Out Cold Read Online Free Page A

M.E.’s report yet, but there was massive internal bleeding, not to mention a seriously depressed body temperature.”
    â€œI figure if I’d realized she was bleeding when I first found her…”
    I wanted her to tell me that there was nothing I could’ve done. That the girl was beyond help when I brought her into the house. That I did everything I could. That it wasn’t my fault.
    She shook her head. Her dark eyes were liquid and sympathetic. “I doubt there was anything you could’ve done, Mr. Coyne. She was out in the cold all night. She was probably dead when you found her.”
    â€œDo they know why she was bleeding?”
    â€œThe ER doc who looked at her figures it was a miscarriage,” said Mendoza. “All that blood, it was leaking from her vagina.”
    â€œJesus.” I blew out a breath. “A miscarriage. Or an abortion, huh?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know any more than what I just told you.” She hesitated. “A miscarriage is the same thing as a spontaneous abortion, you know. They’re synonyms.”
    I shrugged. “I was thinking of the nonspontaneous kind of abortion.”
    â€œAbortions are quite safe, Mr. Coyne.”
    â€œNot if they’re performed by amateurs.”
    She nodded. “Good point. We’ll see what the M.E. has to say about that.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œWhen?…”
    â€œWhen will we have the M.E.’s report?”
    She shook her head. “It depends.”
    â€œOn?”
    â€œIf there is suspicion of a homicide, or—”
    â€œWould an amateur abortion qualify as homicide?”
    She nodded. “You bet.” She hesitated. “Until her body is identified, it’s doubtful that the M.E. will make this a priority case.”
    â€œSince she wasn’t stabbed or strangled or shot or something?”
    â€œThat’s how it works.”
    â€œIt was an unattended death,” I said.
    â€œRight. It is a Medical Examiner’s case.” She shook her head. “Just not a high-priority one. The M.E.’s office has a lot of cases. Nobody’s clamoring for action on an unidentified teenager, probably a runaway, some street kid who seems to have died of natural causes.”
    â€œWhat if I clamored for action?” I said.
    Mendoza smiled.
    â€œOr you. You could clamor.”
    â€œI could. It’s not that—”
    â€œAn illegal abortion gone bad is not natural.”
    â€œTrue,” she said. “But we don’t know that’s what it was.”
    â€œShe was just a kid,” I said. “A pretty young girl.”
    â€œYes,” she said, “I know. Don’t get me wrong. I’m with you. I intend to clamor. But you’ve got to understand how it works. Most likely, besides being pretty and young, this little girl was also a runaway. A stray. Probably a shoplifter or a hooker or a crack addict. All those things, maybe. She got pregnant, no place to go, nobody to take care of her, something went wrong, and she died all alone in the snow. All we can really do is check the missing-children files and look for a match.”
    â€œRun her description through your computers, huh?”
    Mendoza turned to face me. She was smiling and shaking her head. “You watch way too much television, Mr. Coyne. This isn’t CSI , you know. Nowhere is CSI that I know of. Yeah, we got some stuff on our computers. You can get stuff on your computer, too, for that matter. But here in Boston what we’ve mainly got is old-fashioned steel cabinets crammed with files, and more files piled on desks and tables that haven’t gotten put into the cabinets yet. Manila folders with reams of photos of missing people. Babies and teenagers, mothers and fathers, Alzheimer’s victims and Gulf War vets. They run away, they wander off and get lost, they get kidnapped. They might end up in California or Mexico. They might end up