He opened the door for Morales, who was looking terrific in tight jeans, a man-tailored shirt, and a fitted camel-hair jacket. Her dark hair was loose and bouncy. She had a very fresh and inviting look about her. An al
l-American girl by way of Scotland and Mexico. She smelled good, too.
“Did the victim turn out to be Professor Judd?” Morales asked Conklin. She stood close enough for Conklin to see down into her cleavage.
“It’s him,” Conklin said. “If you believe this psychic stuff, then Perry Judd dreamed his own death. He didn’t see the shooter in his dream, because he was shot from behind.”
“I’m on the fence about precognition,” Morales said. “But I believe that Professor Judd believed it.”
“I’m open to other ideas,” Conklin said.
He held the door to the autopsy suite for Morales, then followed her in. Claire was weighing Perry Judd’s liver when they got there.
Once again, Conklin felt the cold shock of guilt. A day ago he had been sitting with Perry Judd upstairs in Interview 2. Now the little guy’s chest was open like a book and his guts were overlapping the rim of a stainless steel bowl.
Morales said, “Dr. Washburn, I’ll run that bullet out to the lab for you. Save some time.”
“It’s in the envelope on the table over there,” Claire said. “Thanks for helping out.”
“Happy to do it,” said Morales. “See you later, Rich.”
Morales left with the semimangled round Claire had taken out of Perry Judd’s skull. Claire said to Conklin, “The shooter was standing three to five feet behind the victim when he fired. There was no stippling around the wound.”
“Can you confirm that the cause of death was the gunshot wound to the back of the head?”
“Yes. I can say that—conditionally,” said Claire. “It’s still off the record until I finish here, in about six hours.”
Conklin nodded at Claire, then went back upstairs to the squad room. He was transferring his notes to the case file when Charlie Clapper called him on his cell phone.
“Here’s something that will make your ears stand up,” Clapper said. “The round fired from the gun matches the one Claire took from Perry Judd’s head, so we definitely have the murder weapon. And I’m not done yet.”
“Go ahead,” Conklin said. Brady appeared out of nowhere and was standing over him, looking frayed and impatient.
“The murder weapon is registered to the victim,” Clapper said.
“What? You’re sure about that?”
“Yes, I am sure. A hundred percent sure.”
“Any prints? Please say yes.”
“Wiped clean.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Conklin ended the call, said to the lieutenant, “Perry Judd was shot dead with his own gun. And no, he didn’t shoot himself in the back of the head. The killer was three to five feet behind him. But it still makes no sense. The professor dreams his own death without knowing it. And then someone shoots him with his own gun.
“What do you make of this, boss?” Conklin said. “Because it seems way off the hook to me.”
“This just came from the aquarium,” Brady said, putting two disks down on Conklin’s desk. “Let’s go to the video.”
Chapter 80
CONKLIN SAT AT his computer, screening the surveillance footage from the aquarium.
He was looking for the moment that the professor was shot, and it was hard to see very much. The surveillance camera was old and its focal point was indeterminate. The dark areas of the aquarium were lit with pin lights that burned hot spots in the video and made the unlit areas seem even darker.
Conklin skimmed the footage, running it forward and back, looking for the professor. Then he saw him.