Angel Face, page 23
“Cup size?”
“Corky!”
He held up a hand. “I promise I’ll not purchase any slinky negligees or lingerie. I just want the lass’s clothes to fit her properly.”
“Okay, okay. Call her a ‘D,’ I guess.”
He nodded. His face stayed serious, but his eyes twinkled. “I think I’ll get along just fine with this lass.”
She pointed a finger at his face. “Don’t even think about it. This woman’s counting on you for her safety. Her life is in your hands. If you jump in bed with her, you’d better pray the Lucarellis find you before I do. I swear, if I hear one word about you stepping out of line, she’ll be the last woman you ever screw around with.”
Corky’s eyes grew somber. “She’ll come to no harm if it’s in my power to prevent it,” he said. “I know what you think of me, Erin. I’m going to do this one thing right, even if nothing else in my whole, wayward life. Let me be the hero, just this once. I’d swear to God I’ll do it right, but He and I aren’t precisely on the best of terms at the moment. I’ve no family hereabouts. So I’ll swear it on Morton Carlyle, the best lad I’ve ever known, and a man both of us love. Though not in quite the same way, thank the good Lord.”
He extended his hand across the table. Erin looked at it, then at him.
“Oh, for God’s sake, shake it already,” Corky said. “Don’t leave me hanging. I feel silly enough as it stands.”
Erin slowly took Corky’s hand. “I’m counting on you,” she said. “And so is she.”
“If she doesn’t come back alive, neither will I,” he said. Then, unable to hold the serious demeanor any longer, his face cracked and his familiar boyish grin shone through. “Not that it’ll come to that. We’ll simply disappear. Like smoke on the wind, that’s the plan.”
“Do you have everything you need?” Erin asked.
“Oh aye, you needn’t fret about that. Remember, I’ve a particular talent for moving things about without attracting notice.”
“You’re a professional smuggler.”
“That’s what I said. I’ve even laid hands on a copper’s outfit, just so I can blend in at the scene.”
“Corky, impersonating a cop is a felony.”
“So is blowing up a car. I’ll not tell anyone I’m a copper. Besides, it’s not precisely a regulation uniform.”
Suspicion pricked the corners of Erin’s mind. “Just what sort of uniform is this?” she asked.
“One might say it’s better than what you wore when you drove a blue-and-white, love.”
“How so?”
“It’s equipped with handy bits of Velcro so it’s easy to change out of in a hurry.”
“Oh, God,” Erin said, putting a hand over her face. “You got a fake uniform from a stripper, didn’t you.”
“I know a lad in that line of work, aye, and he’s about my size. In the important parts of him, that is.”
“Keep it low-key,” she said. “And for the love of all that’s holy, don’t take your clothes off in the middle of this.”
“Erin, you’re a lovely lass, and Carlyle’s the luckiest lad in New York, but has anyone ever told you, you worry too much?” He stood up, leaned across the table, and planted a kiss on her cheek before she could react. “What time should I be there?”
“Eight o’clock sharp,” she said.
“I’ll be there at quarter to,” he promised. “Come hell, high water, or both. Relax, love. It’ll be fun.”
“I’ve had fun before. It didn’t feel like this.”
“Ah, you’re only saying that because you’ve never had me.” He winked. “Changes your whole outlook, love.”
“I haven’t forgotten you tried to screw my sister-in-law,” Erin said.
“I’m not asking you to forget it,” Corky said. “But perhaps, once all’s done, you’ll forgive it. I’ll see you in a few hours, love. Try not to miss me till then.”
The last piece of the puzzle was the acquisition of a suitable decoy. Accordingly, Erin pulled up to the city morgue in the midafternoon. The sky was heavy and gray, leaving Manhattan brooding in a sullen half-light. It struck Erin as appropriate. You didn’t want to visit a morgue on a sunny day.
Erin had called Levine after meeting Corky to check on her progress and had received a typically terse response.
“Got the body,” Levine had said.
“Where?”
“City morgue.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay.”
So now here she was, leaving another nice, wide paper trail. There was no good way around it; she had to sign in and present her ID before they’d let her in. If anyone asked, she’d have to say she’d been looking for Levine with questions about the Romano case.
The place was cold and antiseptic, all tile, metal, and fluorescent lights. The clack of Erin’s shoes on the floor was loud, the echoes following her, the sort of sound that made her want to keep glancing over her shoulder to make sure nobody was sneaking up behind. She’d left Rolf in the car and now wished she hadn’t. Even to a professional cop who’d been around more than her share of dead bodies, morgues were creepy. They were a sort of in-between place, inhabited by both the living and the dead. She suppressed a shiver and kept walking, making for the vault where they kept the unidentified corpses.
A storm brewing outside; a basement full of anonymous bodies; a woman walking alone. Erin wished she hadn’t watched this sort of movie as a teenager. She told herself to stop being stupid. She had enough real monsters to handle without populating her imagination with fake ones.
She pushed through a double-hinged door and found herself in the inner vault with Sarah Levine and a body bag on a slab. The bag was black plastic and disturbingly lumpy.
“Is that her?” Erin asked, nodding to the bag.
“Jane Doe,” Levine said, looking at the paperwork in her hand. “Found in a public restroom, August Fifth. Cause of death: ruptured aneurysm, natural causes. Age estimated at forty-three. Height: one hundred sixty-five centimeters. Weight: Fifty-nine kilograms. Ethnicity: Hispanic. No identifying documents found in her personal effects. No phone. Fingerprints not on file. No matching missing person report.”
“Wow,” Erin said. “Lucky break. For us, I mean. That’s nearly a perfect match.”
Levine shrugged. “Approximately forty thousand unknown bodies currently reside in the United States,” she said. “New York is the largest city in the country. Our odds of finding an approximate match were reasonable.”
“And we’re sure nobody’s looking for her?”
“There’s no way I can know that,” Levine said. “All I know is that the city has failed to identify her and her remains are scheduled for anonymous burial on Hart’s Island.”
“So can I just… take her?” Erin asked.
“The body has been released to me,” Levine said. “You need my permission.”
Erin looked at her. Levine looked back.
Erin sighed. “Okay, can I have your permission?”
“Yes,” Levine said. “Sign here. The body is well-preserved. It was found before severe decomposition had set in and has been refrigerated. However, there is some putrescence.”
“So it’d be a good idea not to open the bag,” Erin said.
“How long will it be before the body is explosively dismembered?” Levine asked matter-of-factly.
“Jesus Christ,” Erin muttered. “You’ve got a hell of a way with words. It’ll happen around eight o’clock. Four hours?”
“You’ll need to keep the remains cool as long as possible,” Levine said.
“Got it,” Erin said. “I guess we can’t take the meat wagon.”
“That would require additional paperwork,” Levine said. “It’s possible, but time-consuming. It would also require the use of a qualified driver.”
“Which would be Hank or Ernie,” Erin said. “No, thanks. I’ll put her in the trunk of my car. Can you give me a hand?”
They loaded the body onto a gurney and wheeled it to the elevator. Levine had all the necessary forms, so they were able to work their way out of the morgue through the loading dock. Erin left Levine there, fetched her car, and backed it up to the dock. She popped the trunk. As Rolf watched from his compartment, the two women hoisted the heavy bag into the trunk.
“This must be how a hitman feels,” Erin said quietly. “Sneaking a body into a car.”
“You didn’t kill her,” Levine said. “Neither did I.”
“Thanks for doing this,” Erin said, swinging the trunk shut with an awful, final-sounding clang. “I owe you one.”
“One what?”
“Never mind,” Erin said. “Just remember, you need to identify the remains as Teresa Tommasino.”
“I’ll be writing two reports,” Levine said. “One for public consumption, the other one with the truth.”
“Okay, but you can’t show that other one to anyone. And you’ve got to keep it secure. I’m talking locked safe, password, the works. We can’t have people come sniffing around for it.”
“I use unscented paper,” Levine said. “And I’ve never had anyone question my reports.”
“You’re right,” Erin said. She shook her head. “I’m just tired. Sorry.”
“Why are we still talking?” Levine asked. “If you don’t want to be seen here, this is counterproductive.”
“Right. Thanks again.” Erin got into her car, started the engine, and drove away.
She only went a couple of blocks. Then she parked again and went into a convenience store. She angled straight for the freezer aisle and grabbed four big bags of ice, two in each hand.
“That’s a lot of ice, ma’am,” the guy behind the counter said. “You having a party tonight?”
Actually, I have a corpse in the trunk and if it thaws out too much, it’ll start stinking, Erin thought. “It’s going to be a blast,” was what she said.
“You need anything else?” he asked. “Soda? Chips? Salsa?”
“I’m good, thanks,” Erin said, opening her wallet and pulling out some bills. Then she went out to the Charger, gave a quick look around just in case anyone was watching, and placed two bags of ice on either side of the body bag. It was the best she could do for the moment.
When she got back in the car, Rolf was sitting facing the back of the vehicle. Usually he greeted her with a wagging tail and an outthrust snout, but this time, he whined and scratched at the floor of his compartment.
“You okay, kiddo?” she asked.
Rolf whined again and wagged anxiously.
Then she understood. He was a trained search-and-rescue dog. He was alerting her to the presence of human remains. Erin couldn’t smell anything, thank God, but her K-9 could.
“It’s fine,” she told him. “I know.”
Rolf cocked his head at her. In his experience, dead bodies were a big deal. He didn’t understand why his partner wasn’t interested in this one. He barked, in case she hadn’t gotten the message.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “You found her. Good boy. Sei brav.” She tossed his rubber Kong ball into the back.
Rolf snagged it in midair. Then he plopped down on the floor and started chewing. He’d done what he was supposed to. As far as he was concerned, everything was exactly the way it was meant to be. The rest was up to the humans.
Erin wished she shared his optimism. She started the car and drove toward O’Leary’s Body Shop.
“God,” she said, suddenly getting the awful, unintentional pun. “Body shop. I don’t believe it. I’m taking a body to the body shop.”
As Erin O’Reilly chauffeured a corpse toward its rendezvous with a homemade bomb, she started laughing. She couldn’t help it.
Chapter 24
Erin drover her Charger up to the entrance to O’Leary’s. She got out and opened the door. The place was dark and very quiet. She saw the black bulk of the Suburban in the workshop. Its dome light was on and she could see somebody moving inside.
She felt alarm and irritation. Carlyle wasn’t a trained police officer, but he’d been in the IRA, for God’s sake! Didn’t he understand basic security precautions? Anybody could just walk right in and see what he was doing.
Then she smiled, feeling foolish. Without turning around, she said, “How’s it going, Ian?”
“Proceeding on-mission,” he said from somewhere behind and to her right. “Sitrep?”
“Everything’s under control.” Then she did turn. There he was, in a shadowed alcove from which he could cover the door. “You know, people like you are the reason the instructors yell at us to check our corners when we practice room-clearing.”
“Glad to help,” he said.
“Can you open the garage door?” she asked. “I need to back my car in.”
“Affirmative.”
Erin steered the Charger in. Ian shut the door immediately afterward. Erin backed up close to the Suburban and climbed out, leaving Rolf inside. The K-9 peered at her from his compartment, head cocked to one side, trying to figure out what the humans were up to.
Carlyle poked his head out of the back seat of the SUV. He was unkempt and grease-stained, but he smiled when he saw her. He climbed out, wiped his hands and forehead on a handkerchief, and came to meet her.
“Everything’s ready, darling,” he said. “I was just putting the seat in place. Here, I’ll show you.”
He indicated the back seat of the Suburban, which looked no different than when it had rolled off the factory assembly line. Carlyle reached in and patted the middle seat.
“Here’s where you’ll want to be putting your decoy. The force of the blast will come straight up through the seat. It won’t carry far, but at close range, it’ll be quite spectacular.”
“Okay,” Erin said. “Do you have a big freezer or something here?”
“There’s one of those in the office,” Carlyle said. “For ice cream and the like. What is it you’re needing… ah. I see. Of course. We’ll need to empty it out, but that’s no great difficulty. You’re right, we’ll want to be keeping her cool until the last possible moment, and we can’t exactly pack the rear of this auto with ice. It’d spoil the illusion. We’ll just have to make certain we don’t freeze the poor lass solid.”
The freezer in O’Leary’s office was big enough, once they’d cleaned it out. After making sure the blinds were pulled down tight, Ian came over to help Erin move the body. They carried the bag into the office and laid it on the floor next to the freezer.
“You’d best unpack her now,” Carlyle advised. “So we can get her dressed. She may stiffen up a wee bit from the cold.”
“Dress her up?” Erin repeated.
“Bodies in the morgue are generally nude, aye?” Carlyle said.
Erin mentally slapped herself. “Oh, shit. You’re right. I forgot! And I don’t have any of Teresa’s clothes.”
“Not to worry,” Carlyle said. “Surely you’ve time to run to a department store and fetch a few things.”
“But we need shoes, too,” Erin said. “Everything! I wasn’t thinking. And I don’t know her size.”
Carlyle laid a hand on her arm. “I’ve been to the scenes of a few bombings,” he said gently. “So I’ve some notion what they look like. It’s common for the victims to be blown clear out of their shoes, sometimes their clothes as well. Just find a pair of shoes of about the right size. So long as they’re close, they’ll serve. I don’t think anyone’s likely to be reenacting Cinderella, you ken?”
“Right,” she said. She checked the time. It was getting close to five. “We’ve got three hours to get down to the Hilton at JFK with everything ready to go. It’ll take a half hour to drive there, but we’d better allow an extra fifteen minutes in case of delays. That leaves us two hours and forty-five minutes. What needs to happen between now and then?”
“The vehicle’s ready,” Carlyle said. “So is the device. I’ve the remote here. Freshly purchased and clean. Untraceable.” He took out a burner cell phone.
“You’ll need to be able to see the car to know when to trigger it,” she said. “Where will you be?”
“I’ll be in the lot out front of the hotel,” he said. “I’ll be well within range.”
“Are you sure you’ll be able to see? It’ll be dark. What if it’s raining?”
“Erin, darling, I’ve never blown up anything, nor anyone, I didn’t intend to.”
She made a face. “Thanks, I guess. I’d better get some clothes. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
After the quickest—and definitely the strangest—shopping trip she’d ever been on, Erin returned with a button-down blouse, a pair of loose-fitting jeans, a pair of cheap sneakers that roughly resembled the ones Erin recalled seeing on Teresa’s feet, and a pair of socks and underwear. Then, as Ian stood watch, she and Carlyle went about the curious and sad business of arraying the body of Jane Doe for her unorthodox cremation.
In Erin’s experience, life was what gave human beings their individuality. Dead bodies all had a sameness about them. Erin’s mom had once said, after the open-casket funeral of Erin’s great-uncle, that you only needed to see one dead body of a person you’d known in life to convince you that souls existed. She understood what her mom had meant. A corpse was an empty shell. It wasn’t a person. The person was already gone. And that was what was so terribly sad about them. Whoever Jane Doe had been, now all that was left of her was this cold lump of meat, smelling faintly of death and the morgue.
Carlyle and Erin worked as respectfully as they could, slowly and carefully dressing the body. Erin buttoned the blouse over the ghastly Y-incision left by the autopsy.
“Is that going to be a problem?” she asked.
“That’s why your Medical Examiner’s a part of our wee conspiracy,” he said. “But I’m thinking the lass’s body’s going to be in no condition for it to matter.”
“Okay, that does it,” Erin said. They lifted Jane Doe and laid her gently in the freezer. The dead woman’s face looked waxy and unreal, like a sculpture of a person. It was a good thing the Suburban had tinted windows, Erin thought.
