CHAPTER 47

Friday, 10 A.M. Allison and I were flying to Vegas in eight hours. (“How about nothing wholesome, Alex? How about noise and lights and losing some hard-earned money at the tables?”)

I figured to finish some long-neglected paperwork and leave with a clear head.

At 11:14 Milo called, and said, “I need a favor, but if you’re jammed, just say so.”

“What?”

“Your tone of voice. I’m bugging you.”

“What do you need?”

“It took a while to free up Christi Marsh’s body for burial. Cody Marsh went back to Minnesota, found a plot, now he’s back and is headed over to the morgue. He’s got more questions about why she died, wants to meet there. I’d do it, but between all the work on Gavin-Christi-Mary Lou-Flora and a new one- two drug dealers shot in Mar Vista- I’m superjammed.”

“When did you pick that one up?”

“Three hours ago,” he said. “A nonweird one, don’t worry, nothing to bug you about. Bottom line, I really don’t have time to deal with ol’ Cody and give him the sensitivity he deserves.”

“What should he be told?” I said.

“Not the whole truth, that’s for sure. Emphasize Christi’s good points. I’ll leave it up to your wise discretion.”

“When will he be at the morgue?”

“In two hours.”

“Sure,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said. “As always.”

I drove to Boyle Heights and found a space in the lot that fronted the coroner’s office. As I got out of the Seville, an old gray Chevy bumped and smoked into the lot and pulled ponderously into a nearby slot.

Sonny Koppel got out, shielded his eyes from the glare, stared at the sign above the door, and winced. He wore a short-sleeved yellow shirt over rumpled, gray cotton pants and white tennis shoes. His hair was slicked down, and his face bore an unhealthy flush.

He headed for the door. Stopped, saw me, and caught his breath.

“Hi,” he said. “What brings you here?”

“Meeting someone.”

“Something to do with Mary?”

“No,” I said.

“Lots of people dying,” he said. “I’m here to claim Mary’s body. I’ve been trying for weeks, have no legal authority because we weren’t married anymore. Finally, I cut through the red tape.”

“It can be rough.”

“Main thing is, I got permission.” He sighed. “Mary never said what she’d want in this situation. I figure she’d be happy with cremation.”

He looked at me, wanting counsel.

I said, “You’d know.”

“Would I?” he said. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I know much.”

“You did your best for her.”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

“I think it’s true.”

He made puffing noises with his lips. “I hope you’re right.”

We reached the morgue’s glass doors. I held one open for him.

“Thanks,” he said. “Have a nice day.”

“You, too.”

“It’s a challenge,” he said, “but I’m trying.”

Jonathan Kellerman

Jonathan Kellerman is one of the world's most popular authors. He has brought his expertise as a child psychologist to numerous bestselling tales of suspense (which have been translated into two dozen languages), including thirteen previous Alex Delaware novels; The Butcher's Theater, a story of serial killing in Jerusalem; and Billy Straight, featuring Hollywood homicide detective Petra Connor. His new novel, Flesh and Blood, will be published in hardcover in fall 2001. He is also the author of numerous essays, short stories, and scientific articles, two children's books, and three volumes of psychology, including Savage Spawn: Reflections on Violent Children. He and his wife, the novelist Faye Kellerman, have four children.