An Apple for Zoë ~ The Forsaken Read Online Free PDF Page A

the cabinet and retrieved a pair of latex gloves. Slipping them on he snapped them like a doctor preparing for surgery.  
    "Okay, let's find out exactly who you are," he said reaching inside the envelope until he found the worn brown leather wallet. He sat everything else inside the evidence pouch off to the side. Opening the wallet was the final act of solving the mystery of who the dead man on the table was. At last, a typical unflattering DMV photo revealed the face of the man on the table. It was definitely him. James also noticed the license was recently renewed.  
    "Richard Skylar of Hollywood, California." James furrowed his brow. You're a long way from home Mr. Skylar. What brings you to San Francisco? he wondered as he examined the driver's license intently. Date of birth, January 21, 1924. Height 5 foot 10 inches, weight 160 pounds, eyes blue, must wear corrective lenses.  
    "So where are your glasses?" questioned James, as his attention was turned to the old man's eyes. They were brown, not blue.
    "Wayne, do eyes change color after death?"
    "What do you mean?"
    "I mean, if someone had blue eyes, would they turn brown from decomposition?"
    "I don't know, I don't think so. Why?"
    "This guy has brown eyes and his drivers license records them as being blue."
    "Maybe it's a mistake. You done with that?" asked Stevens, holding out his hand, commanding that James hand over the wallet.  
    "Not really, do you need it now?" asked James.
    "Yeah, I gotta document the contents for the doctor."  
    "Oh, sure thing Wayne, sorry," James said, handing over the wallet to him. The loud buzz of a door buzzer clanged in the next room.  
    "That must be Bobby," said Stevens as he left the room. Moments later Stevens returned with Bobby Stillwell and Kirkland. James smiled at the sight of his comrades.
    "Hey about time there Detective Kirkland, I was starting to feel like I got stood up by my prom date," joked James.
    "Oh baby, you know what I like," said Kirkland is his best Big Bopper impression.
    Stevens shook his head as he helped Stillwell carry in his CSI kits. James crossed to Stillwell and put his hand on the young man's shoulder.
    "Hey kid, you okay? I know this morning was a bit intense."
    "Yeah, thanks Tom, I'm okay. But I have to tell you, I won't be sorry to have this case behind me."
    "I know what you mean," replied James.

    The young CSI began preparing his fingerprint kit. Taking a tube of ink and squeezing just the right amount on to a smooth steel plate. The ink had the look and texture of greasepaint. It reminded James of his days, as a young aspiring actor. Sitting in front of an old cracked mirror at the Palace melodrama theatre where the older actors taught him how to apply greasepaint makeup for maximum effect. He could still hear the director reminding him, "The guy in the back row needs to be able to see everything the guy in the front row sees." It was times like this that made James wish he had tried harder to make his living in the theatre instead of law enforcement. His daydreaming faded as he heard Stillwell talking to Stevens.
    "Wayne, how soon can I print this guy?"
    "After the doctor scrapes and clips the nails."  
    James walked back over to Kirkland, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking as if a nap would better suit him than being the second official witness for the dead. Both men jumped with a start as Roberts stepped into the room. The boom of his hand against the swinging double doors could just as easily have been a gunfighter entering a saloon.
    The tall man looked around the room briefly, his expression flat.  
    "Wayne! Where's the Carlyle girl?"
    Stevens began to stutter as Roberts slapped his notepad down on the counter. "She's in the walk-in. I thought you wanted to do the John Doe first," said Stevens, trying to soften the news that he had made the wrong choice.
    "NO! The Carlyle case is far more involved than any damn hanging," shouted Roberts.
    Definitely Mr.