Читать книгу 5 Bodies To Die For - Stephanie Bond, Stephanie Bond - Страница 9

Wesley waited until the Town Car pulled away, then walked up to the front door of the Fulton County Morgue, a building so nondescript that most people driving by didn’t notice it. He’d never been through the front door before—as a body mover for Coop, he’d always entered through a side or rear delivery door with their solemn cargo. He walked up to a reception desk and flashed his body-hauler ID, then asked for Coop.

“Dr. Craft is in the lab,” the woman at the desk told him. “Sign in and go on back. It’s next to the crypt.”

“Got it,” he said, then signed his name and sauntered back, whistling under his breath. The Oxy seemed to be wearing off more quickly than before—a headache sparkled in his temples and his eyes felt itchy. But he didn’t want to dose before seeing Coop, not when he was trying to prove to the man that he could be trusted again.

He shivered as he walked down the wide, harshly lit hallways—the expression “as cold as a morgue” was no exaggeration. The place was forty fucking degrees. Good for dead people, not so good for people with a pulse.

He found the lab and pushed open the door to the sound of raised voices. On the other side of the room, two men squared off. Tall and shaggy Dr. Cooper Craft, former chief medical examiner, wore a lab coat over jeans and black Chuck Taylor tennis shoes. Short and owlish Dr. Bruce Abrams, current chief medical examiner, wore slacks and a sport coat. The slighter, older man was bristling, his birdlike neck stretched forward.

“Cooper, I’ve come to terms with you being here in the lab. But I can’t have you undermining my authority with the other M.E.s.”

Coop shrugged, unfazed. “Then tell your people to stop coming into the lab to ask me questions.”

“They’re accustomed to seeking your approval,” Abrams said. “It’s up to you to remind them that you’re not their boss anymore, that—” The man wiped his hand over his mouth.

“That I’m just a lab rat and a body mover,” Coop supplied. “No problem, Bruce. I didn’t mean to cause you extra trouble. I know you’re swamped with this Charmed Killer business.”

The other man nodded, then pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. “Between the police and the media, I’m feeling the pressure.”

“Let me know if can help,” Coop said.

The man jammed the handkerchief back into his pocket. “Just stay out of my way.”

Abrams turned and stalked toward the door, flicking his gaze over Wesley before walking past him, out of the room.

Coop lifted his hand to Wes. “Come on in. Sorry about that.”

Wes walked in. “If Abrams doesn’t want you here, how did you get the job in the lab?”

Coop made a rueful noise. “The State Coroner’s Office asked me to come in and tackle the backlog of unsolved cases. It was meant to lighten Abrams’s load, but he doesn’t see it that way.”

Coop moved toward a microscope, as if he’d already dismissed the matter. “Hand me that tray of slides on the table, will you?”

Wes hustled and carried the slides carefully, concentrating in order to control the shaking of his hands.

“Thanks,” Coop said, taking them from him.

He watched as Coop removed a slide, put it under the microscope and adjusted the focus. “Whatcha looking at?”

“DNA samples,” Coop said without raising his head.

“Cool. I thought they had computers to do that stuff.”

Coop gave a little laugh. “Call me old-fashioned. Besides, the morgue doesn’t have the budget of a network television show.”

“Can I take a look?”

Coop shrugged and stepped back. “Sure.” Wesley removed his glasses, then leaned over to press his eye against the eyepiece and turn the smaller fine-focus knob.

“I see you know your way around a microscope,” Coop said.

“I was pretty good in biology. What kind of DNA sample am I looking at?”

“Basic blood sample.”

“What’s it for?”

“I’m trying to identify a body.”

“And this is the only way?”

“It is when there’s no head.”

Wesley jerked up, his mouth suddenly devoid of moisture. “No head?”

Coop walked across the room to a slab where a sheet-draped body lay. He pulled back the sheet and Wesley was able to cover his dismay over the sight of the decapitated, decomposing body by recoiling from the stench.

“Here,” Coop said, handing him an open jar of Vicks VapoRub. “Wipe this under your nose.”

Wesley did, and while the ointment overpowered the stench of decaying flesh, it also went straight to the sensitized nerve endings in his face. His eyes watered and his nose ran like a faucet.

“This guy was found in Piedmont Park, no head and a missing finger,” Coop said, pointing to the missing digit. “I’m hoping his DNA will match something in the system. The computer can do that.”

“What about fingerprints?” Wesley croaked.

“Burned off, probably with acid. Somebody didn’t want this guy identified.”

Bile backed up in Wesley’s throat.

“You okay?” Coop said, then covered the body. “Didn’t mean to shake you up. I thought you were immune to this by now.”

“I’m okay,” Wesley said. “Just out of practice, I guess.” He wiped at his eyes and nose. “I was wondering if I could come back to work with you.”

Coop pulled off his gloves. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Come on, Coop. I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t screw up again.”

“I already have another guy working with me. Abrams’s nephew.”

“Is he as good as I am?”

Coop frowned. “No.”

Wes smiled. “There you go. I’m good at this—you said so yourself.”

Coop shook his head, but Wesley could tell he was wavering.

“Will you give me another chance? I could really use the cash to pay on my court fee.”

“Carlotta told me you got a job as a bike courier.”

His cover for working with Mouse and The Carver. “Uh, yeah. But it’s only part-time. I need something in the evenings, and I know that’s when you’re busiest.”

Coop pressed his mouth together, then sighed. “Okay, I’ll give you another chance.”

Wes grinned in relief. “Great. You won’t regret it.”

“I doubt that,” Coop said, then began to store trays of slides. “Beat it, I gotta get out of here.”

“Any chance I could get you to drop me at the police station?”

“You in trouble again?”

“Nah, I just need to talk to Jack about something. No big deal.”

“Okay, let me finish up here.”

“What can I do to help?” Wes hurried to follow Coop’s directions to get the lab back in order. It was the best he’d felt all day. Knowing he was going to work with Coop again gave him something to look forward to.

Now that he and Meg Vincent were on the outs.

Not that they’d ever been on the ins…or anything. His coworker just liked messing with his head.

He used a paper towel to remove the Vicks ointment, then followed Coop to his van, hoping he didn’t look as shaky as he felt. He needed another hit, but he wasn’t going to risk it around Coop.

The interior of Coop’s van was cluttered, which was unusual. Paper coffee cups and crumpled napkins littered the console, as well as several parking receipts from Piedmont Hospital. That was strange. When Coop made pickups from the hospital morgue, he pulled the van around to the rear loading entrance. There were no parking receipts involved.

“So how’s the community service going?” Coop asked when they got underway.

“At ASS?” Atlanta Systems Services. “Fine, I guess. I was off today because they’re doing some construction in the building.” Maybe Meg would miss him, the little tease.

“And your probation meetings?”

“Fine.” Except for the fact that, unbeknownst to his probation officer, her boyfriend was a thug who had it in for him.

Coop shifted in his seat. “How’s Carlotta?”

Wes grinned. “What took you so long? She’s okay. Did you hear that lunatic Michael Lane, the one who tried to throw her over the balcony at the Fox Theater, has been living in our parents’ room and we didn’t even know it?”

“What?”

“Yeah, crazy stuff. They thought he was dead when he jumped off the bridge into the Hooch, but he must’ve survived. Dude sneaked into our place and he’s been living there ever since.”

Coop inadvertently applied the brake. “Did he hurt Carlotta?”

“No. That’s the kicker—he just did a few chores around the house, stole some money and took off. She found his clothes this afternoon and figured it all out.”

“It must’ve been after the memorial service for the A.D.A. I saw her there and she didn’t mention it.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Do they think Lane is The Charmed Killer?”

“I don’t know—maybe. She said that our entire house is a freaking crime scene.”

“Where is she?”

Wesley pressed his lips together. He knew Coop was crazy about his sister. And they might be together now if Wesley hadn’t stowed away on their trip to Florida a few weeks ago and sabotaged their romantic weekend. But prior to that, Peter had gotten Wesley out of a serious jam and he’d promised the man he’d do what he could to keep Coop and Jack away from Carlotta.

“Wes?”

He exhaled. “Carlotta is at Peter’s.”

Coop’s eyes widened. “She moved in with him?”

“More like staying with him, she said. You remember how big the dude’s place is.”

“Not big enough,” Coop muttered as they pulled up to the midtown police precinct.

“I’m staying with my buddy Chance, so call my cell when you need me,” Wes said, opening the van door to swing down. “Thanks for the ride.”

Coop gave him a little salute, but Wes could tell he was preoccupied, thinking about Carlotta staying at Peter’s house. No doubt about it, Coop had it bad for her.

Wes watched the van pull away, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong with Coop. Carlotta was afraid that he was drinking again, and maybe she was right. Or maybe it was the pressure of being back inside the morgue that he had once run. Regardless, Coop seemed a little off his game, and it worried Wes to see him that way.

As Wes turned, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye—the black SUV with tinted windows that had been haunting the curb of the town house on and off for weeks. The occupants had never made themselves known, but with the spectrum of trouble he and Carlotta had been in over the past few months, it could be anyone from a testy loan shark to a vengeful murder suspect to a pissed-off mall customer. The SUV pulled away and although Wes craned to see the plate, the vehicle was too far away and moving too fast to make it out.

But since no one was shooting at him, really, how bad could it be?

He strolled into the police station, flirted with Carlotta’s friend Brooklyn who thought he was cute, then got her to call Jack. She buzzed him through a secure door, and when he walked inside, he spotted Jack getting a Coke out of a vending machine.

Jack waved. “Want one?”

“Nah, thanks. You look like hell, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude.” Jack fed in coins, then retrieved his can and cracked it open. “What’s up?”

Wes held up the red phone that Mouse had given him. “You told me you could have a GPS chip installed in case I got in a jam.” Mouse’s “chore” for him this morning made him nervous about what might be on the horizon. He wanted the security of a panic button.

“Let me get somebody on it,” Jack said, taking the phone. “It’ll take about thirty minutes. Wait here, I need to talk to you.”

Jack disappeared, then returned a couple of minutes later. “Have you talked to Carlotta?”

“Yeah, I know about Michael Lane. That’s some jacked-up shit.”

“Yeah.” Jack’s expression revealed how angry he was that Carlotta had been in danger. Wes couldn’t tell if Jack really liked his sister, or just liked his role of self-appointed protector. “Can you add anything to the story? Do you remember anything strange?”

“Just that little things were getting done around the house. I thought Carlotta was nesting or something.”

Jack frowned. “She said you had some cash in the house that was stolen.”

“Yeah, about ten grand. If you catch the dude, I want it back.”

“Don’t hold your breath. And do I need to remind you that you’re on probation? Gambling is not on the menu.”

“It was just a friendly card game,” Wes said.

“Uh-huh. Listen, about this work you’re doing for The Carver…”

Wesley swallowed past a dry throat, suddenly regretting not taking that Coke. “Yeah?”

“Well, this Charmed Killer case is taking all my time right now, so don’t rush anything. Just network and keep your eyes and ears open, especially when it comes to Hollis Carver’s son, Dillon.”

“Okay, but so far, the only person I’m networking with is Mouse.”

“So chat him up. See what he knows.”

Wesley shifted from foot to foot, not at all sure he wanted to get to know Mouse better. “Did you know that Carlotta moved in with Peter?” he blurted to change the subject.

Jack scowled. “She’s staying with him until this maniac is off the streets.”

Wesley arched an eyebrow. “Is that what she told you?”

A muscle worked in the big man’s jaw. “I’ll go see if your phone is ready.”