Line of Succession

Line of Succession Read Free

Book: Line of Succession Read Free
Author: Brian Garfield
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The Assistant M.E. put his feet up on the desk.
    â€œDoc, about that girl they brought in DOA from Northwest. My sergeant seems to have kind of a garbled report on her from your office. Maybe you can straighten it out for me.”
    â€œGarbled?”
    â€œHe says you told him somebody’d cut out her tongue with a pair of pliers.”
    â€œThat’s right. I did.”
    â€œA pair of pliers?”
    â€œThe jaws left clear indentations on what’s left of her tongue, Lieutenant. Maybe I phrased it badly in the report. I said they’d cut out her tongue. ‘Pulled’ would have been more accurate.”
    â€œGood Christ.” After a moment the lieutenant resumed: “You did the autopsy yourself?”
    â€œI regret to say I did.”
    â€œAnd there’s no sign she was sexually molested?”
    â€œNone. Of course that’s not conclusive, but there’s no sign of vaginal irritation, no semen, none of the usual——”
    â€œOkay. Now the cause of death, you’ve got ‘heart removal’ here. Now for Christ’s sake what——”
    â€œRead the whole thing, Lieutenant.”
    â€œI have. God help me.”
    â€œHeart removal by probable use of ordinary household tools.”
    â€œYeah. You mean kitchen knife, that kind of thing?”
    â€œThat’s a utensil. I said tools. I suspect they used a hammer and chisel, although I can’t prove it.”
    The lieutenant didn’t speak for a little while. When he did his voice was very thin. “All right, Doc, then tell me this. If the cause of death was a hammer and chisel against the breastplate how in hell did they get her to hold still for it?”
    â€œI wasn’t there, Lieutenant. How should I know? Probably a few of them held her down and one of them did the job on her.”
    â€œAnd she didn’t scream?”
    â€œMaybe she screamed her head off. You know that neighborhood—they mug you on the street in broad daylight, nobody lifts a finger.”
    Another pause. Then: “Doc, this has got the stink of some kind of ritual to it. Some hoodoo voodoo thing.”
    â€œWas she Haitian or anything like that?”
    â€œWe haven’t got a make on her yet. I don’t know what she was.”
    The Assistant M.E. had her face in his mind. It must have been a pleasant face before. Young—he had put her at twenty-one or -two. The proud Afro haircut, the good long legs. The telephone moved fitfully against his ear. He said, “I admit it’s one I haven’t come across before.”
    â€œGod forbid we ever come across it again. Listen, just for the record, if we come across a bloody pair of pliers can you match them up to measurements or anything?”
    â€œI doubt it. Not unless you find tissues adhering to the pliers. We could set up a circumstantial case on the basis of blood type, I suppose.”
    â€œYeah. All right. Look, anything else you didn’t put in the report? Anything that might give a lead?”
    â€œUp in New York and Chicago they seem to have quite a few mobster killings where they rub out somebody who squealed on them and leave the corpse lying around with a big plaster of tape over the mouth, or they pour a jar of acid in the mouth, that kind of thing. It’s a warning to other potential squealers—you know, see what happens to you if you open your mouth to the wrong people.”
    â€œSicilian justice.”
    â€œYes. But this girl wasn’t Sicilian, that’s for sure.”
    â€œMaybe the killer is.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    The lieutenant sighed audibly. “With pliers and a hammer and chisel? I don’t know.”
    â€œI’d like to help, Lieutenant. I’d love to put it all in your lap for you. But I’m all gone dry.”
    â€œAll right. I’m sorry I bugged you, Doc. Good night.”
    3:05 A.M. The make on the dead girl came into the detective squad room on the

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