Free Killer Look by Linda Fairstein Page B

daughter—what’s her name? Lily?—was back in the picture,” Emma said. “Maybe they didn’t think they would meet with any resistance here.”
    â€œSlow down, you two,” Mike said. “You don’t even know who’s driving this bus. Is it Uncle Hal alone? Or is it Reed? Or are they just stooges doing what someone else has suggested? I’m not saying either one of them is the killer. It’s just that once you let the body go, we’ve lost any chance of getting what we get on the autopsy table.”
    â€œNobody’s even heard what’s in Wolf Savage’s will yet, have they?” Jeremy asked.
    â€œTomorrow afternoon,” Mike said. “That should tell us something.”
    â€œHow do you know about that?” I asked.
    â€œThat’s what the lieutenant from Manhattan South told Peterson.”
    â€œTo your point, Alex, it’s not only against Jewish law to perform autopsies,” Emma said. “It’s forbidden in Islam, too. And Christian Scientists prefer they aren’t done. But it always gives me pause when people come in to oppose the procedure and are looking to fly the body out of the country the next day.”
    â€œWe’ve had this scenario scores of times,” Jeremy said. “I’ve got to say the objections are usually legit, but we’ve had our share of bodies spirited out of here, only to have exhumations ordered by a court later on. Pretty hard to enforce when they’re overseas.”
    I thought of a case that Mike and I had worked together, which involved the exhumation of a teenage girl for an autopsy in a room right down the hall, years after her death. Nothing that I ever wanted to see again.
    I put my elbows on the table and pressed my fingers against my forehead, rubbing it to ease the headache that was coming on. “I wish I had never taken Lily’s call,” I said. “Maybe she’s the bad guy in all this. Maybe she’s just using me as the way to get back at her father. Maybe she’s—”
    â€œLet’s not rush to judgment, kid. These days you’re good at seeing ghosts where there aren’tany.”

NINE
    Mike and I left the Medical Examiner’s Office shortly before five P.M .
    â€œI’ll shoot you home,” he said. “I’ll just be a few hours and then we can grab some dinner.”
    â€œDoctor’s orders, Mike. You heard Emma tell you to keep me close,” I said. “Aren’t you going to the hotel?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œOne more look around? Check out the suite the housekeeper said someone had used?” I asked. “C’mon. It’s the kind of thing I’m useful for. An extra pair of trained eyes is always good.”
    â€œGot my extras, Coop,” Mike said. “Mercer’s meeting me there.”
    â€œIt’s not his case either. Not even in the same ballpark.”
    â€œYeah, but he’s the man on the job I trust more than anyone. He’s got the bones for this kind of detail work.”
    Mercer and Mike had partnered together in the elite Homicide Squad about a decade ago. Both of them loved working painstaking investigations, but while Mike especially enjoyed the factthat homicide victims didn’t need handholding, Mercer craved supportive human interaction. So he transferred to the Special Victims Squad, where he savored the emotionally charged work and the task of restoring dignity to a surviving crime victim as much as I did.
    â€œI thought you said that if I stayed sober, I could hang with you.”
    Mike looked at his watch. “I guess two extra pairs of eyes don’t hurt.”
    We were in Mike’s car for only a minute before I got a text from Lily Savitsky and read it to him. “‘Thanks for taking me seriously. I really need to talk to you as soon as possible.’”
    â€œTell her you’re done. The only conversation she’s having is