Gray Night (16 page)

 I wasn’t thrilled about handing over my baby to someone that didn’t even own a car, but it’s not like she hadn’t had over an hour behind the wheel yesterday. She’d earned it.

 By the time I’d regained my bearings last night I worried she’d break down. If that happened, she could have had me thrown off the investigation. Probably fired outright since Henry had been my only advocate. At the end of that tunnel would be special agent Bob. If my tenuous relationship with the FBI fell apart, the consequences would be…let’s just say federal prison would be a dream come true in comparison to the alternatives.

 So, I let her drive. Maybe it would help keep her heartened and maintain this strange new working relationship that wasn’t the pain in the ass I thought it would be when she’d sat in my car yesterday. Like I said, she’d earned it. Getting me straight home last night saved my life in more ways than one. I was grateful. Now if only she’d hurry and get back down here.

 She ran down the steps with bag in hand two minutes later. She’d changed into jeans and a thin, long sleeved white blouse covered in a dark brown vest with several lighter colored straps that buckled across instead of buttons, and one buckled up the side. It matched her triple buckle belt and shoes. She’d even done her hair in a loose updo, swept back with choppy locks hanging down to the middle of her back. I noticed she had on a clockwork and amber necklace, and a ring that matched, when she got to the car. She’d also put on some light makeup and a darker shade of lipstick. Color me impressed. I couldn’t have done that in seven or eight minutes. Not that I’ve tried or anything.

 She ran across the street to the driver’s side, opened it, and tossed me the bag. I sat there as she stood staring until her head tilted. Oh. Right. I rolled my eyes and slid over into the passenger side. Claire gave me a smug smile and hopped in, shut the door, and put on her seatbelt.

 “I have something for you. Something I think you might like to try, I mean. It’s in the bag along with the clothes I borrowed,” she said.

 I reached inside and found two hard leather cuff bracelets with a thin layer of wool inside. Looked like they would match her adjustable buckles. Looked like they matched her vest, belt, and shoes, too.

 “I noticed last night,” she looked over at me. “The wounds on your wrist. They keep reopening and will never heal like that. I thought maybe those would protect the wraps around them. At least they couldn’t make it any worse.”

 That was a good idea. They looked like they might make my wrists sweaty and itchy, but the medicated wrappings Djimon put around them was already doing that.

 “Thanks,” I said, sliding back my jacket to put them on.

 “I know they’ve bothered you. I noticed at the museum. Not the morning, but the night before at the gala. Everyone thought you were joking about the handcuffs. But you weren’t. Were you?”

 “Not so much, no. I thought Henry was the only one that believed me. It sure did cost him.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “Oh, Walker bet him I invented the story to make it sound more exciting. He mentioned it during your speech and I didn’t defend myself. It wasn’t the time or place for that argument and Walker was half drunk and having a good time at Henry’s expense. It would have turned ugly so I didn’t participate. I didn’t know they had a wager on it. Henry paid him two hundred dollars.”

 “Is that why you two were arguing over money while everyone was leaving?”

 “Yeah. I tried explaining and wanted to pay him back, but he wouldn’t have it. Said he liked letting Walker take advantage of him in a bunch of small ways because it kept him from interfering in more serious ways like he does with some of the other staff,” I said.

 “That sounds like something Henry would do,” she said. “And Walker.”

 “Say Spurling, you don’t happen to know who it was that asked the waiter to keep my dinner warm in the kitchen that night, do you?” I asked, buckling the cuffs on.

 Claire grinned in a way I hadn’t seen on her before. Shyly.

 “Buckle up, Knight,” she said without looking at me. She grabbed my belt strap and tightened it down in a swift jerk like I’d done to her the day before.

 We made great time, and fifteen minutes later she whipped into an OCME parking space smooth and straight. I had to question whether or not she was, in fact, born a boy considering how natural she was behind the wheel.

 Then she punched me in the arm.

 We got out and headed around to the side door, as instructed on the phone, to see one of the assistant ME’s, my friend Irish. Dr. Page I suppose now.

 That alone was an awkward enough situation to avoid. Had avoided since I’d returned, actually. The last time we spoke it ended with her chasing me and throwing rocks at my back as I ran. I only saw her once after that and she hadn’t even looked at me. If Irish thought it was important enough to talk to me then it was.

 We waited outside the side door until someone that wasn’t Irish came to open it.

 “You two don’t look like any consultants I’ve ever seen,” said a scrawny young guy in a white lab coat that was two sizes too big. He looked like a kid pretending to go to work with his dad. I made sure I didn’t say any of that out loud, though.

 Claire spoke before I could think of anything better to say. “I’m Dr. Spurling, forensic archaeologist with the American Museum of Natural History. This is my colleague, Mr. Knight, an investigator for the museum,” she said, not faking the professionalism at all. She really was a forensic archaeologist. It said so, among a list of other titles, on the badge the museum had given her that she was showing to the little guy. I remembered the museum had given me a fancy new badge too and, not to be outdone, I whipped it out and handed it to him.

 He handed them both back.

 “Follow me, please,” he said rather put out.

 “I have a badge, too,” I whispered to Claire.

 She stuck her tongue out at me.

 The little guy led us through a maze of empty hallways. He stopped at an unmarked door in a line of unmarked doors, opened it, and gestured for us to enter.

 “Dr. Page will be with you in a moment,” he said, shutting the door behind us.

 The chemical smell of powerful cleaner had grown strong the deeper inside we went. It hadn’t lessened in the small office we found ourselves in. No windows. We were in the center of the building. The room was stark and the desk barren, but fake plants were in abundance among the chairs.

 We sat down to wait and I turned to Claire.

 “Listen, about Dr. Page—” I started before the prettiest girl I’d ever known walked in, chewing gum.

 Irish Page. Seven years had taken her beauty and, I don’t know, made it more. She was shorter than average, medium length red hair so dark it was almost purple, no makeup, wearing slacks and a green t-shirt with a shamrock on it that said
Kiss me I’m Irish
. She’d always kept one of those in her closet for as far back as I could remember.

 “You’re Claire Spurling?” Irish asked Claire, completely ignoring me.

 “Dr. Spurling, yes,” Claire replied, standing.

 “I apologize, Doctor. Detective Harris didn’t mention that,” Irish said.

 “No, I suspect he didn’t. He does that. Mostly because he’s a jerk,” said Claire.

 Irish giggled and her bright blue eyes sparkled for a moment just like I remembered. Maybe she was happy again.

 “Yeah, I picked up on that. He was adamant that neither one of you have anything to do with this and to call him if anyone matching your descriptions started poking around,” Irish said before turning to me. “Even a description of Djimon. Looks like he’s done his homework G—” she stopped herself. “Adrian. Does she…does she know?” Irish asked with a glance at Claire.

 I shook my head no.

 “Claire, allow me to introduce my friend,” I glanced at Irish and didn’t get any look in response. “Dr. Page. Dr. Irish Page. Irish, this is Dr. Claire Spurling.”

 “It’s very nice to meet—wait. Irish?” Claire asked.

 Irish nodded.

 “I saw a picture of you. In Nick Roarke’s office,” Claire said. “You were riding an elephant.”

 Irish laughed out loud. “Oh geez, he still has that? I had forgotten,” Irish said. “You and Michael having that stupid jousting tournament,” she said, shaking her head smiling, but then covered her face with her hands. I was pretty sure she wasn’t smiling anymore.

 I took a step closer to her, but she stopped me with a hand to the chest.

 “No. Don’t,” Irish said.

 “Maybe I should wait outside for a minute,” said Claire.

 “No. Nonsense, I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important. You need to see this. Both of you,” said Irish, turning back and opening the door behind her. “Follow me, please.”

 Claire gave me a look so curious I hopped in front of her and went in next to get away from it.

 “One more thing you’re going to have to explain to me one day, Mr. Knight,” Claire whispered behind me.

 “Start keeping a list,” I whispered back.

 She kicked my heel and I had to double hop to keep from tripping.

 Irish led us through a short hall with various rooms to each side. Frosted glass windows obscured mostly stainless steel rooms behind them. She opened one near the end of the hall and let us in.

 “I could get in major trouble for this if either of you mention it. So don’t,” Irish said, walking to the other side of the room where there was a wall of small stainless steel doors. Refrigerated doors. How exciting.

 “Is that what I think it is?” Claire asked.

 “If you think it’s a refrigerator full of dead people then yes, yes it is,” I said helpfully.

 I got two sets of glares.

 “Yes, Dr. Spurling. This is one of the labs we have with its own morgue. And my least favorite place in the whole building,” Irish said, opening one of the doors and sliding a table out.

 “No, I can’t imagine it would be,” Claire said. “But you chose a rather odd profession if it bothers you.”

 “Oh, it doesn’t bother me. Not most of it. Just this part,” Irish said, gesturing toward the freezer full of bodies and looking over at me. I gave her the most sincere half grin I could and closed my eyes nodding. I understood.

 Claire gave me a look that said she knew something had just passed between me and Irish. One more thing added to her list. The woman could hold an entire conversation with facial expressions.

 Irish pulled the white sheet off the body underneath down to the waist. It was a man. Caucasian. Maybe in his late thirties. Fit. Huge. Who am I kidding, you put an axe in his hand and he’d be a Viking. And half his throat was missing.

 Irish pulled the body up off of one shoulder. Another chunk of flesh was gone behind the shoulder.

 “I have two more bodies here. From the museum yesterday. They’re both in worse condition than this, but many of the injuries are identical. Harris seemed to imply that you two were working a separate angle on the case that he didn’t want interfering, and I thought you could use all the information you could get,” said Irish.

 Claire had her eyes closed. She looked sick.

 “Are you all right?” Irish asked.

 Claire shook her head.

 “She was the one that found them, Henry and George, yesterday morning in the museum. They’re friends,” I put my hand on Claire’s shoulder. I was surprised when she grabbed it and kept it there.

 “I am so sorry,” Irish said, covering the body and sliding it back into the door. “I cannot believe he didn’t tell me. I would never have…I’m sorry,” Irish said again.

 “No. No, I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting to ever see anything like that again,” Claire said.

 “I am so sorry. No one should ever have to. But I still think it’s important that you know,” said Irish.

 “Know what exactly? That there is another victim. Killed in the exact same way?” I said.

 “Not
exactly
the same way. This man’s cause of death was drowning. He was attacked moments before he was in the water,” Irish said.

 “And how long was that? Can you tell?” I asked.

 “Yes. Between eighty-four and ninety-six hours. So, at least three days. Not more than four,” she said.

 “Where was he found?” Claire asked.

 “Newark Bay,” said Irish.

 “What caused the injuries?” I asked.

 Claire looked at me.

 “I just want it confirmed,” I said.

 “It was more difficult to tell than you think. We see some strange stuff here. But yes, I found saliva in one of the wounds. It’s a human bite mark,” Irish said.

 “Only found in one of the wounds? Wouldn’t it be left in all of them if that’s what caused it?” Claire asked.

 “Yes. But after so long in the water we were lucky to find what we did. There are several tests that need performed. Most to filter through all the bacteria and other contaminants there because of the water, and any decomposition. It takes time. We caught a break finding the saliva,” Irish said.

 “Any chance there’s a match in one of the police databases?” I asked.

 “No. I’m not involved in that part of it. But it doesn’t matter. The detectives at the scene recognized him even after so long in the water. You were looking at Reenan Keller,” Irish said.

 “Who is Reenan Keller?” Claire asked.

 “I didn’t know either until I asked Detective Harris, and he told me Keller worked for—” Irish said.

 “Diamond Jack,” I finished.

 “That’s right. From what I hear, he has moved up in the world over the last several years,” Irish said.

 “Oh,” said Claire.

 “So a local crime boss is doing something that gets his people attacked like this and left for dead in the water,” I thought out loud, refraining from using the word ‘eaten’ for all our sakes. “Wouldn't there be more bodies floating around, so to speak, if there was a shakeup in the underworld?” I asked.

 “These aren’t the only three I’ve seen,” said Irish. She looked sick now, too.

Chapter Fourteen

 When Irish showed us pictures of the first few victims, I was amused at the idea of organized criminals eating each other. Surely there was a joke about taking a bite out of crime in there. But it wasn’t funny after a half dozen. I felt Claire shiver next to me when Irish pulled out another half dozen. Irish pointed to a stack of manila folders, maybe two dozen more and, to her credit, Claire looked more angry than scared.