Free Warshawski 09 - Hard Time by Sara Paretsky

getting ready to leave for my appointment with my lawyer. “Vic! What’s up? Need help hiding a body?”
    “It may come to that, if a police ape named Lemour harasses me any further. But this is about a body you already have—Nicola Aguinaldo. She died yesterday at Beth Israel in the OR and came in too late for you to work on.”
    There was a pause on the other end. “That’s funny: I remember now, she came in at the end of the morning. I took a quick look at her—there was something unusual about her, so I wanted to do the autopsy myself, but she wasn’t—hold on while I check.”
    He put the phone down. I heard chairs scraping, a murmur of voices, and then a door shutting. I waited a good five minutes before Vishnikov came back.
    “Vic, this is one of the more infuriating moments in my tenure here. Some jag–off released the body last night. I can’t even find out who—a form was filed but not signed.”
    “Released to the family?” I was puzzled. “When I called last night, they didn’t have a next of kin listed.”
    “The form says the girl’s mother claimed it. How the hell they released it—well, that’s neither here nor there. I’ve got to go. I need to—”
    I spoke quickly, before he could hang up. “What was it about her body that made you want to look at it yourself?”
    “I don’t remember now. I’m too goddamned angry to think about anything except getting hold of the bastard who let this body out of here without authorization.” He slammed the receiver in my ear.
    This was the first time I’d heard Vishnikov blow up in the four or five years I’ve worked with him. I wondered if Lemour had somehow engineered removal of the body, before an autopsy proved I hadn’t hit her, or maybe proved she hadn’t been hit by a car at all. I began to wonder if Lemour had killed her himself and was trying to find someone else to blame. When he couldn’t pin it on me he got a buddy in the morgue to quietly let the body go.
    The Beth Israel fax had come in while I was talking to Vishnikov. I stuffed it into my briefcase and dashed out to the L to ride down to Freeman Carter’s office in the Loop.
    Freeman rented a suite that held the requisite mahoganies and objets d’art of lawyers in the financial district. He rose to greet me when his secretary sent me into his inner office. His summer suit had been tailored to fit his tall body and even to make him look a little broader through the chest, and his white–blond hair had been cut as carefully as the suit. He makes a good impression in court, which I like, and has the brains to back it up, which I like even more.
    “Vic, I talked to Drummond at the State’s Attorney and he made some calls.” He perched on the corner of his desk. “Rogers Park has lost the incident report but they asked the officers who came to the scene to reconstruct it. They say you refused to take a sobriety test—”
    “That is an outright lie.” I felt my cheeks flush. “They didn’t ask for blood, but they breathalyzed me and I walked a line and did all that stuff for them. Freeman, I don’t drink and drive, and all I had all night long was three Pellegrinos.”
    “They got to the scene too late to witness the accident, so they’re not accusing you of hitting the Aguinaldo woman. But the State’s Attorney is saying if you’ll own up to the hit–and–run they won’t jeopardize your PI license or standing with the bar by a criminal prosecution.”
    I was so furious the blood drummed in my ears. “This is so outrageous I can’t even comment on it. I will not perjure myself because a couple of cops are too lazy to conduct a proper investigation.”
    “Whoa, there, Vic. I don’t blame you for being angry, but let me finish. I told Drummond that was unacceptable—but if they’re claiming you refused a blood test, I need to be one hundred percent sure of the ground I’m on.”
    “When I’m stupid, careless, or criminal I don’t walk away from it, but in