’re in a lousy mood this morning, know that?”
“I don’t mean to be, Rico. These are my people. I know them.”
“There’s going to be a major media feeding frenzy, am I right?” he asked, his voice filling with dread.
“There is,” she said, thinking that this was a new sign of maturity on his part. Earlier in his career, he’d been supremely hyped at the prospect of getting his face on television. But now that he’d gonebefore the bright lights a couple of times, he knew just how hot they could get. And had the burn marks to prove it.
“I’m giving them no labels on this one,” he said, steeling himself out loud. “I don’t say suicide. And I for damned sure don’t say murder. Neither of those words comes out of this man’s hole. Not once. All I say is it’s an unexplained death and that we’re still gathering information.”
“They’ll try to get you to confirm that it’s an ‘apparent’ suicide,” Des said. “You say-”
“I say that nothing is ‘apparent’ at this time.”
“Even though they’ll go right ahead and call it that anyway.”
“Damned straight.”
By the time they got back up to the gate the TV news vans were already stacked ten-deep on the shoulder of the road. Cameramen and reporters had swarmed the entrance to the park, shouting questions and demanding answers. The uniformed troopers could barely hold them back.
“How did they get past that roadblock?” Soave wondered.
“They’re like mice, Rico. All they need is a quarter-inch crack of daylight and they’re in.”
Now they heard a car horn blaring. It was Martine’s VW Beetle convertible. She was trying desperately to get through the horde, but couldn’t. Esme finally leaped out of the car a hundred yards short of the gate and ran barefoot the rest of the way. Chrissie Huberman jumped out in hot pursuit. The press people let out a shout. Their cameras rolled.
“I want to see him!” Esme sobbed as she reached Des, the tears streaming down her porcelain cheeks. “I have to!”
“I really wouldn’t do that, honey,” Des said, as Soave stood there gaping at the beautiful young actress.
“Tito, why did you do this?!” she cried out, her stage-trained voice carrying over the roar of the waterfall. “Tito, where are you? TITO?!…” Esme fell to her knees, sobbing hysterically.
Chrissie knelt beside her, tears streaming down her own face, Des noticed.
And that wasn’t all Des noticed. Something new about Esme’s look caught her eye: The actress was sporting a great big fat swollen lip this morning.
Somebody had recently punched Esme Crockett in the mouth.
“Girl, I heard so much about you when I was coming up,” Yolie Snipes gushed from the seat next to her as Des piloted her cruiser back down the narrow Hopyard Road. “First sister to investigate homicides in state history, cover of Connecticut magazine when you were twenty-three-I can’t believe I’m riding in the same car with you.”
“You’re being too kind,” said Des, who was never comfortable with flattery. “Where’d you grow up, Yolie?”
“The Hollow,” she grunted. Frog Hollow was Hartford’s most burned-out ghetto. It was nowhere. “My mom died of an overdose a year after I was born.”
“And your dad?”
“Never even knew who he was. Everyone I came up with was inmate-bound, me included, but my aunt Celia made sure I got out.”
“AC?” asked Des, referring to the portrait on her arm.
Yolie’s face lit up. “That’s right. She kept me together, body and soul, until I got me my four-year ride to Rutgers.”
“You played ball, am I right?”
“It’s all that,” she acknowledged. “My total dream was to play the point for Coach Geno at Storrs. He scouted me, too, but there was no way I was going to beat out Suzy Bird for playing time. Not in this life. So I moved on down the road to Piscataway, played for Coach Vivian. And we scratched and we clawed and we won us a few. Got my degree in criminal justice. Came back home, took the test, and here I am.”