Coroner Malcolm Wilson sat across from Sam rubbing his rheumy eyes with a closed fist. In Sam"s opinion, the coroner smelled worse than some of the deads he had bagged back in L.A. Either the coroner had been lapping up a little of the preserving fluids in the lab, or the guy was toasted. The eyes were definitely a clue the old guy liked his booze.
“I don"t know what could have happened, Mr. Lerner,” Wilson told Sam between belches. “I"m talking to you out of courtesy of course, as you have no jurisdiction in these parts.”
“I no longer have any jurisdiction in any parts,” Sam shrugged.
“But you introduced yourself as a friend of Leon Duval.”
“As I said, I"m helping out at his request.”
“I see.” When Wilson leaned back in his chair and scratched his temple, an ill-fitting toupee readju
