12th of Never

has even the most basic grasp of the truth.”
    Kinsela snorted from across the room.
    The judge said to Yuki, “Duly noted,” and told Gary Good-friend that he could step down.
    Nussbaum looked at the big white-faced clock over the exit door, then said, “Seems like an appropriate place to adjourn for the weekend.”

Chapter 61
    IT WAS 7:40 on Monday morning when Claire saw Rich Conklin’s truck parked off by itself in the open lot on Harriet Street. When she got closer, she saw that Richie’s head was tipped back and his mouth was open. Looked like he’d passed out.
    She called out to him a couple of times and when he didn’t come to, she rapped on the window, said, “
Richie
. Yoo-hoo. Wakey-wakey.”
    He sat up, said, “Huh?” and then, “Oh, hi, Claire. Am I late?” He ran his hands through his hair, tucked his shirt into his pants.
    Claire went around to the passenger side and climbed up into the truck. The cab smelled of beer. There was a crumpled hamburger bag in the foot well, dirty laundry lying loose on the backseat. Richie hadn’t shaved.
    She said, “Actually, you’re early, my friend. How long you been sleeping here?”
    Rich leaned across her, opened the glove compartment, and took out his cell phone. He checked it for messages, then put it in his shirt pocket.
    Since he hadn’t answered her question, Claire had a few more for him.
    “What’s up, Richie? I suppose you’ve got a good reason to be camping out in the parking lot. When was the last time you took a shower?”
    He laughed, then said, “Hold on, Claire. That was a good idea. May I use your shower?”
    Claire had a private shower at the morgue. Problem was, it wasn’t exactly hers at the moment. Her stand-in, Dr. Herbert Morse, would be arriving in a few minutes, if he wasn’t already there in her office, boning up on how to be a medical examiner.
    “Honestly, if it was mine to give you, I’d tell you to shave, shower, and take your time on the potty. But I’m on the sidelines, as you know. Working out of a cubicle.”
    “Ah, I’m sorry, Claire. Well. I’ll think of something.”
    “Cindy kicked you out?”
    “We broke up after I crashed your dinner at Susie’s.”
    “So that’s what happened. I haven’t spoken with Cindy since then.”
    Rich sighed. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Should I rent a place? Should I live in my truck for a while until I know what to do with myself?”
    Claire said, “I didn’t see this coming, Richie. Cindy’s always been crazy in love with you—and I thought vice versa.”
    He sighed again. “She’s changed.”
    “Uh-huh. You seeing that girl with the curly black hair?”
    “Morales?”
    “That’s the one.”
    “What makes you think I’m seeing her?”
    “She looks at you like you poop rainbows.”
    “Yeah. Well, it’s complicated.”
    “Oh. How’s that?”
    “She’s got a little boy. And she’s still in school. I don’t know. There was a spark that took hold and you know, it just feels good to have someone look at me like I’m special. Especially when Cindy is always in her own world, by herself.”
    “You sleeping with Morales?”
    No answer from Richie.
    “Look at me,” Claire said.
    Rich did what she asked. His eyes were bleary. He didn’t even look happy.
    “People go through stages. It’s hard to find someone like Cindy, someone you love and trust. No one gets to have a relationship all their way all the time.”
    “I like kids,” Richie said. “I like kids a
lot
. It’s not a phase I’m going through.”
    There was a tap on Richie’s window. Lindsay was right there and Claire could see she was feeling crabby. Rich buzzed down the window.
    “Let’s go, okay?” Lindsay said. “I want to get back to the hospital as soon as possible.”

Chapter 62
    THE COOLER WAS packed, what with everyone in there. Conklin, Claire, her two investigators, and I were grouped around a stainless steel table between stacks of drawers full of dead people. No coffee allowed. I needed coffee.
    The investigators were used to the walls of dead people, and to having no caffeine. They were eager to prove themselves.
    Jessica Kain was young and trim, and wore black tights, a baby-doll dress under a thin cotton jacket, and sunglasses pushed up in her streaked blond hair. Jay Dedrick was dark-haired, wiry, and had a tattoo of his wife’s name on his wrist—Jackie.
    The two were friends, but definitely competitive.
    Dedrick took the lead.
    “We went through