Shallow Graves

first two names?“
    “I think it’s ‘Mahow Tim.’ “
    I went back to the application. Her address was 10 Falmouth Street, Apartment #3 , a zip code in the South End. The owner’s line said “A and T Realty Trust.“ Next to “Relatives“ and “Relationship“ was “Vincent Dani/uncle and landlord.“
    I said, “What about the inspection report?“
    Mullen took a breath that had nothing to do with his departed cigarette. “Wasn’t any.“
    “On a half-million policy?“
    “Jeez, John, I know you’re right. Before we approved the application, there should have been a field agent out there, interviewing present employer, prior employer, neighbors, family—you name it and I’ll agree with you. But we’re so fucking pressed around here, have been for over a year, that nobody ever did it, all right?“
    In the application packet, I turned to the medical exam of Mau Tim Dani, done by a nurse-practitioner. The dead woman was eighteen and a half at the time of the examination six months before. Next to race was a checkmark for “Other“ and the handwritten word “Amerasian.“ Height five eight and a half, weight one-fifteen, hair black, eyes violet. The rest suggested she enjoyed the kind of medical health you’d expect in a drug-free late teen.
    I gave Harry back the application packet. “When did you hear from the beneficiaries?”
    “Next day.“
    “Saturday?“
    “No, I mean next business day. Called us that Monday, a week ago yesterday.“
    “Didn’t waste much time grieving.“
    “Not only that.“
    “What?“
    Mullen dipped into the file and came up with a pink message slip and a piece of stationery. “Guy telephones, then I get a hand-delivered letter yet.“
    “Belt and suspenders.“
    “And real anxious.“
    “What’s this guy’s name?“
    “George Yulin. Types his title as ‘Director’ of the modeling agency.“
    “Types it.“
    “Yeah, like there’s only the letterhead of the agency itself, no individual stationery for the bigshot.“
    “Who’d you have cover the funeral?“
    “Nobody.“
    “Clip the obit?“
    “No.“
    “Christ, Harry—“
    “I know, I know, all right? But I already told you how short we’ve been.“
    I tried to take the edge out of my voice. “Okay. Do we know who’s got the case at Homicide?“
    “Yeah.“ Mullen dipped into the file again, came up with another pink message slip. “Lieutenant Houk, I think it says.“
    Uh-oh. “Let me see that.“
    I looked at somebody’s poor penmanship. “That’s Holt, Harry.“
    “Whatever.“
    “No, not whatever. We’ve got a problem.“
    “What?“
    “Holt and I had a go-round last year. Still has a low opinion of me.“
    “What kind of go-round?“
    “He thought I homed in on one of his cases.“
    “Yeah, but on this one, you got the right to horn in. I can give you a letter and all.“
    I shook my head and returned the slip. “Won’t matter to Holt. He won’t give me squat.“
    Now the pink paper trembled in Mullen’s hand. “Jeez, John, can’t you... like, apologize to the guy or something?“
    I sat back without saying anything.
    The slip trembled some more before he put it down. “What’s the matter?“
    “I’m just wondering.“
    “Wondering what?“
    “You call me in for a heavy case when I didn’t leave the company on exactly the best of terms. Then you want me to stay on the case after I tell you I may not be effective in dealing with the cop assigned to it. Something smell funny to you, Harry?“
    Mullen took a breath and chewed the inside of his cheek, the way he did when he’d been a little shoddy in the old days. Then he came forward, working one hand in the other.
    “Between you and me, John?“
    “Everything has been so far.“
    “No, really. I mean it.“
    “Between you and me, Harry.“
    “The pressure…“ Mullen’s voice got a little scratchy, and he cleared his throat. “The pressure’s worse than I’ve ever seen it. I don’t know if the company’s... I don’t know if Empire’s going to be okay with the economy and all, especially around here.“
    “Go on.“
    “Winningham... You see, this claim, the letter and all, came in when I was up in Portland . We got this new rule. Any claim with a face amount over three hundred thousand has to get
    reported to Home Office.“
    “So?“
    “So Winningham down in New York gets wind of this one when we fax him Yulin’s letter last week. Before he sends us the app’, he calls me and says,