Read Online Riding the Snake (1998) by Stephen Cannell - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen Cannell
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confidential case-related information to old homies. He didn't have any evidence, so he couldn't suspend her. As a result, she had been banished to Asian Crimes, where she was now trying, without luck, to talk suspicious Asians into communicating with her.
Now, because of Chinese New Year, she had finally caught a squeal. She looked down at the clipboard where the green slip fluttered in the breeze from the open window. She wondered what she would find at 2467 Clarkson.
"Whose vomit is this?" Tanisha asked a lab tech. "Is this the vic's puke? This smells like booze."
Cindy Masatomi was a Japanese forensic scientist who worked for the LAPD Crime Lab. She was in a blue hospital jumpsuit with paper slippers and headgear. Tanisha had worked a few cases with her when she'd still been on Crash.
"Belongs to the guy outside ... the good-looking one wh o f ound the body."
Tanisha nodded. She'd seen him when she came in. He was dressed like a golf pro, leaning against a new red Jag like he owned the neighborhood. She had already made a cursory check of th e b ody and instantly knew that she was looking at a punishment kill. Punishment and a warning. The person being warned here was the thirty-year-old Chinese man in the picture on top of the victim's body. It was a Triad message. A picture placed on a body meant: "You're going to get this next." She'd been reading about this stuff now for almost six months. Some of these Asian gangs, like the Bamboo Dragons and the Ghost Shadows, made her old neighborhood set seem quaint by comparison. The corpse was probably the homeowner, Angie Wong. The body was too mutilated for anybody to make a visual ID, but dental records and prints should nail it. One strange thing: On her forehead, in Magic Marker, was written "1414." She didn't know what that meant. She'd never seen it before. The body looked fresh, no lividity, no rigor, no insect infestation. She had already asked Cindy for a T . O. D . estimate, which the lab tech would do with a liver thermometer. After she rolled the corpse, Cindy would drive the pointed thermometer down into the liver, which was a chemical factory and the hottest organ in the body, usually 102 degrees. It cooled about a degree an hour. They could estimate time of death by rate of temperature loss.
Tanisha wondered if there was a Death Doll anywhere. The Chinese Bamboo gangs were big on death symbols. It wasn't enough to just kill you, they had to scare the piss out of you first. The Death Doll was often used as one way to do this, the picture on the corpse was another.
She knew there wasn't much she could do with the crime scene until the lab techs finished with the body, did a hair and fiber scan, and bagged the vic's hands. She went outside and started digging around in a residential Dumpster out back. She had her head down in the metal container, trying to move an old box of cereal out of the way, when she heard:
"What're you doing?"
She jerked her head out of the trash and was looking at the man who had found the body. The residue of vomit on his shirt and linen pants confirmed him as the upchucker who had hurled all over her crime scene.
She got a better look at him now. Her immediate impression was that she'd seen him before, that she knew him from somewhere and he'd pissed her off, but beyond that, she couldn't place him. Up close, he looked like he thought that even with vomit all over him, he was still somehow totally irresistible. Maybe her reaction to him was chemical or maybe she was just horribly upset at the sight of the dead woman cut to ribbons, but she instantly took a dislike to the handsome man standing in front of her. She put on her police poker-face and addressed him with cold departmental politeness.
"You want to step back? This is a crime scene," she said and watched as he looked for a place to stand. "Over there," she commanded and pointed to a spot on the driveway. She followed him over and took out a notebook and pen.
"I'm
Now, because of Chinese New Year, she had finally caught a squeal. She looked down at the clipboard where the green slip fluttered in the breeze from the open window. She wondered what she would find at 2467 Clarkson.
"Whose vomit is this?" Tanisha asked a lab tech. "Is this the vic's puke? This smells like booze."
Cindy Masatomi was a Japanese forensic scientist who worked for the LAPD Crime Lab. She was in a blue hospital jumpsuit with paper slippers and headgear. Tanisha had worked a few cases with her when she'd still been on Crash.
"Belongs to the guy outside ... the good-looking one wh o f ound the body."
Tanisha nodded. She'd seen him when she came in. He was dressed like a golf pro, leaning against a new red Jag like he owned the neighborhood. She had already made a cursory check of th e b ody and instantly knew that she was looking at a punishment kill. Punishment and a warning. The person being warned here was the thirty-year-old Chinese man in the picture on top of the victim's body. It was a Triad message. A picture placed on a body meant: "You're going to get this next." She'd been reading about this stuff now for almost six months. Some of these Asian gangs, like the Bamboo Dragons and the Ghost Shadows, made her old neighborhood set seem quaint by comparison. The corpse was probably the homeowner, Angie Wong. The body was too mutilated for anybody to make a visual ID, but dental records and prints should nail it. One strange thing: On her forehead, in Magic Marker, was written "1414." She didn't know what that meant. She'd never seen it before. The body looked fresh, no lividity, no rigor, no insect infestation. She had already asked Cindy for a T . O. D . estimate, which the lab tech would do with a liver thermometer. After she rolled the corpse, Cindy would drive the pointed thermometer down into the liver, which was a chemical factory and the hottest organ in the body, usually 102 degrees. It cooled about a degree an hour. They could estimate time of death by rate of temperature loss.
Tanisha wondered if there was a Death Doll anywhere. The Chinese Bamboo gangs were big on death symbols. It wasn't enough to just kill you, they had to scare the piss out of you first. The Death Doll was often used as one way to do this, the picture on the corpse was another.
She knew there wasn't much she could do with the crime scene until the lab techs finished with the body, did a hair and fiber scan, and bagged the vic's hands. She went outside and started digging around in a residential Dumpster out back. She had her head down in the metal container, trying to move an old box of cereal out of the way, when she heard:
"What're you doing?"
She jerked her head out of the trash and was looking at the man who had found the body. The residue of vomit on his shirt and linen pants confirmed him as the upchucker who had hurled all over her crime scene.
She got a better look at him now. Her immediate impression was that she'd seen him before, that she knew him from somewhere and he'd pissed her off, but beyond that, she couldn't place him. Up close, he looked like he thought that even with vomit all over him, he was still somehow totally irresistible. Maybe her reaction to him was chemical or maybe she was just horribly upset at the sight of the dead woman cut to ribbons, but she instantly took a dislike to the handsome man standing in front of her. She put on her police poker-face and addressed him with cold departmental politeness.
"You want to step back? This is a crime scene," she said and watched as he looked for a place to stand. "Over there," she commanded and pointed to a spot on the driveway. She followed him over and took out a notebook and pen.
"I'm
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