Cavanaugh Cold Case by Marie Ferrarella Page B

take in. But it had to be done.
    â€œHer name, please,” Kristin requested.
    He glanced down on the paper in his hand. “The hip belonged to an Abby Sullivan, and you were right. She was seventeen when she had the operation. The last known address her doctor had for her, according to this, was in San Francisco.” He planned to verify that himself right after he left the morgue.
    â€œSan Francisco,” Kristin echoed. “That’s a bit of a ways from here.”
    â€œShe might have just been living there at the time and moved on after she was back on her feet.” His words echoed back to him. “Forgive the pun.”
    Kristin gave him a knowing look. “The pun is probably the least you have to be forgiven for.”
    He placed his hand over his heart. “You wound me, Doc.”
    Her smile was quick and fleeting. “I try my best,” she commented. “Now what?”
    He regarded the sheet of paper that she had handed back to him. “Now I see if I can track down Abby’s family and explain to them why she hasn’t been home for dinner for the last two decades or so.”
    â€œAfter you track their address down...” she began just as he started to leave.
    Malloy stopped and looked at her, waiting for the rest of her sentence. “Yes?”
    â€œLet me know,” Kristin told him. “I want to go with you.”

Chapter 7
    M alloy eyed her uncertainly. He was too young for his hearing to be going. Kristin couldn’t have said what he thought she had.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he apologized. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. You didn’t just say—”
    â€œYes, I did,” she told him. “I want to go with you when you notify the family that Abby Sullivan’s body was found.”
    That didn’t make any sense to him. Why would she actually want to be there? He didn’t want to be there, but it was part of his job to deliver the notification once the victim was identified. To a person, this was deemed to be everyone’s least favorite part of being a detective on the police force.
    â€œDon’t you have enough work to do?” he asked after a moment had gone by and he was able to subdue his surprise over her request.
    Kristin sighed as she looked back at the tables littered with bones. “Oh, more than enough.”
    Malloy was still waiting for this to make some sort of sense to him. “Then why...?”
    He saw the medical examiner raise her chin at the same time that she clenched her jaw. She looked as if she was bracing herself for an argument. He didn’t want to argue with her, he just wanted to understand her reasons.
    â€œBecause,” she answered, “something like this, notifying a family about the death of a loved one, needs to be conveyed by someone with a sympathetic heart.”
    â€œAnd I don’t have a sympathetic heart?” Malloy questioned, then said in all seriousness, “No offense, Doc, but you really have no idea what my ‘heart’ is like.”
    â€œOkay,” Kristin relented, backtracking. “Maybe I used the wrong word. Something like this needs to be conveyed by someone with an empathetic heart,” she corrected. “In other words, someone who’s been through it, been on the receiving end of possibly the worst news they have ever heard and most likely the worst news they will ever hear in their lives.
    â€œThere is no ‘right’ way to do it,” she allowed. “But there are so many wrong ways to break that kind of news, it’s frightening. And, if it is done wrong, it can wind up scarring someone, if not forever, then for a very long, long time.”
    He regarded her thoughtfully, reading between the lines. “This isn’t just an abstract theory that you’re spinning, is it?”
    Her demeanor became impatient. “Do I have to give you a lengthy explanation for everything that comes out of