Disorderly Conduct. Mary Feliz
Maggie and I can be with you the whole time. If you want to see a grief counselor or a chaplain—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Tess snapped. Her response surprised me, because she was typically so kind to Paolo.
I interrupted the conversation to give Tess a chance to collect herself. “Is that normal?” I asked Paolo. “Identifying a body from a photograph? On TV—”
“It’s routine,” Paolo said. “Most of the time, we don’t even need the photo identification. We know who the deceased is because they carried identification or because loved ones, neighbors, or coworkers are already on scene.”
“But if Tess can’t be certain from the photo?” I asked.
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Paolo said firmly, cutting off any further speculation I’d been tempted to indulge in. He pulled his Subaru into a parking space directly across from the entrance to what resembled a suburban office building. It was stucco with clean modern lines and lots of glass. Outside, a pocket-sized flower bed defied the hot, dry summer weather. Inside was a small lobby with tasteful artwork and fresh flowers. Two separate clusters of chairs were backed by a counter concealing a receptionist who stepped out to greet us as we entered.
“Officer Bianchi,” she said, shaking his hand. “I’m Claire. Thanks for coming. How was the drive?” She turned to me and to Tess, awaiting introductions, but adapted quickly when Tess stepped back.
“I’ll take you right in. Dr. Linda Mindar will join you in a moment.”
Claire led us to a conference room and invited us to make ourselves comfortable on a sofa and chairs. French doors opened onto a small patio with a garden, bench, and trickling waterfall. Soft new age music played as if we were awaiting spa treatments. I shuddered at my incongruous comparison. While I was sure the environment was meant to be soothing, it heightened my discomfort. I tamped down my urge to run and sat on the sofa close to Tess, taking her hand. She shook off my attempt at providing comfort and I let her. Whatever she needed.
Dr. Mindar joined us and introduced herself. After glancing at me and Paolo, the medical examiner turned her attention to Tess. She pulled up a utilitarian straight chair, sat, and then scooted it forward so her knees were close to touching Tess’s. As if she were giving Tess time to digest everything that was happening, she took a few seconds to fuss over the tablet, folders, and clipboard on her lap. Leaning forward, she spoke softly, but clearly and slowly, giving us all time to absorb words no one wanted to hear.
“First, I’ll go over a few procedures and let you know what to expect. I have some information you can take with you. I’ll give that to your friend here when we’re finished. If you have any questions, now, next week, or next year, I’m happy to answer them. All my contact information is in the folder.
“I’m going to show you a photograph on my tablet. I’ll ask if you recognize the person. The image shows a man in his mid-40s. He has thick, dark wavy hair and tanned skin. On the left side of his face, immediately above his jawline, there is a half-inch scar that appears to be decades old.”
Tess’s hands covered her ears. Her brow furrowed, and she shook her head slowly. I vaguely remembered an old story Max and Patrick told about Max chasing his friend straight into a shrub during a cutthroat game of tag in grade school. When Patrick emerged from the bush covered in blood, Max had been sure he’d killed his buddy and had run screaming from the scene. Patrick limped home alone and left bloody footprints between the back door and the bathroom that had terrified his mother. The incident had left a scar on the left side of Patrick’s face. Max urged him to cover it up by growing a beard. Patrick said he never would.
Dr. Mindar continued, tugging me from the memory of friends telling ancient stories from their childhood. I licked my dry lips and smoothed wrinkles from my T-shirt, hoping that one move or the other would settle the storm in my stomach. And then I turned to Tess’s ghostly face and hard jaw. If I was suffering, what on earth could Tess be going through? I grabbed her hand for my own comfort.
“We’ve completed our examination and will be able to release your husband to a mortuary shortly. I have some papers—”
“It’s not Patrick. Not my husband.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” Dr. Mindar tapped the back of the tablet. “Our investigation suggests this man did not suffer. While portions of his body are badly burned, all of the fire damage happened postmortem. After his death.”
“What happened?” I asked, forgetting that I’d told myself to keep silent and let the doctor and Tess control the information flow. “When did he die? When was he found?”
“We’re still working on our report for the police, but my own observations are that he had a skull fracture. He may have fallen—”
Tess interrupted. “Then it’s definitely not Patrick. He was a mountain goat. Never faltered. Never stumbled.”
Dr. Mindar turned to Paolo, lifting her chin and her eyebrows. “That’s important for the police to know. Thank you.”
She turned back to Tess. “Are you ready?”
Tess pulled her hand from mine, inching it toward Dr. Mindar’s lap, which held the tablet.
The doctor held it out with the screen facedown. “When it’s time, you can turn it over. When you don’t want to look anymore, flip the tablet over again. The screen is locked.”
Tess opened her hands to take the tablet. I noted that it was protected by a thick rubber protective case, and I wondered how many times a family member had dropped it in their first moments of shock and despair.
We all held our breath as Tess took the device firmly in both hands, bit her lip, and turned it over. She stared at the screen and let out a soft moan. “Oh, Patrick,” she said, touching the screen with an index finger as her shoulders curled forward and her head drooped, her long hair concealing her anguished face.
“Is this your husband?” Dr. Mindar asked. “Patrick Teodoro Olmos?” Tess stared at the photo without speaking. She nodded, gripped her upper arms, and rocked gently. Then she flipped the tablet and let it rest in her lap facedown.
Dr. Mindar turned to Paolo, and he said quietly, “Yes.” I guessed his role was to witness Tess’s identification.
Dr. Mindar handed a folder to me. “If any of you have questions...”
I shook my head. “Not right now.”
“I understand that Mr. and Mrs. Olmos have a son,” the doctor said.
I put my arm around Tess, and she crumpled into me, her palm flat on the tablet.
“Yes. Teddy. He’s fourteen. He wanted to come.” I answered the question for Tess, who seemed temporarily incapable of speech.
“It may be important to him to see his dad. To verify what’s happened. Everyone is different. You might want to discuss that with his doctor or one of the other resources...”
“Would that happen here?”
“At the mortuary. As soon as we know which one you’d like to use. There are several in Orchard View. They’re all good.”
“Can that wait until tomorrow? And these papers?” I tilted my head toward the folder Dr. Mindar still held on her lap.
Tess sat up straighter, gently shaking off my comfort. “Silverstone’s,” she said. “My family has always used Silverstone’s. For my grandparents.” She looked fragile, as if a puff of wind could blow her over, or a soft touch might shatter her.
Dr. Mindar made a note on a yellow pad. “Everything official can wait, and the papers can be faxed, mailed, or given to the police.” She pushed back her chair, making sure she no longer blocked Tess’s path to an escape.
“I’ll handle that,” Paolo said, standing and offering the doctor his business card.
Tess raised