Minka
MINKA
EARLIER THAT WEEK
I stride through the George Stanley building with my second in charge and best friend in the whole wide world— her description, not mine —by my side. The clock reads eleven in the morning, which means my team waits, again, as I start rounds late.
It’s a failing on my part. Never hitting my morning obligations at the time I say I will. But it’s not because I’m frolicking around the office, gossiping, and fluffing about while everyone else works. As chief medical examiner and director of my own facility, I’m busy from the moment I walk through our doors, dealing with everyone else’s incessant needs.
Questions.
Discussions.
In fact, my team undermines the very purpose of daily rounds by lassoing me as I pass their autopsy suites, dragging me in and asking for my opinion, which then leads to me being late for rounds.
Which, of course, is the reason they grab me when they can.
It’s a nasty, unforgiving cycle I’m determined to remedy.
“Let’s go!” I wave for Doctor Kirk— not of the Star Trek fandom —and lift my chin when he glances up from his desk. Then I stalk into Autopsy Room Three and snag Doctor Flynn’s attention. “I want everyone in my office for rounds. I have a meeting at noon, so if you’re late, you miss out.”
“You’re being a little…” Aubree clears her throat, quick-st epping when I turn away from the door. “Well, harsh seems like the appropriate word. The team is whispering about you behind your back.”
“I have no interest in what people whisper about me. If it’s not said to me, it’s not meant for me.”
“They’re calling you mean.” She strides ahead and pushes another suite door open. “Rounds, Nick. And can you please grab Jen on the way?”
Doctor Nick Torres is heading toward his mid-forties, married, and clearly experienced with mean women. Yet, his brows pop high on his forehead as he studies me in silence. Silence , I’m certain, is the lesson he’s learned from married life.
I spin away from his autopsy room and start back toward my office. “Don’t act as my filter, Doctor Emeri. If I wish to summon my staff to a meeting, I can do so without you beating me to their doors and using words like please and thank you .”
“God forbid we use our manners,” she drawls, one of the few people inside this building not afraid of the big, bad chief and her foul moods. “I’m not naming names, Mayet, but someone mentioned a long, phallic type stick lodged so deep in your ass, it’s tickling your brainstem.”
“Name names,” I glance across and meet her electric blue eyes, “and I’ll deal with their immaturity the best way I know how.”
“Or.” She races me back to my office, skirting past her desk and slamming her hand on my glass door before I can barge through. “You admit you’re experiencing some very large, particularly painful feelings right now as we deal with the fact that Friday is Fifi’s last day here at the George Stanley.”
“No.” I move into my office and bathe in the middle-of-the-day sun that shines through my floor-to-ceiling windows. That sunlight, as we head into winter, keeps me sane when everything else tempts me toward madness. “I’d prefer to work and revel in my reputation as a viperous bitch with no feelings.”
“But you do have feelings.” She shuffles in behind me, closing the door despite my team moving closer. They keep their steps slow, though. They know Aubree can handle the brunt of my bad mood and, frankly, they’re too cowardly to do the same. “You’re sad right now, because Fifi’s leaving us. It’s okay to admit it.”
“I’m not sad!” I stride all the way to the glass wall, then I spin again, pressing my back to the pane and surveying the doctors who watch me the way humans watch apes at the zoo. The glass is there for the spectator’s safety. Only those trained and brave dare breach the barrier. “She’s a grown woman, Aubree. She handed in her resignation. She’s leaving. Because she let her feelings interfere with her job. Had she remained the same stuck-up, prickly jerk she started as, then none of this would have happened. Had her feelings remained unscathed, she wouldn’t have resigned to go work at some other, undisclosed office filled with people who probably suck.”
I glimpse the elevator opening outside my office, and Doctors Raquel and Campbell stepping out to join our meeting.
Raquel is another Aubree, in a sense. Not only isn’t she afraid of my wrath, but she seems to preen under the deadly spotlight. So although the rest of my techs wait outside, she moves past the crowd and barges through the door with a wide smile.
“Why do I get the feeling they’ve,” she jerks a thumb over her shoulder, “paid their admission and you,” she points my way, “are the dangerous beast at the zoo?”
See!?
“Because people bring emotions to the office,” I growl. “We’re educated, grown people who come here to do a job. We autopsy dead people, we write reports, and at the end of the week, we take home just enough money to pay rent and buy a little protein. They ,” I point at Aubree, “think we can all be friends and sing Kumbaya. Yet somehow, I’m the weird one for wanting to maintain a level of professionalism inside this building.”
“I’m trying to help you process the fact our friend is leaving us! The circumstances suck,” Aubree presses. “This isn’t one of those, ‘ she’s going on to bigger, better things with all our love and support ’ situations.”
Ignoring her, I break away from the window and stalk toward my desk to pick up the phone.
“She’s leaving for personal reasons!” Aubree explains. “We get it, Mayet. She’s leaving because of Fletch, and now you’re pissed about it.”
“This is Seraphina,” Fifi answers robotically.
“Get up to my office. We’re doing rounds.”
“But I?—”
“Now.” I slam the phone back into the cradle and turn my ire on my friends. “This entire ordeal could have been avoided if everyone remained professional. But here we are. Let this be a lesson for us all.”
“A lesson to be jerks.” Smirking, Raquel saunters to the single leather couch leftover from the prior chief medical examiner and plops down so her fire-engine red skirt contrasts with the couch’s shiny, dark exterior.
On the other side of the glass wall, Doctor Flynn releases a breath of disappointment .
“Stop being cowards and get in here!” I shove away from my desk and move to the door, swinging the heavy pane open so my team can file in. “You want the comfy chair? You get your behind in my office instead of loitering outside.”
“Jerks,” Raquel singsongs, folding one leg over the other and kicking her booted foot so it makes a gentle arc through the air. Up. Down. Up. Down. Her lips match her skirt, while her hair is as blonde and sleek as Aubree’s. “So we’re doing rounds in your office today, Chief? Don’t we typically need bodies or science to show you what we’re up to?”
“Or you could use your words,” I snipe back. “If you require hands-on assistance, I’ll stop by your lab after lunch.”
Doctor Kirk hesitantly raises his arm like he thinks we’re still in grade school. “Uh, Chief Mayet? If I may?”
I purse my lips—I swear, I’m not trying to come across as a total dick—but the words still roll off my tongue unbidden. “You may.”
“Twenty-three-year-old decedent. Hit and run. Male. Caucasian. Physically fit.”
Not so fit that he couldn’t skip out of the way on time . “Cause of death?”
“Trauma to the skull. Subdural hematoma. Died at the scene.”
“Motor vehicular manslaughter? Homicide or accident?”
“Both, I guess.” He brings his hand up and nervously nibbles on his thumbnail. “Probably was an accident, but the driver took off and is claiming innocence. According to the driver, they witnessed the collision. But it wasn’t them.”
“So it’s your job to prove one way or the other. What do you have?”
“Bruising pattern indicates which model car hit the vic.”
“Sounds like you have it under control, then.” I look at the next person in my line of techs. “Doctor Flynn. What’ve you got?”
“Unattended death. Woman died in her bed approximately ten days ago. Decomp was advanced by the time the neighbors noticed the smell and called it in.”
“You’ve sent everything off to the lab?”
“Yes, Chief. I’ll be writing my preliminary report this morning, pending the case until the tox lab gets back to us.”
Raquel raises her hand. But when she does it, it’s nothing like the innocent and afraid Kirk. Instead, the woman smirks, challenging me with her direct stare. “The tox lab is wildly backed up and too busy to keep up, Chief. We require more hands, or less sideways insults because we’re not moving fast enough to satisfy. ”
“You have more hands.” I look to the handsome and suited Doctor Xavier Campbell. “He is literally your extra staff. He’s new. I’m not paying for more.”
“He’s appreciated,” the woman, half his size and yet, his boss without a doubt, grins. “But we’re still backed up. We cater to half the damn city at the moment, what with your high-profile, annoyingly pretty self always hitting the six o’clock news.”
“ This is a prime example of unprofessionalism in the office.” I point at Raquel, but I snarl for Fifi when she moves through my office door in a tight skirt suit and a hardened face. Her eyes are willow green, far softer than the blue Raquel possesses, but the fierceness in hers plays second fiddle to no one. “Talking about someone’s physical appeal is unnecessary. I am on the news only when I absolutely must be. I do not seek the press out, but I will protect my staff when the vultures descend. We cater to the city only until we’re at capacity. That means if our suites are full, we turn the dead away.” I swing my focus back to Raquel. “Talk less about me, my face, and the stick allegedly up my ass, and work faster. You might find the latter easier to accomplish once you stop wasting your time on the former.”
Aubree hisses under her breath, dropping her gaze and shaking her head. “Mean.”
“Is there a reason I’m here?” Fifi lifts her chin and steels her frame when my eyes slide back to hers. Almost as though my gaze is a physical strike, she prepares for the blow. “I’m working with Callen this week, Chief. My efforts are better spent elsewhere.”
“Your efforts are better spent where your chief commands them. You remain a George Stanley employee until five p.m., this Friday. For every moment between now and then, you’re expected to work, remain professional, and be where I tell you to be.”
She purses her lips. Stubborn and, sure, hurt. But that’s what happens when you let a man screw with your career. Detective Charlie Fletcher hurt her feelings, so bam , she uproots not only her life, but mine, too.
“Where are we with the Giuliano conference?”
“Dead guy found in the bay?” She brings her hand up and studies her nails. “He’s the third in the last month. Detectives Dawson and Jones will make their statement in their own time. The George Stanley’s position is to receive the bodies, autopsy them, and defer to the investigating detectives for their next steps.”
I look at Doctor Catlin and lift a questioning brow. “Giuliano case? ”
“Execution style murder. Short range shot from a nine-caliber pistol. The detectives have run ballistics tests to come to their conclusions.”
“And those conclusions match yours?”
“Yes, Chief. Giuliano didn’t wrap his arm around his own head and shoot himself. This was murder. The case has been pended, awaiting tox results.”
Pursing my lips, I look at Dr. Raquel.
“What?” She throws her hands up in frustration. “We’re working twelve-hour days, Chief. We’re doing what we can and no one on my team is slacking. If you need us to work faster, you need to give me more techs. Until that point in time, there’s nothing more I can do. We’re busting our asses. And this,” she kicks her foot again to indicate leisure. Relaxation. “This meeting is the longest break I’ve had in weeks. So if you could be a little quieter… I’m trying to rest.”
“If that’s all,” Fifi grabs the door again and drags it open. “I’ve left Callen in our office. If we’re done, I’d like to?—”
“We’re not done!” I’m such an asshole ! She’s my friend, and like the hypocrite I am, I’m mad at her for leaving for a reason I consider absolutely, abhorrently lame. I’m bringing emotion to the job. But hell if I can switch it off now. “Doctor Emeri.” I swing my attention to Aubree and stop barely short of growling. “Report.”
“Drug deal gone wrong.” She perches on the edge of my desk, her hands on the wood, framing her thighs, and tilts her head so pink streaks fall forward to tickle her face. “Two dude bros who were, according to their friends, buddies. Seems they were arguing over money or drugs. Perp takes out a knife and throws a fit. Vic is cut a dozen times. Lateral incisions. Death by a thousand cuts, so to speak. Vic bled to death in the common hallway of his apartment building. Cops arrived after it was already too late. Perp was crying over his friend when they got there, plugging holes and attempting to keep him alive. He was arrested with his victim’s blood literally on his hands. Case has been declared homicide. Pended, awaiting toxicology results.”
“Stop ordering labs!” Raquel huffs and shoves up from her seat. “There’s a reason we’re over-worked down there on the seventh floor. You have a dozen autopsy techs sitting pretty up here. We have three lab techs sweating down there. You create a bottleneck when every single one of you requests results. We can’t keep up.”
“We can’t afford more pathologists, Doctor Raquel. So you’re going to keep working, and we’ll continue to order the tests we require to pack a body away and know our t’s are crossed.” I peer over at Doctor Flynn, but my desk phone trills, so I lean across and snag it from the cradle. “This is Chief Mayet.” My eyes fly to Fifi, though I don’t mean them to. Nine times out of ten, when this phone rings, she’s the one on the other end, annoying the crap out of me.
But not today.
Not this week, to be honest.
Because she’s leaving, and her replacement is already manning the phones.
“Hi Chief Mayet.” Callen is young. Shy. Completely wrong for the fiery position she’s been hired for. But did anyone ask my opinion? No . “I have Mayor Lawrence on line three for you.”
“Tell him I’ll?—”
“He said he insists,” she cuts in. Already, she knows to interrupt my rejection and push on. “He said it’s important, Chief.”
“Fine.” I scrunch my eyes closed and count the stars that float in my vision. Then I open them again, blinking until I face a dozen stares pointing right back at me. “Fine. I’ll take the damn call.” I slap my finger to the phone’s cradle to end my discussion with the preppy college graduate, but before I hit the flashing three, I wave my team away. “That was a good meeting.” Lie. Lie. Lie. “I’ll come around later to follow up on anything that needs it. You three,” I point at Aubree first, when she makes a move to push off my desk, then I pin Fifi with my stare, and finally, Raquel, “stay. Everyone else can go.”
“Detention.” Frustrated, Raquel slumps back into the couch and drops her head back until it touches the glass. “I don’t recall agreeing to detention.”
“It’s called work,” I bite out. “We’re still on the clock. I’m not done with you yet, but I have to take this call.” I don’t wait for their agreement. And I sure as hell don’t mention the way Fifi’s perfect eyes flicker with anger. I press the number three and connect my call with one of very, very few men on this planet who get to boss me around. “Mayor Lawrence. My assistant assures me this is important.”
He chuckles. First and foremost, he mocks me for my reasonable request not to be disturbed during my workday. “It’s so good to speak to you, Chief Mayet. How are you?”
“Busy.” I stretch the phone cord and skirt around my desk so I can plop down in my seat. “If this is about the Bayside executions, you’re asking the wrong person. ”
“It’s not about the Bayside executions.” Though at least his voice tightens. His words come out on a growl. Lawrence isn’t some fat, overfed, over-hyped office pig wildly out of touch with the people he represents.
No, the former district attorney, legal eagle, daddy mayor , Mayor Lawrence is all about dirtying his hands and mingling with the people he works with.
“But since you brought it up,” he decides quickly. “Update on the matter?”
“Not my case. Not my cops. Contact Doctor Catlin for information on that. Or better yet, those detectives over at Midtown. I’m not touching this one.”
“As Doctor Catlin’s chief, I defer to your authority,” he drawls. “Update, Mayet?”
Fuck. Me. Sideways. I fight with everything inside of me to hold in the breathy sigh I want so desperately to expel. “Three murders in a month. Execution style. Bullets to the back of their heads. Ballistics align with everything Catlin has said. Same weapon. Same perpetrators. I have no other information for you, so unless you want me to call her to my office and have her bring her notes…”
“No. It’s fine. Current case load?”
“Mine?” I recline in my chair, stare up at the ceiling and wonder, if only for a minute, what it would feel like for the floors above to collapse on top of me. Would it be painful? Quick? Would it keep Fifi here and not some other crappy office she refuses to tell me about? “I’m clear, Mayor. You called in the middle of our morning rounds. That’s where I?—”
“Harass your staff and call it a bona fide meeting. Yeah,” he chuckles again. “I know. You don’t have a current case on your slab right now, so you’re assisting everyone else’s.”
“Essentially.” I nibble on my bottom lip and nod, though my face still points toward the ceiling. “Yes. I’ll make myself available for the next case that rolls through our doors. But until that point?—”
“Well… that’s partially why I’ve called.” He sits back in his chair, too, the squeak of the frame giving him away. “I’ve received word that the Palenti case is set for trial this week.”
“Palenti?” I wrack my brain and work to place that name. “I don’t… Suzanne Palenti? No, that’s in?—”
“New York. Yes, I’m aware.”
“Last I heard, the killer took a deal. Fifteen to life.”
“He reneged, so now it’s going to trial. Expedited, at that. ”
“Expedited? Why?”
“Anthony Palenti was diagnosed with cancer. According to his medical team, he’s got less than a year to live. He wants that year to be on this side of iron bars, so he tossed the deal away.”
“He doesn’t get to walk just because he’s sick! He killed his wife, Justin. Fifteen to life means fifteen to life. Life, being the important word here. If he dies in a year, then I guess that’s how it goes down.”
He only shrugs, the movement of his suit rolling audibly through the line. “You’re headed to trial, Chief. I expect you’ll receive your summons at some point today. First day in court is Thursday.”
“Thursday this week? I’m busy this week.”
“Cute. You just said you were clear,” he tosses right back. “Don’t put a body on your slab, Chief. Have your assistant work out your accommodation and flights. All of which, of course, are taxpayer expenses. Will you travel with your husband?”
“Will I… I…” I have no friggin’ clue what my life is right now. “I don’t know!”
“Would you like my help to make the arrangements? I can have my office confer with yours to ensure you land at JFK, and not, say, Albuquerque.”
“I am perfectly capable of booking my own flights,” I snarl. Though, in reality, I would ask Archer to do it. “Why do you know about this, anyway? New York was not your stomping ground, and you are no longer a D.A.”
“I feel I’ve been abundantly clear on the matter,” he taunts. “I’m checking in on you, . Want to talk about this other stuff that’s bothering you yet?”
“Absolutely not.” I shoot straight in my chair and drop the phone back in its cradle—an infraction I’ll pay for later, no doubt—then I look at my three remaining staff. “I have to go to New York later this week. I need flights to JFK for Thursday, Fifi. No. Wait.” I press my fingers to my eyes and groan. “Probably Wednesday, I suppose. Trial is Thursday. Lawyers will want to talk to me before that. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll figure out my return flights after I talk to them. In fact,” my mind spins a thousand miles an hour, as plans rush ahead faster than I can keep up. Forgoing the phone on my desk, I yank my drawer open and snag my cell instead. “I’ll call Archer.”
“Um… Chief…” Aubree leans closer, as though to whisper a secret. A useless action, really, considering all three of them know about my private life already. Most of it. “I don’t think you’ll be flying commercial anymore. Since you’re, like, rich-adjacent. Did you forget? ”
“I’m not rich!” I unlock my phone and swipe to Archer’s name. “My husband has a portfolio of property and assets that hint toward rich. I, personally, do not.”
“But seeing as how he’s your husband…”
“Shush.” I bring the phone to my ear and wait for my stupidly rich, annoyingly handsome, homicide detective husband to take my call. “Go back to work,” I tell the trio on a soft exhale. “I was gonna talk about the Giuliano case, but now Palenti’s jumped ahead. I’ll call you soon to discuss my flights, Fifi.”
“My name is Seraphina.” The woman in a pencil skirt and silky blouse spins on her heels, happy to be freed, and makes a beeline for the door. “Since we’re discussing professionalism, using the name on my birth certificate would be a good start.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
“Minnnnka?” The line connects and Archer Malone, the flirt, makes my heart skip a beat. “You okay?”