The Day Before (14 page)

“So I heard.”
As if things are great up here
.

“Apartments are filling up fast.”

Sam tried to get a good look at his face. “Did you get a place?”

He shook his head.

“I'll ask Miss Azalea if she'd give you a contract for that back room.”

“Really?” MacKenzie sounded surprised, and relieved.

Sam shrugged his gratitude away. “It's the law, Mac. ‘Any persons owning a domicile that can harbor more than the current residency must, in times of emergency, give shelter to those in distress.' We're legally in a state of emergency. She can't refuse you.”

“No one would notice if she didn't offer, though.”

“I would.”

“You . . .” He stared at her for an uncomfortably long time as if trying to decipher something from a long-­dead language. “You don't mind having me there?”

“Living in the same area? Right now, I don't want to be in the same district, region, state, or country as any other living creature. I want to be on a deserted island, swinging in a hammock under the shade of a palm tree and drinking ice-­cold water. I want to have complete and utter silence for a week straight. I'll settle for a shower, twelve hours of sleep, and never, ever seeing whatever lovers come over.”

It took a minute before she realized he wasn't keeping up with her. “You stuck?” Sam asked, squinting to see Mac's expression with the sun at his back.

“I don't have a . . .” He choked on the word “lover.”

“Fine. Whatever. If I go to breakfast and find someone other than you in the house, I'm calling the cops.”

MacKenzie started slogging again. “You won't find anyone else.”

“Good.” She took a deep breath and regretted it immediately. The face mask kept the insects out of her nose but didn't filter out the smell of rot as they waded to shore.

MacKenzie climbed out first and held out a hand to help her out of the water.

She hesitated. “And the freezer thing. Neither of us goes in the freezer.”

“There is no freezer.”

“The hypothetical freezer that is going to arrive as soon as I purchase one. That freezer. No more dead bodies in the freezer. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

She took Mac's hand and let him haul her onto the muddy bank.

“Rose!” Marrins waved to her from his seat on the sidelines. He was sitting in a camp chair with a box of donuts on his lap. “Haven't seen you since we started. You decide to take time for a manicure?”

“Yeah, boss.” Sam pulled off her gloves, rolling one into the other, and pulled her face mask down. “I got a facial while I was out, too. You should have come, they had a two-­for-­one deal.”

Marrins scowled, looked her up and down, and grunted. “You're joking.”

“Yes, sir. I was over that way.” Sam pointed to the shallower end of the river. “I figured getting caught in the undertow would make ­people cranky.”

“You never know,” muttered Marrins into his donut.

“Think of the paperwork, sir.” One of the Red Cross volunteers came over with a bottle of water and a bag for Sam's trash. She accepted the water gratefully and collapsed onto the soggy grass. “Holy Mary, can it get any hotter?”

“We're due for another lash of rain,” Marrins said. “The weather ­people say the storm is still turning.”

“How much longer do they think she'll stick around?”

“Another day, maybe two.” Marrins shrugged as he picked up another donut.

MacKenzie sat beside Sam. Watching him eye the box of donuts was amusing until she realized how hungry she was. “What time is it?”

“Pushing five,” Marrins said. He burped into his fisted hand.

“Is anyone serving lunch?”

“The Red Cross had hot dogs around eleven, but I think they're out.”

Sam stared at the senior agent, waiting for him to get a clue. When it became obvious Marrins had no intention of offering to let her leave, she gave in. “Sir, can I be released to get lunch, and some sleep? I've been here since ten. A ­couple of more hours in this heat, and I'll be in the first-­aid tent.”

“Sure.” Marrins waved her away. “Get some food, take a nap. Send me the files on the lab and Chimes case, will ya? I still need to get on that.”

“Yes, sir.”

MacKenzie stood when she did.

Marrins frowned at him. “You going back out already?”

“I was going to go home,” MacKenzie said.

“What?” Marrins looked confused. “Harley could use some help down in the morgue if you want to get out of the heat.”

Sam saw Mac's eyes glaze over. “Sir?”

“What?”

“Agent MacKenzie needs to drive me home, sir. My car is stuck in the mud until a tow truck can come rescue me.” It was only a little lie, and Marrins wasn't likely to check. “I gave him gas money to pick me up this morning and drive me home. He's been out here as long as I have.”

The senior agent said something under his breath that Sam knew was crude, but he nodded. “Whatever. MacKenzie?”

“Sir?”

“Get in early tomorrow. Harley doesn't like doing all the work himself. If I don't have an agent down there, I'm never going to get results. We're getting overflow from the morgues down south, but we still have our own work to do.”

“Understood, sir.” MacKenzie gave her an inscrutable look and followed her up the hill to the cars. “You lied to him.”

“You weren't going to stand up for yourself.”

“I would have been fine.”

“And I could have been Miss United if I were a foot taller and got some implants.” She ran wrinkled fingers through sweat-­tangled hair. “Give it a rest. Marrins is a mouth-­breathing oxygen thief. Everyone knows it.” When he unlocked the car, she opened the door and climbed into the broiling truck. The scent of old synthetic leather and MacKenzie's soap drowned out the smell of mud. It wasn't fresh like her car, but it was a miracle elixir after hours wading in the river. She tipped her head back with a sigh of relief as the engine turned over, and cool air filled the cab.

“Home?” Mac asked, as they pulled onto the highway.

“Home.”

 

CHAPTER 15

You cannot cross to another reality with any doubt. Do that, and you will die.

You cannot look into the eyes of your Possible Self and pull the trigger if you harbor any desire to be that person.

~ Private conversation with Agent 5 of the Ministry of Defense – I1 2070

Wednesday June 12, 2069

Alabama District 3

Commonwealth of North America

I
t would have been satisfying to drop twenty tons of dead tree onto Marrins's desk. Electronic data files just weren't as fun as antiques.

The senior agent raised an eyebrow and looked at the data pad. “What's that?”

“The files from the Chimes case and the N-­V Nova Labs break-­in. I sent you a copy Monday, but you told me to hand over all my work. I annotated everything. Most of it is cross-­filed with Altin's report.”

“Why isn't it all cross-­filed?”

“Because I am off the case and suspected of murder until Harley finishes his autopsy and establishes a time of death.”

Marrins looked a little lost.

“Mordicai Robbins? The security guard in my freezer?”

“Oh. That.” Marrins waved a beefy hand. “You weren't a suspect for me. Can't see you shooting a man through the throat. It's a messy death, you need balls for that.”

Closing her eyes, Sam let his ire wash over her.

“You could have at least done the paperwork.”

“I'm locked out of the case files, sir. So I don't tamper with them,” she added in case the idea couldn't penetrate his thick skull.

“You should have said something. I would have let you back in. I hate cross-­filing data.”

Sam hid her smile. “I'll take the case back if you don't want it, sir. I've got nothing better to do.” There was still cleanup in the city, and the shelters needed volunteers, and in terms of charity toward her fellowman, there was quite a lot of good to do. But in the current heat wave, she was certain that staying in the air-­conditioned office was all that kept her from decking the next idiot who asked for the shirt off her back.

Firefighters and pickup lines.

She'd considered stopping at the local department store to look at costume jewelry. Maybe if she stuck a big enough rock on her left hand, everybody would back off.

Marrins gave her a patronizing smile. “There's plenty of work for a girl like you, Rose. Maybe not at the bureau, but there are plenty of places for a girl who knows how to keep her mouth shut. Now, get back to your office while it's still yours.”

The door closed quietly behind her. Sam wanted to slam it shut, preferably on Marrins's fat head. Storming back to her office in a quiet fashion was out of the question, so she walked, letting the rage simmer.

Her phone rang, interrupting her pity party. “Agent Rose speaking.”

“Rose, it's Altin, get me Marrins.”

“Why don't you try calling Marrins's phone number?” Sam sniped.

“Marrins isn't answering.” Altin made it sound as if it were all her fault.

“So leave a message!”

“I can't. Dr. Emir is having fits over here and demanding the bureau's attention.”

Sam puckered her lips as she leaned against the wall. “You know that's not my problem.”

“Get off your rear and walk it down to Marrins's office.”

“He's just going to tell me to leave,” she said.

“Hand him the phone.”

“I'll get the door slammed in my face.” Again.

“Then put on the speaker and slide the phone under the door! Tarnation, Sam! Get me Marrins.””

“Fine!” Sam walked back to Marrins's office with a little extra stomp in her step. “Sir? Detective Altin is on the phone. It's urgent.”

Marrins scowled up at her from the game of cards he was playing on his phone. “What's he need?”

“Emir is throwing tantrums again.”

“I don't want to deal with Emir right now. Tell him to shut his mouth and get back to work.” With a flick of his finger, he moved a card and grunted in approval.

Sam relayed the information to Altin.

“He doesn't care?” Altin fumed. “It's his job to care. He gets paid to care.”

“I don't think he cares about that either,” Sam told Altin. Marrins glowered at her. “Sir, what do you want done?”

Marrins waved her away. “Handle it, Rose, it's not my problem.”

“Rose,” Altin growled over the phone. “If someone from the bureau isn't down here in twenty minutes—­”

“I got it covered,” Sam said. She scooped her purse from her desk. “I'll be there in fifteen.”

“You shouldn't be on this case,” Altin said. “You've already been threatened once.”

“Your choices are me or Agent MacKenzie from the morgue.”

Altin swore away from the phone. Sam couldn't hear everything, but there were a ­couple of creative insults about Marrins's parentage that she tucked away for future use.

“If it helps any, Agent Marrins is satisfied with my alibi. I was on a plane when Mr. Robbins was shot.”

“Your alibi isn't near as troubling as the death threats.”

“Threat, singular,” Sam said. “It was a message for the bureau, not me in particular, and there have been no further incidents.”

“Fine,” Altin said at last. “Come here. Talk Emir off his pedestal, and I'll deal with the fallout.”

“I can go to an early lunch instead,” Sam offered as she climbed into her car. “That wouldn't bother me at all.”

“You're enjoying this,” Altin grumbled.

“Getting my case back? Why, yes, thank you ever so much, I am. I got run off because of your overprotective Good Guy instinct, and now I'm getting asked back in. Why shouldn't I be happy?”

“I still don't have an ME report on Robbins,” Altin's voice held a note of warning.

“You will have it as soon as Harley finishes it. And we both know it's going to show I couldn't have possibly killed Robbins.”

“Doesn't clear your boy MacKenzie.”

“MacKenzie jumps at his own shadow. Can you honestly picture him shooting anyone? At all?”

Altin grumbled.

“We'll find the killer, but we're wasting time looking in the bureau for the murder weapon.”

“We'll see.” Altin didn't sound convinced. “Now, get over here before I take a swing at the doctor. That man makes my fists itch like I'm eighteen again.”

She pulled out of the parking lot. “See you in fifteen.”

She didn't bother hanging up the handset, just dialed MacKenzie when she hit the first stop sign.

“Agent MacKenzie.”

“Hi, Mac, it's Sam.”

“Can I help you?” he sounded baffled—­par for the course with MacKenzie.

“I need the autopsy results on Mordicai Robbins.”

“By when?”

“Yesterday.”

“I thought you were off the case. For that matter, I thought
I
was off the case. I know I don't always track these things well, but I'm pretty sure we aren't supposed to be involved.” He sounded annoyed, which beat drugged any day of the week. Eventually, she'd tell him he was using breath mints as medical treatment, but that little factoid could wait until her transfer to anywhere else came through.

“Dr. Emir is demanding someone from the bureau speak with him. Marrins sent me,” Sam told him. “So I guess that means I'm back on the case. And Altin is demanding the autopsy results ASAP.”

“Really?” Mac sounded skeptical.

She turned onto the highway headed out of town. “Marrins told me to handle it. Those were his exact words.”

There was a pointed silence.

“What?” she asked with all the innocence fourteen years of Catholic schooling had taught her.

“ ‘Handle it' does not mean get involved in the case again,” MacKenzie said.

“It's very nearly the same thing,” Sam argued.

“No, it really isn't.”

“Just finish the autopsy.”

There was a low rumble of objection from Mac, then another sigh. “Anything in particular I'm looking for?”

“Time of death, motive, anything that can tell me who killed him. There's a murderer loose. Maybe we have a polite killer who left us a note tucked in Robbins's pocket.”

“What about the Melody Doe autopsy?”

“What about it?”

“They tagged it last night. Harley had it down in his locker, but Robbins is in there, too. If I'm going body snatching, I might as well make the most of it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Would anyone notice?”

“All I need is twenty minutes per body to run the scan. If I can program the cold chambers to connect with my workstation instead of Harley's, I can run secondary scans later.”

“How long would that take?”

“Maybe an hour for both.”

“Oh.” So much for that idea.

“Don't worry: Harley likes long lunches.” She thought there was a hint of a smile in Mac's voice. “You want it done?”

Maybe she wouldn't mention the breath mints after all. It was nice to have a mentally able coconspirator. “Yes.”

“Who gets the results?”

She hesitated. Marrins should get the results, but . . .
But indeed.
She bit her lip.

“Sam?”

“Altin and Marrins. Altin, me, and Marrins.”

“Marrins?” The tone of Mackenzie's voice said he didn't agree.

“Marrins is in charge of the case.”

“If you say so. I'll do the autopsy, and we'll go from there. MacKenzie out.”

She knew his reservations, but she also knew that protocol said Marrins needed to know. What MacKenzie didn't seem to get was that any information that landed on Marrins's desk was lost in a black hole; he'd never read it. She pulled into the N-­V Nova Labs parking lot just as Altin headed for his car. “Where are you going?” Sam asked as she locked her door.

“Domestic situation just went critical at one of the shelters,” Altin said. “I've got to get down there. Emir is inside. Talk to him. Calm him down. For the love of all that is holy, do not promise him anything. The man is delusional. I'll see if I can get the department shrink down here next week.” His radio screamed with static. “I've got to go.”

Sam waved as he peeled out of the parking lot, hit his lights, and gunned the engine down the road. So much for the idea of backup.

“Thanks.”

The atrium had been repaired. All the cracked windows and lights were once again in place. A small cleaning bot buffed the floors to a mirror finish. Three burly guards sat at the main desk. Another pair were split, one at each entrance. Sam showed the first guard her ID, then walked over to the desk to sign in.

“Hi.” She flashed the guards a bright smile. “I'm Agent Rose with the CBI. Where is Dr. Emir?”

A flat-­eyed guard with the name
SMITH
pinned to his chest picked up the in-­house phone. “We'll page him. Go sit down.”

She would have tried looking impressed, but it would have been faked. It didn't matter since Dr. Emir was racing out of the door toward her when she turned. “Agent Rose! Agent Rose! Yes. Yes, of course, the paladin rushing to the rescue. It makes perfect sense. You will help me.” He grabbed her hand with sweaty palms.

The little man who looked like a skinny Santa was thinner than she remembered, disheveled, shaking. “Dr. Emir, are you hurt?”

“No. No. Not yet. I haven't been hurt yet.” His eyes darted left and right, as if he expected someone to grab him at any moment. With a startled jump, he dragged her back to his lab. “Not safe. Not safe out there. Someone might see me.”

“That's what security guards are for.” Sam tugged her hand, ineffectually trying to break free. “Don't you like the security guards, Dr. Emir? They keep you safe. Keep your work safe.”

Dr. Emir let out a manic sound. After a minute, Sam realized he was laughing. “They don't protect me. They
watch
me. For him. This is my prison.” He rubbed a gnarled brown hand along the door lintel. “This is my prison of my own making,” he said sadly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “I will die here.”

Sam frowned in worry. “Dr. Emir, are you not feeling well? Were you threatened?”

“Threatened?” His head snapped up. For a moment, his eyes were distant and disoriented, then he shook himself back to the present. “Threatened, dear me, no. Why would you ask, Agent Rose?”

“You just said this was a prison, and you were going to die here.”
And because
I
want to kill you, so I'm just assuming others do, too.

“Oh.” He gave a light laugh, and it sounded forced. The smile on his lips never touched his eyes. “A figure of speech. I was being metaphorical. I meant I devoted my life to this work. Everything I do must be done. I must go forward with it. I have gone forward with it.” Mania gripped his expression again, then slipped away.

Sam waited cautiously by the door. If he lunged, she was running, high heels or no.

Dr. Emir gave her a tight smile. “Why are you here, Agent Rose?”

“You wanted to see someone from the bureau.”

“Yes, but why
you
? Agent Marrins is handling this case. I am well aware of this fact. He has impressed that on me several times.”

Really?
When?
“Agent Marrins was busy, so he sent me.”

“To speak for him?”

Sam shrugged. “I suppose. We work for the same ­people.”

“Oh.” For some reason, that seemed to disappoint Emir. His shoulders drooped, and he looked at the floor. “Very well. I will explain. Marrins understands the importance of my work better than you, I expect.”

“I'm sure,” Sam murmured, keeping the sarcasm out of her voice.

Dr. Emir wrung his hands in worry. “It is critical, what I do. It will save lives. I don't agree with what your senior agent thinks. I don't think the machine can be made to bend the way he suggests. But it will save lives.”