Читать книгу Frankenstein Special Edition: Prodigal Son and City of Night - Dean Koontz - Страница 52

LIKE THE SOMEWHAT disheveled medical examiner himself, Jack Rogers’s private office was a classic example of managed chaos. The desktop overflowed with papers, notebooks, folders, photos. Books were jammed in the shelves everywhichway. Nevertheless, Jack would be able to find anything he needed after mere seconds of searching.

Only partly because of sleep deprivation and too much coffee, Carson’s mind felt as disordered as the office. “Bobby Allwine’s gone?”

Jack said, “The cadaver, the tissue samples, the autopsy video—all gone.”

“What about the autopsy report and photos?” Michael asked. “Did you file them under ‘Munster, Herman’ like I suggested?”

“Yeah. They found them, took them.”

“They thought to look under ‘Munster, Herman?” Michael asked in disbelief. “Since when do grave robbers double as trivia mavens?”

“Judging by the mess in the file room,” Jack said, “I think they just tore through all the drawers till they got what they wanted. We could have filed it under ‘Bell, Tinker,’ and they would have found it. Anyway, they weren’t grave robbers. They didn’t dig Allwine out of the ground. They took him from a morgue drawer.”

“So they’re bodysnatchers,” Michael said. “Getting the term right doesn’t change the fact that your ass is in a sling, Jack.”

“It feels like a barbed-wire thong,” Jack said. “Losing evidence in a capital case? Man, there goes the pension.”

Trying to make sense of the situation, Carson said, “Did the city cut your security budget or what?”

Jack shook his head. “We’re as tight as a prison here. It has to be an inside job.”

Simultaneously, Carson and Michael looked at Luke, who sat on a stool in a corner.

“Hey,” he said, “I never stole a dime in my life, let alone a dead guy”

“Not Luke,” Jack Rogers assured them. “He couldn’t have pulled it off. He’d have screwed up.”

Luke winced. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Luke and I were here for a while after you two left, but not all night. We hit a wall, needed sleep. Because I’d sent home the night staff to keep the lid on this, the place was deserted.”

“You forget to lock up?” Carson asked.

Jack glowered at her. “No way.”

“Signs of forced entry?”

“None. They must’ve had keys.”

“Somebody knew what you’d find in Allwine,” she said, “because maybe he’s not unique. Maybe there’re others like him.”

“Don’t go off in the Twilight Zone again,” Michael half warned, half pleaded.

“At least one other,” she said. “The friend he went to funerals with. Mr. Average Everything.”

Almost simultaneous with a knock, the door opened, and Frye, Jonathan Harker’s partner, entered. He looked surprised to see them.

“Why so glum?” he asked. “Did somebody die?”

Weariness and caffeine sharpened Carson’s edge. “What don’t you understand about ‘buzz off?”

“Hey, I’m not here about your case. We’re on that liquor-store shooting.”

“Yeah? Is that right? Is that what you were doing yesterday at Allwine’s apartment—looking for clues in the liquor-store shooting?”

Frye pretended innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. O’Connor, you’re wound as tight as a golf ball’s guts. Get a man, relieve some tension.”

She wanted to shoot him accidentally.

As if reading her mind, Michael said, ‘A gun can always go off accidentally, but you’d have to explain why you drew it in the first place.”