Read Online Death Without Company by Craig Johnson - Free Book Online

or two. “Mr. McDermott?”
    “Yes?”
    It was a young voice, a little hesitant, and not what I was expecting. I stared at the door handle in my hand as the strong smell of formaldehyde and hospital antiseptic overpowered everything. “Walt Longmire, I’m the sheriff here.”
    There was a pause. “I’m almost finished with this part. I’ll be out in about five minutes.”
    I closed the door and walked to the nurse’s desk. There was a coffee pot steaming on the back counter, but nobody was there, so I picked up the phone, dialed nine, and the office. As it rang, I thought about my inability to go in and witness yet another autopsy. Maybe it was because it was Mari Baroja and I had already summoned up a romantic image of her, maybe it was memories of Vonnie, but you spared yourself what you could.
    “Absaroka County Sheriff ’s Department.”
    “I’d like to report my holiday spirit as missing.”
    She laughed. “I was just writing your Post-its.”
    “How’s the new kid doing?”
    “He’s wonderful. How can we keep him?”
    “Well, we’ve already disabled his vehicle.”
    “Lenny Rowell’s uniforms were still in the supply closet. They’re a little loose on him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s out with Vic right now.” Her voice got low, even though I knew there wasn’t anybody else in the office. “I think she’s on her best behavior. Well, as best as she can be. Walt, where are you?”
    “I’m still here at the hospital, waiting on the results from Mari Baroja’s autopsy and making a little list . . .” I became aware of someone standing behind me, so I pushed off the counter and turned to face Bill McDermott. He was a medium-sized young man with sloped shoulders and a haircut like a blond Beatle, from their Liverpool days. He was probably in his thirties, with a childlike face that carried an innocence that was only partly diminished by one of the bloody gloves still on his hand. Bill was evidently a part of the new order of coroners who were qualified medical examiners. I had a suspicion, however, that Mr. McDermott had not been elected. “I’ve got to go.” I hung up the phone and looked at the altar boy. “Mr. McDermott, I presume?”
    He nodded a bashful smile, looked at my gun belt, and then my star. “Hello, Sheriff?”
    I moved around the desk. I was thinking that a little distance between us might help put him at ease. “Bill, why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee?”
    He didn’t respond but watched as I poured us a couple of Styrofoam cups full. “Is there any cream?”
    I offered him one of the powdered packets from the tray and was relieved that he peeled off the glove and dropped it into a waste can marked with a red biohazard sticker. He took the packet, tore it open, and dumped it into the cup. I took a sip of my coffee. “Yellowstone County has dropped the coroner system?”
    “Yes.”
    “The king is dead, long live the king.”
    “Both puns intended?” He looked at my blank face and continued. “He’s dead. I did the autopsy on Eddie Cole. It’s how I got the job.”
    “How’d he die?”
    He took a sip of his coffee. “Suicide. He had an old Cadillac in his garage. Just climbed in, started her up, and took a nap. He left a note.”
    “What’d it say?” I had to ask.
    “ ‘When you perform the intermastoid incision, make sure the front quadrant is large enough for the frontal craniotomy. Most beginners make a hash of the thing.’ ”
    “Professional to the last.” I nodded toward the operating room. “What’ve we got in there?”
    He lowered his cup. “Caucasian, female, approximately mid- to late seventies, lifelong smoker, and the scars. I’ve just finished the thoracic-abdominal incision, exposed the pericardial sac, and took a blood sample.”
    “Excuse me, but did you say scars?”
    “The ones on her back.” He looked at me as if it were something I should have known. “A mass of scar tissue. It looks as though they were administered