Break No Bones (33 page)

Liquid mercury boiled in my chest.

"What about patient files?" I asked, finding it hard to keep my voice neutral.

"Berry wil be producing al paper records," Gulet said. "We've confiscated the computer."

"Does patient information go up the chain to GMC?"

Gulet shook his head. "Clinic is a self-contained operation, records never leave. After six years, they're destroyed."

"What's Berry's story?" Ryan asked.

"Never saw a thing out of the ordinary. Dr. Marshal is a saint."

"How about Daniels?"

"Never saw a thing out of the ordinary. Dr. Marshal is a saint."

"The cleaning guy?"

"O'Del Towery. Comes in nights. Mildly retarded. Got a deputy talking with Towery now. Doubt that's going anywhere."

"What's happening in Mexico?" I asked.

"Soon's I hear, you'l know."

"What about Marshal's office?"

"CSU bagged one thing you'l like." Gulet thrust both hands into his pants pockets, came out empty, patted his shirt. "Hold on."

I heard the sheriff clomp down, then back up the hal. Reentering the OR, he held out a smal evidence bag. "From a holow below the pen rack in the desk drawer. CSU

sucked it out with some kind of vacuum thingy."

I felt jubilation elbow the abhorrence in my gut.

The bag held a smal brown shel. Like the smal brown shel I'd found in Wilie Helms's grave.

"If you folks wil excuse me a moment," Gulet said, "I must inform the good doctor that he is under arrest for suspicion of the murder of Unique Montague, and arrange for his custody and transportation."

===OO=OOO=OO===

After a quick lunch, Ryan and I stopped by the hospital. More good news. Pete was conversing normaly and regaining a little color. According to the surgeon, the Latvian Savant had suffered muscle tearing and some arterial bleeding and would need rehab, but should mend without permanent damage.

I was surprised by the choking sensation in my throat.

I knew I'd be relieved and grateful, but was stunned by the intensity of emotion that swept through me. Looking at Pete with his tubes and tape and machinery, I felt tears break from my lids. A few inches more toward the midline, and that bulet could have kiled him. Disguising the gesture as a hair tuck, I wiped my cheeks.

Ryan took my hand and squeezed. I looked up. The confusion on his face told me he'd seen.

Emma had also had a reasonably good report. Her blood count wasn't up, but neither was it down. Dr. Russel had adjusted her regimen and dosage, and though stil exhausted, she was no longer tossing
all
of her cookies.

At our request, Emma caled the malacologist. If Ryan and I came to Columbia, would he examine the shels that day?

He would. We were cookin'!

The drive took less than ninety minutes. A man named Lepinsky met us in the lobby of the state crime lab building. Lepinsky was tal and brawny, with a shiny bald head and a loop in one ear, more Mr. Clean than my image of a biology prof.

"Thanks for coming in," I said.

Lepinsky shrugged one overmuscled shoulder. "No classes today, campus is a spit from here."

Lepinsky took us to a smal lab containing cabinets with zilions of long, narrow drawers. Black-topped counters held work trays, glove boxes, glass slides, and microscopes.

"Let's see what you got," Lepinsky said, holding out a hand the size of one of those foam things fans wave at sporting events.

I produced the evidence bag.

Lepinsky tweezed out the shel, placed it under a scope, sat, and adjusted focus.

Seconds ticked by. A ful minute. Five more.

Ryan and I exchanged glances over Lepinsky's hunched back. Ryan raised his brows and palms. What could be taking so long? I shrugged.

Lepinsky flipped the shel.

The air was close and hot and smeled of disinfectant and glue. Beside me, Ryan shifted his feet. Checked his watch.

I gave him the look my mother gave me when I wiggled in church.

Ryan cleared his throat, turned, and checked out the cabinets.

Lepinsky again rotated the shel. Changed magnification.

Ryan crossed his arms. I knew a comment was coming.

"Cases hold reference colections?" he asked.

"Mm," Lepinsky said.

"Cost a lot of clams?"

Lepinsky didn't answer.

"Must have been a bear to mussel them up here."

I roled my eyes.

"Mussels and clams are not the same thing," Lepinsky said, deadpan as Gulet, then looked up. The scope light made the hairs curling from his T look like smal, white wires.

"And what are you kiddies hoping Santa wil bring?"

"A freshwater snail named
Viviparus intertextus,"
I said.

"You've been good boys and girls."

===OO=OOO=OO===

"So mussels and clams don't attend the same family reunions," Ryan said, merging onto I-26. "Go figure."

It was after six, and we were on our way back to Charleston. We'd stopped at Maurice's Piggy Park. The man's politics are offensive, but Maurice Bessinger makes primo barbecue sauce.

Exhausted from my al-nighter, and gorged on pork, fries, and sweet tea, I wanted to colapse against the headrest and drift off. Instead, I caled to tel Gulet about Lepinsky's ID.

"The snails were the same freshwater species I found buried with Helms."

"You're going to love this."

Did I actualy hear a note of something in Gulet's voice? Pleasure? Satisfaction?

"When they finished the clinic, the DA got a second warrant and CSU tossed Marshal's home. The doctor is one fastidious little toad. Place was like a monastery, antisepticaly clean, few personal items. But Marshal was a colector."

"Shels!" No question about
my
tone. Elation.

"Hundreds, al labeled and lined up in neat little boxes."

I heard a voice in the background.

"Hang on." Gulet put me on hold.

While waiting, I told Ryan about Marshal's hobby.

"Hope he didn't put clams and mussels in the same tray."

When Gulet reengaged he had more news.

"Marshal's Bayliner's in Key Largo, Florida."

"That was fast."

"Sent out an APB on the boat's make and registration number. Key Largo cops spotted her about twenty minutes ago. Name's the
Flight of Whimsy."

"Flight, yes, whimsy, no. How'd she get to the Keys?"

"Gentleman named Sandy Mann claims to have purchased her in Charleston, made the run south on Sunday. Time line talies. According to witnesses, the
Flight of
Whimsy's
been docked at the marina since sometime on Monday."

"What's Mann's story?"

"He's on his way in to tel it."

"Rodriguez?"

"The Puerto Valarta police hit the Abrigo whatever about the time we were busting Marshal. Found pretty much the same setup, though more sophisticated on that end.

Spa's a front."

"Rodriguez?"

"Not at the spa, his home, or his club. One vehicle missing. Girlfriend thinks he may have driven to Oaxaca to visit friends."

"He's skipped."

"Most likely."

"Marshal must have tipped him."

"They'l nail him. Though the Mexican cops aren't certain what the charges wil be."

"The man sold organs ransacked from murder victims."

"I suspect Dr. Rodriguez's lawyer wil paint a different picture. If he has bogus records for the sources of the organs he implanted it may be hard to make a case. We need to show delivery of a victim's organ and knowledge on his part."

"Doctor." I snorted in disgust. "The man is a moral invalid and should be locked up. No one who promotes death deserves to be caled doctor. Same goes for Marshal."

"Marshal's not going anywhere. Magistrate's holding him on a charge of murder one."

"What's he saying?"

"'I want a lawyer.'"

"Statute gives him the right to a hearing before a judge within forty-eight hours. Marshal wil be out on bond by Friday."

"If so, we'l be on him like white on rice. My deputy's going through clinic files now."

"You've got my spreadsheet?"

"First set of names we checked. Nothing. Marshal probably destroyed al records for patients he kiled."

"He stil had Montague's file."

"True."

When we'd disconnected, I updated Ryan. Then I leaned back and closed my eyes. Though dog tired, I felt good. Realy good.

Marshal was behind bars and evidence was being colected that would nail him for homicide and countless other charges.

We'd shut down an international ring trafficking in human organs. Though Rodriguez had slipped the net for now, I was sure he'd be caught and prosecuted.

I'd fulfiled my vow to help Emma. The man on Dewees, the man in the trees, and the lady in the barrel could now rest in peace.

Gulet was working with the Charleston PD, and I was sure other MPs would eventualy be tracked. Maybe Aikman, Teal, and Flynn. If international laws were broken, the FBI would undoubtedly sign on.

When Ryan puled in at "Sea for Miles," I checked the dash clock: 7:42. We were climbing the steps when my cel phone sounded. I clicked on, hoping it was Gulet with news Rodriguez was in the bag.

"Dr. Brennan." The voice was male, but otherwise, nothing clicked.

"Who's caling, please?"

"Dr. Lester Marshal. I need to see you."

"There is absolutely nothing—"

"Quite the contrary. And perhaps I misspoke." Marshal paused. "It is
you
who need to see me."

"I doubt that."

"Doubting me would be unwise, Dr. Brennan. Come tomorrow. You know where to find me."

34

MARSHALL WAS BEING HELD AT THE DETENTION CENTER ON Leeds Avenue in North Charleston. Ryan and I went to see him the next morning. We'd discussed the pros and cons before faling asleep. Ryan was con. I was pro. Gulet and the DA took my side, saying there was nothing to lose.

To be honest, I was curious. Marshal's ego was the size of a planet. Why would he lower himself to cal me? Did he want to make a deal? Pointless. Plea bargaining was a matter for the DA.

In addition to curiosity, I had another purpose. I'd seen Ryan interrogate suspects. Given Marshal's arrogance, I felt there was a chance the creep might incriminate himself.

At the detention center, Ryan and I passed through security and were led to a second-floor interrogation room. Marshal and his lawyer were already there, seated at a gray metal table. Marshal tensed visibly at seeing Ryan. Neither man rose.

"Who's this?" the lawyer asked.

"Bodyguard," I said.

"No," the lawyer said.

Shrugging indifference, I turned to go.

Marshal raised a hand. The lawyer turned to him. Marshal gave a tight nod. The lawyer gestured that we should sit.

Ryan and I took chairs opposite the two men. The lawyer introduced himself as Walter Tuckerman. He was short and balding, with heavy-lidded eyes flecked with tiny red veins.

Tuckerman spoke first, looking at me. "Dr. Marshal has a statement to make. You, and
only
you, may ask questions pertaining to that statement. Should any question go outside the bounds of that statement, I wil terminate this meeting. Is that understood, Miss Brennan?"

"It's 'Doctor.'" Icy.

Tuckerman gave me an oily smile. "Dr. Brennan."

Who the hel was this guy? Marshal was taking up
my
time. Though my impulse was adios, I remained seated.

Tuckerman patted his client's sleeve. "Go ahead, Lester."

Marshal folded manicured hands on the tabletop. He was looking significantly less natty today in his washed-too-many-times faded blue prison garb.

"I have been set up."

"Realy."

"There is nothing concrete to connect me to these murders." Marshal kept his eyes fixed on me.

"The DA thinks otherwise."

"What has been concocted is purely circumstantial."

"Unique Montague, Wilie Helms, and Noble Cruikshank were al strangled with a wire noose. The police found such a noose at your clinic. In harvesting the organs of Helms and Montague, you left scalpel cuts on their bones."

"Anyone can buy a scalpel."

"Your clinic is outfitted with a makeshift OR. Odd for a facility specializing in aspirins and Band-Aids."

"It was hardly an OR. I am occasionaly caled upon to excise a boil or do simple suturing. I require good lighting."

When Gulet, the DA, and I had deliberated the advisability of my visiting Marshal and had decided that I would, indeed, talk with him, we'd also discussed what approach I would take. The DA had suggested that I appear open, create the impression I was tipping my hand, while at the same time revealing nothing that the accused didn't already know. Ryan had agreed that the tactic could prove fruitful.

"The Puerto Valarta police raided your buddy's 'spa.'" I finger-hooked quotation marks. "We know Rodriguez trained as a surgeon, and have statements from patients who received kidneys at his facility. We know that you and Rodriguez attended med school together, and that both of you were sanctioned for abusing your medical licenses." The DA had already shared with Marshal her awareness of al this.

"Very true. But the scenario you've fabricated is entirely speculative."

"Enjoy malacology, Dr. Marshal?" Marshal knew about the eyelash, but we weren't certain if he knew about the shels. We'd decided I would bring them up in order to gauge his reaction.

Marshal ignored the question.

"Your colection missing a few specimens?
Viviparus intertextus
maybe?"

"Hardly relevant," Tuckerman said.

"The
Viviparus intertextus
shel found with Wilie Helms was identical to a shel found in your office desk. Wilie Helms was buried on a beach on Dewees.
Viviparus
intertextus
is a freshwater species."

"Ask yourself, Dr. Brennan, why in the world would I carry shels on my person while disposing of a body? Surely you see that that is pure stage management."

"You're suggesting someone planted the shels on Helms's body and in your desk to throw suspicion on you?"