Читать книгу A Small Degree of Hope - Lyndi Alexander - Страница 7

Chapter 2

Heading across the street to the morgue to work with a local coroner, Sonya Astrid, a doctor who specialized in exo-autopsies, Kylie dismissed her confrontation with Jaco. Perhaps she should have challenged him, but the only purpose it might have served was to cuddle her wounded ego. More important was the solution of the mystery lizard women.

Maybe he was jealous that her scientific training gave her an upper hand in the investigation, unlike his business administration degree. This case gave her an opportunity to shine. She’d studied very hard at the academy, graduating third in her class despite her father’s efforts to keep her out of SIRT. He’d have preferred her hostess his corporate parties like her sister or her mother.

But he wouldn’t get what he wanted this time. Even if it meant spending all day with her hands buried in stinking, half-preserved entrails.

She entered the morgue building, the distinctive smells not much disguised by the heavy balsam-scented cleaning fluids used by the janitorial staff. Her footsteps echoed down the empty white halls. Usually by mid-morning, the place was crowded with medical students and others hoping to catch a glimpse of something with a “creepy” factor, but no one hung around today. When she arrived at Dr. Astrid’s lab, the entire observation gallery over her table was filled. People packed in three deep to watch the dissection of the lizard women.

Great.

Kylie changed into worn blue scrubs and hung her clothing in the staff locker room. She also switched her boots for a pair of cheap sneakers. More than one autopsy had included suddenly erupting innards launched at her shoes.

As she was about to grab a yellow scrub cap, she saw a memo from Astrid indicating no one should enter the quarantined rooms unless they were in a biosuit. NO EXCEPTIONS. Made sense, especially until they discovered the source of the metamorphosis. The suit pulled at her clothing and stretched around her elbows, but finally she checked the valves on the oxygen tanks, satisfied she’d keep breathing, and sealed the front of the suit before she went into the chamber. Dr. Astrid was already there, a land-bound astronaut in her own heavy gray suit.

“Welcome to the jungle,” the doctor said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Kylie couldn’t help a glance up at the hungry, gawking faces. “Audience, huh?”

“All these years I’ve been slaving down here, thinking it was the bottom of the ladder. I hadn’t realized this would be my opportunity to be a star.” Her green eyes twinkled through the thin faceplate.

“Right. That’s why we’re doing this. For fame and fortune.”

Glad the basic autopsy had been done the night before, Kylie looked forward to the next steps. Maybe the tissue and fluid specimens would provide more answers. She readied glass slides for the microscope while the doctor prepared for chemical analyses.

Dr. Astrid adjusted the recorder at tableside then spoke clearly so it picked up her soft voice. “This morning we begin the toxicological screens in SIRT case ALBA-25, with an eye toward determining the mutagen that initiates the transformation of human to reptile.

“We’ll begin with the vitreous humor, performing parallel tests to double-check our results.”

Kylie sliced, spread and pipetted over the next five hours, using her very best technique to sample the tissues and fluids. She wanted this to be her best work ever, because she owed these victims no less. She even submitted genetic samples to the planetary database in an effort to identify their victims, hoping that the mutation hadn’t yet reached the DNA. Lizard cells were likewise submitted to see if they could be matched up with a known alien species.

By the time they finished, their eager audience had faded to a couple of diehards. Their extensive analyses yielded nothing significant. Whatever had changed those women had been completely absorbed by the body in the transformation process.

“Maybe it’s not a poison in the way we think of poisons, as in a toxic substance meant to kill.” She rubbed her forehead through the thick suit. “Since the reproductive organs are altered too, maybe what we’re looking for is more like a hormone.”

Dr. Astrid stepped back from the table, stretching her arms, rotating her shoulders. “That’s a good idea.”

Kylie sympathized with the doctor’s stiffness. Even in her sneakers, and with padded mats on the floor, her feet hurt and her muscles ached from the close work. She was definitely going to need a few drinks when she got out of there.

“That’s a good idea.” The doctor cocked her head, thinking. “We’d want to test for FSH, estrogen, androgens. Maybe testosterone.”

“We need more than the human hormones.” Kylie used a sterile plastic blanket to cover the sad remainder of what had once been a vital, breathing woman.

The doctor sighed. “Exactly, dear. I’m going to run that question by some of the eggheads upstairs, and we’ll try again tomorrow. We may have some sort of virus at work that only affects women. I can’t even imagine how they contract it.”

The doctor led the way to the decontaminant showers, where both women stripped down and scrubbed themselves clean before changing to their street clothes.

“Feel free to share our inquiry with any of your SIRT team that might be helpful. At this point, every avenue bears exploration. We’ve exhausted the standard routes. Let’s open our minds to new possibilities. You did good work today,” the doctor assured her, with an encouraging hug and a warm smile. “Let your subconscious chew on it overnight.”

“I’ll try,” Kylie said, though she’d rather crash and spend ten hours out cold. She put on her coat then followed the doctor to the street with its chilly autumn breeze. She shivered and hurried to her car then climbed inside and locked the doors. Her fingers sought out her music deck, finding something with a hard rock beat and a strong female voice belting out a song about betrayal and love being poison for the soul, and she turned it up loud. She laid her head back on the headrest, eyes closed, letting the music soak into her bones. After the second verse, her mind began to wander.

Had these women been betrayed? Had a lover done this to them?

She imagined how a woman might feel when she first noticed her skin changing, the internal changes that surely had to be painful. Did they wonder what was happening? Did they know what was coming? Had they agreed to the experiment, or had it been done without any consent or knowledge on their part?

Answers to these questions, too, would fuel the investigation. “Geez, Ky, when do you stop working and just be a person, hmm?”

Maybe if she wrote it down, she could let it go. She dragged out her pad and made notes. Search out clues in the BDSM community, subs willing to change to please a dom with sick tastes. It’d be worth a look.

Tomorrow.

Tonight, a bottle of Happy Jack waited with her name on it, elixir to erase the day’s smells and visions from her mind for a little while.

The thought of sitting in her tempartment alone didn’t appeal to her.

Most of the guys shacked in a hotel when they were deployed, not wanting to clean up after themselves or have responsibilities. She preferred to rent a furnished efficiency by the week, gaining a little more privacy, and space to bring some personals to make it feel more like home. But it wasn’t home.

She knew where she could find a comfortable place to go, though, where she could just relax in the presence of others who understood her life. She gunned the engine and headed for Hawthorn’s.

* * * *

Hawthorn’s watering hole was a favorite of law enforcement types. The tables and barstools were placed so no one had their backs to the single door. Robby J, the jovial owner of the place, knew he’d have free security around the sixty-hour clock. In a neighborhood like his, it was indispensable.

Kylie parked her vehicle across the street, and glared at her reflection in the rear view mirror. “Let it go, damn it.”

The matter settled, she crossed the busy street with long strides. Nefarious characters leaning against the wall next to the heavy plaz door stared as she passed them by. She ignored them, continuing inside.

Inside, she got the same treatment, that hesitation. People looked, but they didn’t glance away. She could have been a model, like her sister Nissa, but intrigue and innards fascinated her more than fashion and fame.

On the other hand, her appeal could be useful. Sometimes it got her free drinks.

She nodded at some of the local cops and took a stool at the end of the bar. Bright neon signs depicting the names of local brews reflected off those seated at the bar, giving them the appearance of aliens.

One of Robby’s girls, Lin, came to wipe the polished plaz counter in front of her. “What’ll it be?”

“Something quick-acting,” Kylie said. “Then a bottle of Jack.”

“You got it.” Tongue flicking out to wet her lips, the girl studied her. “You’re the lizard cop, aren’t you?”

Really? The lizard cop? Where was the dignity in that? Holy Sprechan’s ass.

“I can’t discuss cases, Lin. You know that.” Several others took an interest in their conversation, rattling her already-tense nerves “You got something for me, or not?”

“Sure, honey. Coming right up.”

The jukebox played an upbeat tune with stringed instruments and a strong drum beat. Kylie approved. She reached for the basket at the corner of the bar, the dim lights making her look twice to identify the contents as salty magneps.

About the time Lin returned with three blue pills in a small plastic dose cup, Kylie sensed a presence behind her left shoulder. Knowing they’d kick in almost immediately, she choked down the pills dry. She stretched and turned to find one of the local officers who’d been at the scene the day before. The young blond guy smiled.

“Something I can do for you, friend?” she asked, annoyed with herself because she couldn’t remember his name. He’d introduced himself when they first arrived on scene, but everything that happened afterward had claimed her brain cells.

He firmed up his jaw, took a deep breath. “Just wanted to say what a great job I thought you did. Can’t be easy investigating this spree.”

Kylie sized him up. Didn’t seem to be an opening ploy for sex, though he was seriously sucking up. He seemed nice enough. “Thanks.” Lin brought her a bottle and a shot glass, and she poured herself a drink. “Want one?”

He shrugged, but his eyes lit up like a puppy offered a new toy. “Sure.”

Kylie gestured for another glass, and she poured him one. “Cheers.” She held up her glass to clink against his. He obliged. They drank the shots. “What’s your name again? Yesterday was, you know.”

His look of delight never faded. “Sam James. Second level with the Muraco force.”

“Of course. Sam.” She smiled warmly. After all, they were comrades, right? Fighting for the side of truth and justice? His boyish face even started to appeal to her.

Now that was the drugs talking.

Satisfied her self-prescribed regimen was working, she poured herself another, and sipped it. Blues took the edge off and sanded down raw nerves. The effects would fade within the hour. Most people used them to fall asleep at night, but they were useful in situations like this, too, where alcohol wouldn’t work quite as fast as she wanted.

“So are you—SIRT, I mean—going to be in town long?” Sam asked.

“I hope not.”

“Oh,” he said, taking a step back.

The hurt tone and his retreat made her reconsider her answer. “I meant, I hope the investigation wraps up quickly, and we can stop these killings.”

“Oh.” That brightened his face again.

What was she doing? She’d only be in town a matter of days or weeks. No reason at all to encourage any young buck, even one as friendly as this one.

“But we’re usually pretty busy with the case, you know, not a lot of free time.” There, a gentle letdown.

He got it. “Yeah, sure. Your team has that kind of rep.” He fidgeted. “Just wanted to say hi, and, um, good work.”

“Thanks, friend. Sam.”

Beaming, he backed away, almost tripping as he returned to his buddies’ table. They ribbed him and eyed her enviously. She just smiled and raised her glass to them.

After her third shot, the memories of the photos and dumpsters started to fade. The music seeped into her, creating a pleasant haze. Background noise filtered in, the conversations making her feel she wasn’t alone. Cops knew how to treat other cops, especially on the worst days.

As she took another shot, she noticed a man at a table near the door stared at her, dissecting her in a way that felt not like he was undressing her, but more like he looked past her skin, into her psyche, or perhaps her soul. Kylie stared back, putting a forbidding expression on her face. Usually, that was enough to scare off a would-be masher. But it didn’t seem to faze this one.

The man’s persistence triggered a defensive response, and she lost interest in the alcohol. She left half a dozen plat coins on the counter, enough to cover her tab and something for Lin, and then headed for the door.

As she approached the man’s table, he stood up. “Please join me,” he said.

“No, thanks, I’m on my way out.”

“Please,” he said firmly. She stopped to look at him. That glance froze her steps. His eyes were the exact yellow tone of the dead woman’s. Exact.

She surveyed the room, but no one seemed to be paying attention. One gesture from her would have garnered assistance, but those eyes compelled her to wait. “Why should I?”

His voice softened. “I have information that could be of use to you.”

“Then perhaps you should come to the Cendiary. That’s where SIRT’s camped while this investigation is going on.” Her mind clicked along frantically trying to reject the half bottle of alcohol she’d consumed. There was something about this man, something about him. His eyes, but more than that. Taller than most men, and broad-shouldered. Hair, perfectly combed, his skin, without a blemish. Not even the hint of an old scar. Clothing, unremarkable. Hands, not quite perfectly proportioned, his fingers a little long, the nails even but lengthy for a man.

“No. I need to talk to you now.” His gaze continued to dance with hers.

She blinked and looked away. “This isn’t a good time, friend.”

He cocked his head, a, thin eyebrow raised. “You consider me your friend?”

His hesitation made her miss a beat, too. “No, I don’t consider you my friend.” She frowned. “Come to the Cendiary in the morning.” She turned to go, but her wrist was suddenly caught in an iron grip.

Tugging on her captured hand, she looked over her shoulder. He held no apology in his eyes, and his expression was grim. He nodded to the empty chair beside his. “I need to talk with you, Investigator Kylie Sanderson. Please hear what I have to say before any more females are damaged or killed.”