Page 50 of Manner of Death
Giving his arm a gentle squeeze, Bashir asked, “When was the last time you ate?”
That seemed to bring Sawyer up short. “Uh…”
“Coffee doesn’t count.”
The faintest wisp of a laugh escaped him, and he shrugged heavily. “It’s been a while.”
Bashir grunted. “And I assume you drove yourself here?”
Sawyer nodded.
“Mmhmm.” Bashir gestured at the van. “Come on. We’re going to drop off Mr. Simpson, and then you’re going to stuff some food in your face before you collapse.”
Sawyer’s eyes widened and flicked toward the van. “We’re… We’re not eating at the morgue, are we?”
Bashir blinked innocently. “Why not? We have all those refrigerators right there, so…”
Just as he’d hoped, Sawyer actually laughed with some feeling, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Oh my God. Gross.”
Chuckling, Bashir nudged him toward the passenger side of the van. “Get in. Let’s go.”
Sawyer stiffened, glancing back toward the small crowd of cops still managing onlookers. “I should…”
“You’re signed out of the scene, right?”
Sawyer blinked a couple of times as if he genuinely couldn’t recall.
Bashir took out his phone, and he called the officer who’d been in charge of signing people in and out of the scene. Once he’d confirmed that Sawyer had, in fact, signed out, he ended the call and again sent him to the passenger seat.
Stubbornness flashed across Sawyer’s face, but it was no match for the exhaustion or—Bashir guessed—hunger. He nodded and meekly went around to the side of the van.
Alone, Bashir stole a moment to give in to his own fatigue, releasing a breath and rolling his shoulders.
Then he went around to the driver’s side, and they headed downtown to the morgue.
As soon as Bashir closed and latched the drawer where Colby Simpson would spend tonight, the third of the three men on his shit list made an appearance.
“What the hell is this, Ramin?” Boyce slammed a file folder down on the empty exam table. “You want to tell me why you’re undermining me? Again?”
Bashir blinked. Then he glanced at Sawyer, who was definitely a few degrees closer to awake now, alert in that way cops always were when a situation got tense. Bashir kept his tone measured, not so much to calm down his heated colleague, but to signal to Sawyer that he had things under control.
“I’m not undermining you, Andy.” Bashir picked up the folder. “What’s going on?”
“This death was clearly a suicide. And now when the decedent’s employer gets sued by the family over the”—he made viciously sarcastic air quotes—“‘accidental’ death, the attorneys are going to rip me apart for being incompetent.”
Bashir skimmed over the notes, including the ones he’d included disputing Boyce’s conclusion. Ultimately Bashir made the final decision as the medical examiner, but anything made in writing—including Boyce’s erroneous conclusion that the death was a suicide—was subject to discovery. In the very likely event of a lawsuit, Boyce’s credibility and competence would be ripped to shreds in whatever way the various lawyers thought it could benefit their cases. Bashir would, not for the first time in his career, have to testify and walk the fine line between defending his own decision to override Boyce and defending his colleague’s competence.
He couldn’t fucking wait.
Holding on to his calm by his fingernails, Bashir said coolly, “I’m not risking my position or my license to avoid bruising your ego.”
“Uh-huh. And I’ll bet you lose all kinds of sleep at night over making me look like an asshole while you’re the star of the show.”
Only his familiarity with Boyce’s temper kept Bashir from rolling his eyes, but he did abandon the calm, even tone. “Of course, you’ll gloss right over how much I’m risking my professional reputation every time I choose not to fire you over something like this.” Sliding the folder back across the table to Boyce, he added, “This is why I don’t assign you to the major cases. I would suggest you either review this report and figure out exactly how you went wrong, or you update your résumé.”
Boyce’s nostrils flared as he snatched up the folder. “Are you threatening me, Bashir?”
“I’m letting you know, as your direct supervisor, that I’m not going to continue to cover for you, and I’m not going to continue putting up with the disrespect.” It had been so tempting to include insubordination in there, but he was already prodding at a sore spot. Boyce despised Bashir’s position as his supervisor. He loathed Bashir’s status as county medical examiner and as the man with the power to fire or demote him. Usually, Bashir was careful to avoid nudging those landmines, but in the interest of making a point, he was stomping on them now. “Am I clear, Dr. Boyce?”