only across his hip,” Lamar said. “I can’t put groceries in the trunk of my car for it melting the ice cream.”
“That’s a good thought, Lamar, I wish you worked for me,” Crawford said. “Do you know the fellows that found her in the river?”
“Jabbo Franklin and his brother, Bubba.”
“What do they do?”
“Fight at the Moose, make fun of people that’s not bothering them—someone just comes in the Moose after a simple drink, worn out from looking at the bereaved all day, and it’s ‘Set down there, Lamar, and play “Filipino Baby.”’ Make a person play ‘Filipino Baby’ over and over on that sticky old bar piano. That’s what Jabbo likes. ‘Well, make up some damn words if you don’t know it,’ he says, ‘and make the damn thing rhyme this time.’ He gets a check from the Veterans and goes to dry out at the VA around Christmas. I been looking for him on this table for fifteen years.”
“We’ll need serotonin tests on the fishhook punctures,” Crawford said. “I’m sending the pathologist a note.”
“Them hooks are too close together,” Lamar said.
“What did you say?”
“The Franklins was running a trotline with the hooks too close together. It’s a violation. That’s prob’ly why they didn’t call it in until this morning.”
“The sheriff said they were duck hunters.”
“I expect they did tell him that,” Lamar said. “They’ll tell you they wrestled Duke Keomuka in Honolulu one time too, tag team with Satellite Monroe. You can believe that too, if you feel like it. Grab a croaker sack and they’ll take you on a snipe hunt too, if you favor snipe. Give you a glass of billiards with it.”
“What do you think happened, Lamar?”
“The Franklins was running this trotline, it’s their trotline with these unlawful hooks, and they was pulling it up to see if they had any fish.”
“Why do you think so?”
“This lady’s not near ready to float.”
“No.”
“Then if they hadna been pulling up on the trotline they never would have found her. They prob’ly went off scared and finally called in. I expect you’ll want the game warden in on this.”
“I expect so,” Crawford said.
“Lots of times they’ve got a crank telephone behind the seat in their Ramcharger, that’s a big fine right there, if you don’t have to go to the pen.”
Crawford raised his eyebrows.
“To telephone fish with,” Starling said. “Stun the fish with electric current when you hang the wires in the water and turn the crank. They come to the top and you just dip ’em out.”
“Right,” Lamar said, “are you from around here?”
“They do it lots of places,” Starling said.
Starling felt the urge to say something before they zipped up the bag, to make a gesture or express some kind of commitment. In the end, she just shook her head and got busy packing the samples into her case.
It was different with the body and problem out of sight. In this slack moment, what she’d been doing came in on her. Starling stripped off her gloves and turned the water on in the sink. With her back to the room, she ran water over her wrists. The water in the pipes wasn’t all that cool. Lamar, watching, disappeared into the hall. He came back from the Coke machine with an ice-cold can of soda, unopened, and offered it to her.
“No, thanks,” Starling said. “I don’t believe I’ll have one.”
“No, hold it under your neck there,” Lamar said, “and on that little bump at the back of your head. Cold’ll make you feel better. It does me.”
By the time Starling had finished taping the memo to the pathologist across the zipper of the body bag, Crawford’s fingerprint transmitter was clicking on the office desk.
Finding this victim so soon after the crime was a lucky break. Crawford was determined to identify her quickly and start a sweep around her home for witnesses to the abduction. His method was a lot of trouble to everyone, but it was fast.
Crawford carried a Litton Policefax fingerprint transmitter. Unlike federal-issue facsimile machines, the Policefax is compatible with most big-city police department systems. The fingerprint card Starling had assembled was barely dry.