Free Some Like It Hawk by Donna Andrews Page A

the forensic tent,” he said.
    The forensic tent. This morning we’d been calling it the town hall tent. As loudly as I used to complain that nothing much changed in Caerphilly from one decade to the next, I realized that I rather missed the quiet old days.
    “Dr. Smoot!” Since climbing halfway up the back stairs I’d heard only indistinct sounds from below, but the chief’s bellow carried marvelously.
    “I gather the medical examiner has arrived,” I said.
    “Acting medical examiner,” the deputy said. Was he only imitating the chief, or did the entire department share the chief’s disapproval of the eccentric Dr. Smoot? “And arrived? That’s a matter of opinion.”
    “Smoot!” People in next door Clay County probably heard that. I had been planning to go up the back stairs and out through the furnace room, but my curiosity kicked in and I headed back down to the basement.
    When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I saw that Colleen Brown’s body was still there. Dad, Randall, several deputies, and the EMTs were anxiously staring at the chief, who stood at the bottom of the stairs with his hands on his hips and a thunderous look on his face.
    “Smoot! Damn it, man, get down here!”
    I was puzzled for a moment, until I remembered that our acting medical examiner suffered from crippling claustrophobia. He was probably balking at coming down the narrow, winding basement steps.
    We all stared at the doorway for a few more moments.
    “Maybe you shouldn’t have told him to leave his cape at home,” Randall said.
    “We’re going to look foolish enough as it is,” the chief said. “We don’t need the Star-Tribune doing a human interest story on the town whose medical examiner thinks he’s a vampire.”
    “He doesn’t think he’s a vampire,” Randall said. “He just likes to dress up like one. And it helps him with the claustrophobia.”
    “He can dress any way he likes on his own time,” the chief said. “When he’s on the job he should look like a blasted professional. And if he can’t walk down a circular stairway or into an elevator without panicking, he should see a therapist, not an exorcist. It’s not as if I can move the crime scene upstairs for him.”
    “We’re working on it,” Randall said.
    “Moving the crime scene upstairs?” I asked.
    “Getting your father appointed as a local medical examiner,” Randall said. “In the meantime, is there anything we can do?”
    “I’ve already pronounced her dead,” Dad said. “It would be nice, of course, to have your medical examiner inspect the crime scene, but Horace and I have done so.”
    “Looks a blessed sight better in court if your ME can bring himself to show up at the crime scene,” the chief said. “Of course, it also looks a blessed sight better if your ME’s not a complete nincompoop.”
    Everyone looked uncomfortable. But I noticed that no one spoke up to say, “Oh, Smoot’s not so bad.”
    “You’re going down to the hospital with the body, I assume,” the chief said to Dad.
    Dad nodded.
    “Can’t you find a way to take him with you?”
    “Dr. Smoot?” Dad asked. “Why?”
    “Surely he’s certifiable,” the chief said. “If he’s locked up in a psych ward somewhere I won’t have to explain his absence.”
    “Yes, but it could call into question all of his recent findings,” Dad said. “Cause the state medical examiner a lot of extra work. And these days the bar for involuntary commitment is a lot higher than you’d think.”
    “Heat exhaustion,” I said.
    They turned to me with puzzled looks on their faces.
    “You could admit Dr. Smoot to the hospital for heat exhaustion,” I said. “Even if he followed orders and left his cape home, you know he’s probably dressed in all black. And then running up the courthouse steps in the sun? An invitation to heatstroke.”
    The chief and Dad looked at each other.
    “I could give it a try.” Dad sounded dubious.
    “I’ll help you.” I started for