The Fury - Jason Pinter [8]
perhaps. I didn't want to ask, but I hoped he showered
before attending any dinner parties. "Thanks so much
for coming. Detective Makhoulian is downstairs
already." Then Binky's eyes lowered, and he said, "I'm
sorry for your loss."
I sighed, thanked him. "Can I see the body?"
"Oh, of course," Binks said. "Follow me."
Binks led me into a gray metal elevator. He took a
key chain from his pocket, inserted it into a slit next to
the sole button. Once turned, he pressed the button, and
the doors opened. Once inside, he pressed a button
marked M. For Morgue. The doors closed, and we
traveled in silence, down several flights. Finally the
elevator stopped and the door slid open.
Whatever odor had been stuck to Binks was even
stronger down here.
Outside of the elevator, the hallway divided into two
separate pathways. A plaque mounted on the wall had
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arrows pointing in either direction. To the left, the arrow
read, Morgue. To the right, the arrow read, Viewing
Room.
Binks began walking toward the right.
I followed behind him as he opened a door and led
me into a small room. A man was waiting for us inside.
He was about five-eight and built stocky and muscular,
like one of those NFL linebackers who had trouble
seeing over the center but could deliver a hit like
nobody's business. His skin was dark, a neat goatee, and
he wore a dark gray suit. He looked at me as we entered.
"Detective?" I said.
"Detective Sevag Makhoulian," he said. He ap
proached and shook my hand. "For short, people call me
Sevi."
"Makhoulian...what background does that name
come from?" I asked stalling for time.
"It's Armenian," he answered patiently.
"Were you born here?"
"I was born in Yerevan, my parents emigrated here
when I was very young." His accent was noticeable but
not thick, and his suit was as American as they came.
"Gotcha, don't mean to pry."
"I know it's your job to do just that, Mr. Parker. I do
appreciate your coming down here on such short notice.
And I must say I enjoy your work. Insightful, not to
mention how nice it is to see a young man achieving
success based on something other than setting fire to
hotel rooms. It's a shame we had to meet under these
circumstances. Curtis Sheffield speaks very highly of
you."
"How's Curt doing?" I asked.
30
Jason Pinter
"Aside from the bullet in his leg? He's just peachy."
Makhoulian said this with a slight smile. Last year Curt
had taken a shot that nicked his femoral artery while
looking for a family that we believed had abducted a
child. He'd been assigned to desk duty since then, and
I was lucky to have remained on his good side. Though
he hated being off the streets, I think he secretly liked
the attention from the opposite sex. Nothing sexier than
a guy who took a bullet for a good cause. "Anyway, I'm
sorry for your loss, Henry."
"It's not really my loss," I said. "The first and only
time I met Stephen Gaines was a few hours ago."
"Well then," Makhoulian said, "if his death isn't your
loss, whose is it?"
"Someone else's," I replied. "Just not mine."
"Somebody cared for this guy," Binks interjected. We
both stared at him. The M.E. was right. Yet as much I
tried to, I still didn't know what to think about every
thing.
The viewing room resembled a typical examining
room, if all the machines and instruments had been
removed. The only thing remaining was a long metal
table. The table was covered by a sheet. Underneath the
sheet was a body, about six feet long. Most likely be
longing to a man named Stephen Gaines. A man who
was presumably my brother.
"Before we begin," Binks said, "be warned that
there's been extensive damage to the cranium."
"Extensive?" I said, looking at Makhoulian.
"That's right," he said. "From the damage, we can
gather that the muzzle of the murder weapon was held
less than a foot from the back of his head, a 9 mm fired
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31
at near point-blank range. The apartment we found him
in wasn't a pretty sight."
"From the wounds," I said.
"Not just that," Makhoulian