Corpse Whisperer Torn, page 11
Rico and I took our customary seats in front of his desk. We’d sat in those chairs so often that our butt shapes were molded into what was left of the leather. I gripped the shredded arms of my chair and braced for the worst. These update meetings always ended badly for at least one of us—usually me.
Rico cut to the chase. “Phoenix Innovations refused us access to conduct the environmental sweep. They also rescinded their agreement to provide the requested documents and security footage.”
“I said to give me good news, De Palma. That isn’t good news.”
“No, sir. Agent McMillen is requesting a federal warrant even as we speak.”
“Bah,” he said, shaking his head. “That gives them time to destroy evidence.”
That was technically true, but I had the feeling Blake Devlin wasn’t too worried about our warrant. Someone as slick as she was would have buried her skeletons deep.
Rico sucked in a breath. “There’s more. Doc got two more bodies at the morgue last night. Both runners, both suspected heart-attack victims, that turned and had to be put down.”
Cap ran his hand over his bald head. “Jesus. What the hell’s going on? We need to find out why Messmer and the runners were targeted—what they had in common.”
I leaned forward and planted my elbows on Cap’s desk.
“We’re making headway,” Rico said. “Messmer’s tox screen results came back. Doc ruled his death a homicide caused by aconite poisoning. The presentation is similar to that of a heart attack. Doc’s asking that the runner’s samples be run through the same battery of tests as Messmer’s to look for the poison.”
Cap nodded. “That’s a start. What about Kleinfeld?”
I chimed in. “I had Doc check his COD in his records. He died of that arrhythmia condition, same as Messmer. So we need to see what Kleinfeld had in common with Messmer and the runners. What ties them all together.”
“That’s a solid plan. Run with it.”
Rico rose from his chair. “We’re on our way now to the ME’s office to go through Messmer’s effects. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Pretty Boy Swag” blared from my phone. Vinny was calling. Whatever he wanted would have to wait. I fished my cell out of my pocket, put it to my mouth, and didn’t give him an opening.
“Vinny, let me call you back. I’m in a—”
“I’ve got Kleinfeld pinned down! What should I—”
The line went dead.
“Hello…Vinny? Vinny, where are you?”
Dead air screamed from the other end.
“Answer me, damn it!” The display screen faded, and the call disappeared.
Dollar signs flashed before my eyes.
“Rico, pull up Vinny’s cell on your tracker app,” I said, scrambling out of my chair. “Sorry, Cap, gotta run. We were pretty much done here, right?”
18
I JUST NEED TO BREATHE
Rico punched Vinny’s cell number into the tracker app and smiled. “Bingo. He’s at the old Hoffbauer Building in Over-The-Rhine.”
My thoughts raced as Rico navigated the Mustang through traffic. I had way too many balls in the air. Vinny, Ferris, and Ira Kleinfeld—not to mention poisoned corpses that were reanimating at breakneck speed. And a cryptic message from the deceased Toussaint Le Clerc. Who else would have sent that stinky plant, with my necklace hanging from the tip of its dong.
I needed to breathe.
But how could I?
Vinny wasn’t ready to be on his own, and Ferris was ominously AWOL. The last time I’d seen him was in Eden Park after our run, when he’d driven off in a huff. Yet, today I’d found a wedding band inscribed to me squirreled away on his desk. Did he love me or hate me? And where the hell was he?
What if he’s already dead? Little Allie whispered.
He can’t be, I reasoned. If he were, I’d know it. I’d feel it.
When all this was over, there would come a day when I’d have to ask myself if I loved him—with a marrying kind of love. But that wouldn’t be today.
“There!” Rico shouted, pointing to Nonnie’s Pinto parked in front of our destination. He screeched to a halt behind it and we bailed out, guns drawn.
The two-story, red-brick building had seen better days. Crumbled concrete steps led to an arched entryway. Broken and missing windowpanes dotted the exterior. The cracked and weathered door, tagged with graffiti, hung ajar.
Rico trotted up the steps, put his ear to the door, and listened. “It’s quiet as the dead in there.”
He tapped the toe of his boot against the bottom of the battered door. It swung open with a low groan. On the count of three, we entered. He broke left; I broke right.
Afternoon sun streamed through the jagged windows and showcased the swirling dust inside. Splintered floorboards sagged beneath our feet. We’d entered into a large open area that looked like a foyer. Several closed doorways lined the crumbling plaster walls to the left. A winding staircase branched off to the right. We cleared the floor one room at a time, picking our way through yellowed newspapers, empty bottles, and garbage. Dead varmints, tangled wiring, and cobwebs galore. But no Vinny.
“Where the hell are you, Vinny?” I yelled.
“Up here!” he called over a wooden railing on the second floor.
Rico and I took the steps two at a time. When we reached the top, I shoved my finger in Gel Boy’s face. “Why did you hang up on me?”
“My battery died.”
That could’ve happened to anyone. But I should’ve known it would happen to him. Growls and bangs exploded behind a door to our right.
“Ira?” I asked.
“In the flesh.” Vinny grinned. “Got your questions ready?”
Rico and I followed him into the room and instantly trained our guns on our runaway rotter. Vinny had managed to wall him in behind a mountain of antique furniture. The thing gnashed its teeth and swatted at us, but I had to give credit where it was due, it was properly secured.
“Good thinking, Kid,” Rico said. “Next time, remember to bring your phone charger with you.”
I studied his bogey and sniffed the air. “Vinny, did you have your eyes closed when you chased Kleinfeld through the cemetery?”
“Of course not. Why?”
“Do you need glasses?”
“C’mon, Nighthawk. What the hell?”
“How tall would you say Kleinfeld was when you were running after him?”
“I don’t know. Six-feet, maybe.”
“Six-one according to the intel Nonnie dug up. And how tall is the meatbag pinned behind that furniture?”
“Ah.” Vinny cleared his throat. “Five-eight, five-nine.”
“Notice anything else?”
“Like wh…what?”
“How long had Ira been dead when you started chasing him four days ago?”
“A couple of days, tops.”
“A freshie, right. You smell anything odd in here?”
Vinny sniffed the air and dropped his chin to his chest. “Oh, no. Oh, shit, Nighthawk. I…”
He swept his hand through his hair and turned away.
Rico’s eyes widened. “That’s a corpsicle, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“Holy shit,” Rico muttered. “He’s got the wrong rotter.”
“Gimme a break!” Vinny spread his arms and pleaded his case. “How was I supposed to know? He’s a gum-grinding, gray-haired rotter wearing a charcoal-colored suit like Kleinfeld had on. How many of them can there be wandering around?”
“One too many, Gel Boy. One too fucking many.”
Freaking Vinny. We would have to talk about this later.
“Say goodnight, Gracie,” I said, squeezing Hawk’s trigger.
Our mystery corpsicle hit the floor like a two-hundred-pound sack of zushi.
Vinny couldn’t look me in the eyes.
I pointed to the lumpy puddle of chum, oozing out from behind the furniture. “Scrape, sweep or suck that shit up, then call the coroner. Don’t forget to invoice Cap. And one more thing,” I growled. “Bring me Ira Kleinfeld now, or I’ll rip off your arm, beat you over the head with it, and then make you eat it, so you can shit it out and eat it again.”
Rico and I left the Hoffbauer Building a little after three and headed for the ME’s office. My usual light and cheery mood had soured. I’d promised Leo long ago that I would take care of Vinny, and I intended to honor that promise, assuming that I didn’t kill the little dipshit first.
The moment we climbed into the Mustang, Rico started in on me. “You were a little rough on Vinny back there.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve had a few clusterfucks of your own, you know.”
“Like when?”
“Like the time you broke into Templeman’s and raised the wrong corpse.”
My cheeks burned. “Hey, that one was on Nonnie. She broke in. I just did the raising. I told her it was a bad idea.”
“If I hadn’t gotten Templeman to drop the charges, they’d have locked you up.”
“That was so not my fault!”
“What about the time—”
“Just get to the point.”
“He’s young, Nighthawk. Give the kid some time. He’ll come around.”
I huffed and stared out the passenger window. “This may have escaped you, De Palma, but I am not a patient person.”
I caught him smirking from the corner of my eye. The rat bastard.
Doc buzzed us into the morgue and retrieved Messmer’s effects from a locker. He’d already processed them for trace, so he gave us the bag and then showed us to a small conference room, where we could examine them privately.
The bag contained the usual fare: clothes, jacket, underwear, shoes, socks, watch and wallet. Messmer had a briefcase as well. I wasn’t exactly sure what we were looking for, but I was hoping that I’d know it when I saw it.
We’d gone through most of it, when I picked up Messmer’s jacket and rummaged through the pockets. They contained some spare change, an employee badge, a box of Tic-Tacs, and a popsicle stick. I picked up the stick, and held it to the light, wondering why he would have hung onto it.
Messmer had died at work. Maybe he’d decided to suck on a popsicle while he went for a walk on his break. And maybe he couldn’t find a trash can. Maybe.
The stick was covered with a dried red residue.
A red popsicle.
Just like the one Blake Devlin had tried to force-feed me at the marathon.
I don’t much believe in coincidence, and judging by the Head Hag’s hissy fit, neither did she.
Rico glanced up from the shirt he’d been examining. “You expecting that thing to grow wings or what?”
“Huh?”
“That stick. You’ve been staring at it for a while.”
I reminded him of my conversation with Devlin about our run-in at the marathon.
Rico wrinkled his nose. “So you think she wasn’t just being obnoxious. You think she was trying to poison you with a popsicle.”
“Yeah… I do.”
“That’s thin, Nighthawk. Sometimes a popsicle is just a popsicle.”
“And sometimes, popsicle sticks need to be tested. That hoebag’s hiding something. Messmer worked at Phoenix. And he died of a heart attack, right there in the office.”
It seemed like we might be putting the puzzle pieces together. But were we?
19
IN VINO VERITAS
By the time we finished pleading our case to Doc, it was nearly five o’clock (a.k.a., beer-thirty.) Doc said he’d ask to have the test expedited, but that we shouldn’t expect miracles.
He needn’t have worried. I don’t believe in coincidence or miracles. But I do believe in a good, strong Jack Daniel’s slushie. I suggested to Rico that we stop by The Blue Note. He said he’d never been there, and that was all it took. After a quick call to Nonnie, I was good to go.
The last time I’d been in The Blue Note was for that shitty meeting with Maleficent Marlowe. Truth be told, I was curious if Harry’s ghost was still hanging out there. I hadn’t told Rico about ‘virtual’ Harry. Mostly because the two of them had never even met in life. But also, because when De Palma and I had first partnered up, it’d taken him way too long to come to grips with what he called my freaky voodoo shit. Trying to get him to believe in spirits from the great beyond seemed like a bridge too far.
The joint was almost empty when Rico and I walked in. But it was Monday night, and as I recalled, Mondays had always been slow. After introducing Dallas and Rico, I took my usual place at the bar. Rico sat beside me on my right. Harry instantly materialized, perched on his favorite stool, to my left. He raised his boilermaker with a broad smile and tossed it back. He was sitting directly in Rico’s line of sight, but Rico was clearly oblivious to his presence. For a crackerjack cop, Rico could be oblivious about a lot of things.
We were two drinks deep when Rowan Marlowe strolled in the door.
I growled softly and slid from my stool.
“Friend of yours?” Rico murmured.
“Mortal enemy.”
“Another one?”
Harry chuckled, crossed his arms, and leaned back to watch the show.
Dallas didn’t want any part of it. “Welcome back, Ms. Marlowe. Be advised: The first person who throws a punch gets barred.”
Rowan raised her hands. “Relax. I come in peace. In fact, I’ll even buy the first round.”
I stood her nose to nose, minus six inches, give or take. “I’ve got a better idea, Red. Why don’t you march your butt back the way you came, and toss me the hundred bucks you owe me on your way out.”
Marlowe snorted. “That’s chicken feed. I’m here to talk about how we can get our hands on that hundred and eighty grand.”
“We—as in you and me?”
“Yeah. We could…you know… throw in together.”
Harry smacked his forehead.
“Fifty-fifty,” she added.
Why was she suddenly so willing to cut me in?
“Three days ago, you wanted the money all to yourself.”
“It’s simple mathematics. I’m eliminating the competition and upping my odds of recovery. Half of a hundred and eighty grand is better than none of it.”
“You’ve got one problem,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I can ask questions and I can shoot. What the hell do I need you for?”
“Intel, direct from the client. Intel you don’t have.”
“Such as?”
“Access to Kleinfeld’s old work e-mails, business contacts, expense reports, etc. Look, I can ask the old geezer where the money is, but I don’t have much experience in the deadhead department. That’s where you come in.”
“Sorry. Not interested.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t do partners.”
Rico and Harry burst out laughing.
“Fine. Sixty-forty,” she said. “That comes to 108 K. You can’t turn down that kind of dough.”
“I said no.”
“This job would be a walk in the park for you. It’s easy mon—”
I pulled Baby, my backup piece, from my ankle holster and fixed it between her eyes. “Get the hell out of here before I decide to explain no.”
“Jesus!” Dallas scrambled from behind the bar. “Put that thing away before somebody gets hurt!”
“Careful, now,” Rico said, rising from his stool.
Marlowe held her ground. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Don’t bet on it.” I snarled, motioning Dallas to stand down. “Lady, you’ve fucked me over twice. If there’s a third time, it will be your last.”
“Have it your way, Half-Pint,” Marlowe said, as she sauntered toward the exit.
When she reached the doorway, she turned and winked. “One way or another, I’ll find that money.”
“Over my dead body, you freakin’ flamingo.”
She flipped me the bird. “At least we agree on something.”
The door swung closed behind her, and the room went still. I tucked Baby back in her holster and proceeded to eat a ration of shit from Dallas about pulling on Marlowe in his bar. Eventually, after he’d run out of cuss words, he settled down and let loose a snicker.
“Does that Marlowe woman remind you of anybody, Allie Cat?”
Rico snorted his drink through his nose. Harry rocked back and forth on his stool, laughing. Me? I failed to see the humor in any of it.
Two drinks later (maybe it was three), Dallas, Rico, Harry and I owned the joint. Dallas left us at the bar and returned to the kitchen to do the prep work I used to do. Rico smiled more than I’d seen in ages. His tone was lighter, his laugh quicker, and his words less guarded. The conversation ebbed and flowed. During one of the lulls, my thoughts drifted.
“Do you love him?” Rico murmured, snapping me back to reality.
“Love who?” I wasn’t being obtuse. It was pure panic. Buying time to pull an answer out of my ass.
“Ferris,” Rico said, with a hint of annoyance. “You know, the guy who bought you the wedding band. Had your name inscribed—”
“He’s my partner…my friend. Of course, I love him.”
“But do you love him.”
If I couldn’t answer that question for myself, I had no hope of answering it for Rico. After a long sip of my slushie, I blurted the only response that came to mind. “He loves me.”
Rico picked up his glass of Johnny Walker and swirled it. “But do you love him?”
A tear welled in my eye. Where the hell was Rico going with this?
“What about you?” I asked, turning the tables. “Do you love your prissy little porcelain doll?”
A sad smile crossed his face. “I thought I did. Really. But when she wanted to get married and have kids, and a house, and a minivan…”
“It was the minivan, wasn’t it?”
Rico nearly snorted his drink out on the table. But then he paused, like he might be carefully choosing his words. “When Jade wanted all that, I realized she could never be the mother of my kids. She’s beautiful, fun and sexy as hell. She’s a lot of things, but she isn’t the one. It wasn’t right to lead her on, knowing she wanted more. I moved out a couple of days ago.”
