Hour Game

They asked for Sylvia Diaz at the front desk. The receptionist made a phone call, and a slender bespectacled man appeared. In his late twenties or early thirties the man sported a goatee and was dressed in scrubs. He introduced himself as Kyle Montgomery, Sylvia's assistant.

"She's just finishing up," he said in a monotone voice, although his eyes widened at the sight of the statuesque Michelle. "She said to bring you back to her office."

"How long have you worked here?" asked King.

Kyle squinted at him suspiciously. "Why does that matter?"

"I was just asking," he replied.

"I'm a private guy," retorted Kyle.

"I bet you went to UVA, didn't you?" asked Michelle. "What a great school," she added, smiling at him and drawing closer.

King watched with an amused expression as his partner proceeded to use her "feminine wiles" to coax information out of Kyle. She very rarely did this, but King knew it could be very effective. Kyle probably had nothing important to divulge, but it was helpful to have information on all the persons involved in the investigation.

Kyle quickly turned all his attention toward her. "Graduated pretty high up in my class," he said pompously. "I wanted to stay in the area, so I worked at UVA Hospital for a few years and then got my P.A. certification. But I got laid off from an oncology practice, and the bills started mounting up. Then this job came open. Presto, I'm a morgue tech. Thank you, God," he added sarcastically.

Michelle said, "It takes a very special person to do that sort of work."

"Yeah, it does," Kyle said cockily. "But I'm also Dr. Diaz's physician's assistant in her medical practice next door. She's there now treating a couple of patients. She actually hired me for both positions. It's a little bit of a juggling act, going back and forth, but at least the two offices are hooked together. And we don't have many deaths here that require autopsies. Hey, but that might be changing, right? Lots of action all of a sudden. Wrightsburg is really growing up. Yeah, baby." Kyle actually smiled at this.

Michelle, Williams and King exchanged disgusted glances as they followed him back.

Sylvia's office was everything Michelle imagined it would be. Very neat and orderly, tastefully decorated, at least by morgue standards, with warm feminine touches here and there to help dispel the cold, antiseptic atmosphere that dominated elsewhere in the building. On a coat rack near the door hung a woman's jacket, oversize bag and hat. On the floor next to the rack was a pair of dress shoes.

"She's very particular."

Michelle glanced over to see Kyle smiling at her. "The medical office is the same way. And Doc doesn't like to track stuff into the autopsy room, even though it's not like the most sterile place-pretty dirty, in fact. We have a locker room where we put on scrubs and shields, but sometimes I think she'd rather change out here for fear of contaminating some piece of evidence. I say get a life."

"Actually, it's nice to hear there are still dedicated people," said King stiffly.

While Kyle hung by the doorway waiting for his boss, Michelle ran her gaze around the rest of the room. On the shelf behind Sylvia's desk were several photos of a man either alone or with Sylvia. She picked one up and showed it to King with a questioning look.

"That's George Diaz, her late husband," he explained.

"She still has his pictures displayed at work?"

"I guess she really loved the guy."

"So how come you're not still seeing each other? Were there issues?" she asked in a playful tone.

"You're my business partner, not my shrink," he shot back.

A moment after Michelle put the photo back, Sylvia appeared in the doorway.

"Thank you, Kyle," she said curtly.

"Right," he said, and he and his superior smile marched off.

"Does your assistant have a slight attitude, or is it just us?" asked King.

Sylvia slipped off her lab coat and hung it on a hook on the door. Michelle took a moment to look the other woman over. A little under medium height, she was dressed in black slacks and a white linen shirt. She wore no jewelry, presumably because of her work. An earring or ring ending up in a corpse's slit-open stomach would probably not be a good thing. Her skin was smooth and lightly freckled around the jawline. Her red hair was tied back in a bun, revealing perfectly formed ears and a long, slender neck. Her brow was furrowed, and her look was one of distraction as she sat behind her desk.

"Kyle just turned thirty and doesn't really want to be here."

"I guess it's hard to pick up women in bars with the line ‘Want to check out some great corpses?'" said Michelle.

"I think Kyle's dream is to be in a world-famous rock band," said Sylvia.

"Right, along with twenty million other guys," said King. "He needs to get over it. I did when I was seventeen."