G Is for Gumshoe

said.
    He glanced at me. "The one she was asking for."
    "So I'm told," I said. "Do you have any idea what it was?"
    "Well, I can tell you what she said, but I don't think it means much. She kept saying it was summer. 'Tell her it used to be summer…' Is that significant?"
    "Not to me," I said. In her mind, it was probably connected to the long rambling tale she'd told me down at the desert. Emily and the earthquake, the Harpster girls and Arthur James. "That's all she said?"
    "That's the only thing I heard."
    "Will there be an autopsy?"
    "Probably. We put a call through to the coroner's office and a deputy's on the way. He'll talk to the pathologist and decide if it's warranted."
    "Which pathologist? Dr. Yee or Dr. Palchak?"
    "Dr. Palchak," he said. "Of course, the deputy may just go ahead and authorize us to sign the death certificate."
    "What about Agnes? Can we see her?"
    He nodded. "Of course. She's just down the hall here. Whenever Mrs. Gersh is ready, the nurse will take you in."
    Agnes had been moved temporarily to a little-used examining room at the end of the hall. Once we were gone, she'd be wheeled down to the basement and left in the refrigerated darkness of the morgue. Dietz waited in the hall with Clyde while Irene and I stood silently beside the gurney on which her mother lay. Death had smoothed many of the lines from her face. Under the white sheeting, she seemed small and frail, her beaky nose protruding prominently from the peaceful folds of her face.
    There was a discreet knock at the door. A young uniformed police officer came into the room and introduced himself. He'd brought Agnes in and he talked to Irene briefly about his encounter with her mother. "She seemed like a very nice person, ma'am. I just thought you might like to know she didn't give me any trouble…"
    Irene's eyes brimmed. "Thank you. I appreciate that. Was she in pain? I can't stand to think about what she must have gone through."
    "No, ma'am. I wouldn't say so. She might have been confused, but she didn't seem to be in pain or anything like that."
    "Thank God for that. Did she ask for me?"
    Color tinted his cheeks. "I couldn't say for sure. I know she mentioned somebody named Sheila."
    "Sheila?" Irene said blankly.
    "I'm pretty sure that was it. She did cry some. She said she was sorry to be a bother. I kept talking to her, telling her everything was fine. She quieted down after that and seemed all right till we got here. I know the staff did everything possible to save her. I guess sometimes they just go like that."
    Irene's chin began to quiver. She pressed a handkerchief to her mouth while she shook her head, whispering. "I had no idea she was dying. My God, if we'd only hurried we might have been here in time…"
    The officer shifted uneasily. "I'll step out in the waiting room and finish filling out my report. I believe the sheriff's deputy's out there now. He'll need some information as soon as you're up to it." He moved out into the hall, leaving the door ajar.
    After a moment, Clyde came in. He put his arm around Irene's shoulder and walked her out toward the reception area. Before the door closed again, I caught a glimpse of the sheriff's deputy in the corridor, conferring with his STPD counterpart. I gathered the city police had reported the death to the county coroner's office since Agnes was listed as missing and the last hours of her life were still unaccounted for. The coroner would make a determination as to the circumstances, manner, and cause of death. If she should be classified as a homicide victim, the city police would assume responsibility for the criminal investigation. I was guessing the death would be considered "nonreportable" in coroner's terms, but that remained to be seen. An autopsy might be done in any event.
    Alone with the body, I lifted one corner of the sheet, reaching for the cool, unyielding flesh of Agnes's left hand. Her knuckles were scraped. Two nails were broken. On her ring finger and her pinkie there was soil impacted under the nails. The receptionist came into the room behind me. I slipped her hand under the sheet again and turned. "Yes?"
    "Mr. Gersh said to tell you he's taking his wife out to the car. The other gentleman is waiting."
    "What happened to her personal effects?"
    "There wasn't much. Dr. Stackhouse set aside the articles of clothing for disposition by the coroner. She didn't have anything else with her when she was brought in."
    I scribbled a note to Dr. Palchak, asking