"Look, April, even if you can't remember what he looked like, he knows you. He has an advantage. You don't know him, but he knows you. He knows Devereaux, too. Are you listening to me?"

Her face had become like stone. She was listening. He pulled over another chair so they both were facing the computer.

"Do you know who Devereaux is?"

Yeah, they'd told her who he was. April typed, My hero turns out to be one of the richest men in America. What do you get a guy like that for a thank-you gift?

A little joke to make Mike laugh. He didn't laugh.

What was he doing out there anyway? she tapped out.

"Walking his dog. You asked me what I think. Well, it doesn't have the look of a robbery gone bad."

April touched his hand. No, it didn't. And it didn't have the look of a stranger murder.

Mike echoed her thought. "If it's a stranger murder, what would be the motive?" He ticked off a list of possible motives. "Jealousy? Revenge? Money?" He scratched his chin. "That's about it."

Fear of discovery? April typed. Maybe Bernardino knew something.

"Or maybe he just did something to tick the guy off. A spur-of-the-moment thing."

April shook her head. The perpetrator hadn't run away. He'd attacked her, too. / knew Bernardino, she typed, then wondered.

Jealousy? Or had Bernardino just pissed someone off big-time, someone who felt this was his chance to get even. Someone he'd put in jail. Somebody he'd demoted. Somebody he'd hurt in some other way. Or was it about money? That led to the question, Who else stood to gain by his death? Anybody other than his kids?

"Sorry, querida. It's time for you to go home." Mike had already arranged for a car to take her home. April had her own plan. She didn't resist.

Eleven

Bernardino's autopsy took place between two and six p.m. that day. Dr. Gloss, the medical examiner, liked to boast that he could do an autopsy in two hours if he was pressed. But in this case, he'd taken his time.

Mike got him on the phone at six forty-five.

"Sad thing," was the first thing the ME said.

"Yeah. What do you have?" Mike cut to the chase.

"Believe it or not, the guy was in pretty good shape. He had some shrapnel wounds that healed pretty good. Was he in ' Nam?"

"I don't know," Mike said. But he'd check. In cases like this, surprisingly often Vietnam was a factor.

"Three pieces of metal were still in his back, one in his left leg. Did he walk okay?" Gloss asked.

"Bernardino walked fine," Mike assured him. He wouldn't have been accepted in the Department if he couldn't run. Mike did a quick calculation. Thirty-eight years ago was what? 'Sixty-five. Early sixties, anyway. That was before the big action in ' Nam, but it would work as a time frame. Plenty of special forces in there back then. Gloss interrupted his note taking: Check out military service.

"And he must have snored like a horse. What a schnoz," Gloss went on. "He had a deviated septum. Let's see; it's an interesting case. His arteries were not too bad considering his weight and what he must have eaten in his lifetime. You cops. But… he had the heart of a thirty-year-old."

That didn't help. "What else?" Mike asked.

"He was missing a few teeth. He had two hernias that he'd probably been ignoring for a long time. A common enough thing."

"The COD?"

"He had no defense wounds. No bruises on his fists or palms. No foreign tissue or skin under his fingernails. We didn't get lucky there. Looks like he didn't have time to put up a fight. It must have happened very fast. I'm thinking maybe he knew the guy. He wasn't expecting it."

"COD?"

"Asphyxia. Not strangled. Looks like he was yoked, probably by a forearm. He couldn't breathe, but the spinal cord was…" Gloss paused to slurp up some drink out of a straw.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Spare me the medical terms. I saw him. His neck was broken." Mike inhaled and exhaled to let out some tension.

"By you, his neck was broken," Gloss agreed. "Bernardino was a hefty guy. He weighed one ninety-eight," Gloss went on. "It's not so easy to yoke someone his size. Forty-eight inches around. He was like a tank, not tall but big. You're looking for someone with arms like a gorilla. I'll have the preliminary by tomorrow, maybe the next day."

"Thanks. We'll talk again."

"One other thing." Gloss hesitated.

"Yeah?"

"Did Bernardino chew gum?"

Mike drew a blank on that. "I have no idea. Did you find gum on him, or in him?"

"Well, he'd eaten within the last two hours. Must have been some party. Lasagne, ziti, eggplant, baked clams. Cannolis. He'd pretty much stuffed himself. And he'd probably had quite a bit to drink, too."

"I'm sure. A couple of beers, maybe some wine. Where are you going with this?" Mike asked.

"I don't have his alcohol levels yet so I don't have that piece…"

"But you're suggesting Bernardino was impaired at the time of his death." Mike tried to remember how intoxicated Bernardino had been. He certainly hadn't had that manic affect, talking too much or too loudly. He hadn't looked or sounded drunk. He hadn't stumbled around or anything like that. But Mike didn't know how much he could hold. Maybe April or Marcus Beame would know. They'd both worked with him.

"Maybe drunk. He'd reeked of garlic, of course," Gloss went on, unperturbed in his musings.

"I'm sure he did, but how does it play?"

"You know, we smell them first."

The corpses. Yes, Mike knew the medical examiner sniffed his customers like a dog for the presence of drugs and poison and powder in the case of gunshot wounds.

"Yes, and?"

"He smelled of spearmint."

"As in spearmint gum?"

"Yes."

"The body or his clothes?"

"Both."

Mike pulled on his mustache. Hmmm. "Gum wouldn't make his clothes smell," he murmured.

"Well, it would if there was an open packet in his pocket. I just didn't see one. Did you find any gum or gum wrappers at the scene or remove them from his pockets?"

"Not that I know of. But I'll check. Any other ideas about what might have caused the odor?" Mike asked.

"Well, it might be nothing. Did they have those puffy mints at the restaurant, you know, by the entrance?"

"No. Wrapped M-and-M kind of things. Chocolate mint." Mike had left with a handful.

"Well, no then. Chocolate was the one thing Bernardino hadn't eaten."

"Well, maybe he was a gum freak and had it in his pockets, his car. I'll check it out."

"Well, let me know."

"Anything else?" Mike asked. He had a feeling there might be.

"Not at the moment."

Mike hung up. The case was being handled downtown. It was time for him to join the party.