Doubling Back

The morgue was even colder than before. The furnace was struggling, or maybe the janitor was selling the coal on the black market. Pulaski didn't blame him. Everyone had a side hustle. Some led to death.

Dr. De Lange was leaning over a small table, cleaning a set of calipers.

-You’re back, Pulaski. Did you forget your hat?

-I found the weapon, Pulaski said.

He pulled the page with the blue Sipo-SD stamp from his pocket. He held it out, but he didn't let go of it.

-A desk seal, Pulaski said. Brass. Heavy. About this size.

The doctor put down the calipers. He walked over to Berger Frelinghuysen’s body. He looked at the purple-black bruise on the neck, then back at the stamp on the paper.

-The diameter is a match, De Lange said, his voice clinical. A strike from a heavy, flat object would cause exactly this kind of subcutaneous hemorrhaging.

-A stamp, Pulaski muttered. Stamped him right into the next world.

Pulaski looked past the doctor. In the corner of the room, on a secondary slab, sat a new guest. He was a man in his fifties, wearing a coat that was more patches than wool. His face was a map of hard miles.

-Not a homicide I take it? Pulaski asked.

-Found him half an hour ago, the doctor said, turning back to his tea. He was tucked behind a crate of engine parts. No papers, no money. Nothing.

-Another debt collector?

-Collecting his own debts maybe. A train hopper. The gendarme who brought him in said he probably tried to jump a moving freight and caught a lungful of freezing air instead. Heart just quit.

Pulaski walked over to the corner. He looked at the man's hands. They were large, calloused, and stained with grease. Despite the rags, the man had a sturdy frame. He looked like a laborer.

-He’s got a solid face, Pulaski said.

-He’s got a dead face, detective. Like all the others. He’ll be in a potter's field by Tuesday. Nobody claims the rail-jumpers.

Pulaski He looked at the vagrant, then back at the bureaucrat on the porcelain slab. Two men who had run out of time in a city running out of space.

-Sure, Pulaski muttered.

He walked toward the stairs.

-Keep the rail-jumper on the bottom shelf, Doc. He looks like he’s had a long trip. He deserves the rest.

-It’s not a problem, De Lange called out.

Pulaski climbed the stairs back to the gray light of the street. He had the weapon confirmed. Now he just needed to find the desk it belonged to.