as kinks in her psyche, no past criminal record and I can’t exactly show up and ask to interview her.”
“Can you put a separate watch on her?”
“Depends if any of the baby D’s are available and that’s looking weak because all of a sudden, there’s flak from above.” He cleared his throat. “Apparently, I’ve been co-opting staff for non-essential assignments.” Laughing. “Like I actually read the memo.”
He phoned Reed. Voicemail. Same for Binchy and Bogomil.
I said, “The kids leave, they don’t write, they don’t call.”
“Moses called last night. No one at any of the other strip clubs knows Red Dress. Same response to Denny Rapfogel’s DMV photo, including the barkeep at The Booty Shop. I emailed the shot to James Johnson and got the same answer.”
He laid his phone on the table. Two swallows of coffee later, it played Beethoven and began jumping. He glanced at the screen, said, “The crypt,” and switched to speaker.
“Lieutenant Sturgis, this is Basia Lopatinski.” Mellow voice, Slavic accent.
“Thanks for calling back, Doctor.”
“Of course, I initiated the correspondence. As I said, I think it’s good to speak with you about your Jane Doe but maybe not over the phone?”
“I’ll come over there when it’s good for you.”
“I have just completed a two-day seminar on splenic abnormalities in Santa Monica and am about to have lunch nearby. Could you come to the Ostrich Café on Wilshire Boulevard? The internet says slow service but good food. I’m hoping they don’t cook big birds.”
I found the address and showed it to him. Just west of Tenth Street.
“See you in twenty or so minutes, Doctor. I might be bringing our consulting psychologist.”
“Very good, Lieutenant,” said Basia Lopatinski. “I may be how you say—spinning wheels—but I think it will be interesting.”
“Something not in the autopsy report?”
“I tell you when I see you.”
CHAPTER
16
Le Ostrich Café shared a block with a vegan restaurant, a high-end butcher shop, and a fish market. Nothing about the place stood out. A general practitioner among specialists.
Cramped, crowded interior with a take-out counter and a coffee bar. The fare on the chalkboard was pastries and salads. As Milo and I looked around, a woman in an oversized gray sweater and black jeggings stood up and waved.
Forties, leggy, model-thin, but half a foot short of model height. Short, wispy ash-blond hair topped a triangular face marked by a strong nose and an unusually broad, full-lipped mouth. One of those mouths that enjoys smiling and was having a grand time proving it.
Milo made the introductions, calling her “Doctor” and doing the same for me.
She said, “Basia,” and smiled even wider. Her barely touched meal was sourdough bread, cold string beans topped by sesame seeds, and a discouraged green salad.
She said, “I made an unfortunate choice. The only protein they have is chicken breast and that’s like blank white paper.”
Milo said, “We can go over to the butcher shop and get you some charcuterie.”
“It is tempting, Lieutenant. Please sit. Unless you want something here. Then you have to go there for order and pickup.”
Milo pointed to a jar on the counter. “And they expect tips.”
“Ha,” said Basia Lopatinski. “It’s better than Soviet Poland but not as good as America should be. Do you want something?”
“No, thanks, Doctor. We’re intrigued by your call.”
“I am intrigued as well, by your strangled Jane Doe. I requested to meet you away from the crypt and didn’t put what I’m going to tell you in the report, because recently we have instructions to adhere to observed facts and avoid theory. I, especially, need to behave myself because I am not full-time staff.”
“Freelancing?”
“That’s one way to put it, but really probation,” she said. “In Warsaw, I was a professor of forensic pathology. Here, I’m considered barely out of training. I just took my California and national boards.” She crossed her fingers. “Meanwhile, I am supervised and my current supervisor is the guy who wrote the no-theorizing rule.”
“Who’s that?”
“I’d rather not say, Lieutenant. Not that what I have to tell you is controversial. It’s merely outside the scope of my job description.”
“Got it.”
“Okay, then.” Another generous smile. “Initially, there were three things about your Jane Doe that stood out to me. First of all, the use of what was most probably a wire garrote in such an unusual manner. As you know, ligature strangulation is a comparatively rare cause of death. Even then, most ligatures are cloth—rope, shoelaces, clothing. A garrote fits more with a gangster execution—I saw a few when I did some training