Remember When

them now if Duluc hadn't taken the precaution of locking the exam room doors.
    When the buzzer sounded, indicating she was cleared, Eve slammed the doors open, strode through. The stench under the smear of disinfectant made her eyes water, but she fought back the gag reflex and glowered at Duluc.
    Unlike Morris, who had both wit and style, Duluc was a stern-minded, by-the-book woman. She wore the clear protective suit over a spotless white lab coat and pale green scrubs. Her hair was completely hidden under a skull cap. Goggles hung around her neck.
    She was barely five feet in height, with a chunky build and a face of wide planes. Her skin was the color of roasted chestnuts, and her one good feature-in Eve's opinion-was her hands. They looked as though they could play a mean piano, and were, in fact, greatly skilled at carving cadavers.
    Eve jerked her chin at the draped form on an exam table. "That one mine?"
    "If you mean is that the remains of the victim of your current investigation, yes, it is."
    Duluc's voice always sounded to Eve's ear as if she had a bubble of thick liquid stuck in her throat. As she spoke she washed her hands in a sink. "I told you I'd send through my findings as soon as possible. I don't like being hounded, Lieutenant."
    "You get the tox screen?"
    Duluc stared at her. "Do you have a particular problem understanding me?"
    "No, I understand you just fine. You're stringing me because you're pissed I jumped on you this morning. You're going to have to get over it because she doesn't care we're irritated with each other." She moved toward Andrea. "She just wants us to deal, so we're going to deal."
    "Your on-scene was accurate, as far as cause of death. The single throat wound. A keen, smooth-edged blade. Stiletto perhaps. There are no defensive wounds, no other indications of violence.
    There was no sexual assault or recent sexual activity. Her blood-alcohol was a bit high. I'd estimate she had four vodka martinis with olives. No illegals on the tox. Her last meal was a salad, leafy greens with a lemon dressing, consumed approximately five hours premortem."
    "Do you concur that the attacker was behind the victim?"
    "From the angle of the wound, yes. Given her height, I'd say he or she is about six feet tall.
    Average enough for a man, tall for a woman. All of which will be in my official report, delivered to you in the proper fashion. This is not a priority case, Lieutenant, and we are extremely busy."
    "They're all priorities. You've got a Jane Doe. Crispy critter, brought in from Alphabet City."
    Duluc sighed heavily. "I have no burn victim on my schedule."
    "It's on someone's. I need to see the body, and the data."
    "Then give your case number to one of the attendants. I have other things to do."
    "It's not my case."
    "Then you have no need to see the body or the data."
    She started to walk by, but Eve grabbed her arm. "Maybe you don't know how this works, Duluc, but I'm a lieutenant in Homicide and can damn well see any body that strikes my fancy. As it happens, Detective Baxter, who's primary, is meeting me here as I believe our respective cases may converge. Just keep pissing on me and I promise you, you'll end up drowning in it."
    "I don't like your attitude."
    "Wow. Media alert. I need the Jane Doe."
    Duluc wrenched away and stalked over to a workstation. She keyed in, brought up data. "The unidentified female burn victim is in Section C, room three, assigned to Foster. She hasn't been examined yet. Backlog."
    "You going to clear me?"
    "I've done so. Now if you'll excuse me?"
    "No problem." She swung back out the doors. How do all these people walk around with sticks up their asses? Eve wondered.
    She turned into Section C, gave the door of room three a push and found it secured. "Shit!" She whirled, pointed to an attendant who was sitting in one of the plastic chairs in the corridor, dozing. "You. I'm cleared for this room. Why's it locked?"
    "Duluc. She locks every damn thing. Surprised the vendings aren't wired with explosives." He yawned and stretched. "Dallas, right?"
    "That's right."
    "Getcha in. I was just catching a break. Pulling a double today. Who you coming to see?"
    "Jane Doe."
    "Little Jane. She's mine."
    "You Foster?"
    "Yeah. I just finished an unattended. Natural causes. Guy was a hundred and six, and his second ticker conked on him in his sleep. Good way to go if you gotta."
    He unlocked the door, led them in. "This is not a good way," he added, gesturing to the