While police officers and firemen converged on the Coroner’s Office, I took the opportunity to clean up.
The EMTs sat Rico down, so they could check his jaw. Although a dark angry bruise had already bloomed, his jaw didn’t appear to be broken. When they suggested an x-ray just to be sure, Rico’s only answer was the thin set of his lips and the thundercloud over his brow.
When my phone began to ring. I didn’t need to look at the display to know who was calling, but the ringtone taunted me: Don’t be shy. Have a quick look-see. It’s only the train wreck you’ve been waiting for since your bullet punched a hole in the building’s sprinkler line.
I pulled the phone from my pocket and took a deep breath. “Hi, Cap.”
I held the phone several inches from my head. It was hard to know which was louder, Cap or the damned fire alarm that continued to blare in the background.
Getting a word in edgewise wasn’t easy. “Yeah, but… Yeah, but… Yeah, but… Okay. You bet. It’s not as ba—”
He hung up in my ear and I winced, turning toward Rico. “We’ve been summoned.”
Bill Weston, Rico and I sat across from Cap, listening to his colorful rendition of our bone-headed fuck-ups. It was hard not to agree with him.
He started with our stalled investigation into the zombie at the gun-range, threw in Miriam’s death (which, so far, had produced more questions than answers), then summarized the list of damages I’d “wreaked upon the city” (au contraire), before finally ending with this morning’s flood in the morgue basement.
He didn’t take a breath until he hit the bottom of the list and for a moment, I thought he might pass out.
But he pulled himself together and continued. “Let’s recap our findings, shall we? We determined that there were no signs of forced entry, or any unusual fingerprints at the gun-range, which led us to believe there could be a badge involved, right? Any more on that front?”
Rico wriggled like a six-year-old and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not really. It comes down to a question of who might have had access to biters as well as a key to the walk-up.”
“And the black Lexus that tailed you on the way to the safe house. Any leads on it?”
“No.” Rico closed his eyes and sighed. “We couldn’t get a plate number, and we haven’t seen it since.”
I threw some shit up on the wall, hoping it would stick. “Well, Jade Chen, the reporter from Channel Ten drives a Black Lexus. It could have been her. She’s always sniffing around for a story.”
“You don’t know that,” Rico said. “Stop accusing her. She said it wasn’t her. Let it go.”
Cap crossed his arms and leaned back, putting his feet on the desk. “But the car hasn’t been back. Maybe you’re both wrong. Maybe it was just a random black Lexus.”
Neither Rico, nor I, said a word.
“So…maybe, we have a mole,” Cap said. “Someone who knew you’d be taking a stroll through Perptown and managed to slip a biter inside the walk-up. Someone who may, or may not, have followed you on your way to the safe house. If we have a mole, who could it be?”
I glanced at Rico. “I still say Jade. She has the means, the motive, and,” I rolled my eyes, “the opportunity.”
Rico’s stare bored a hole through my head.
Cap glanced back and forth between Rico and me, as if he were trying to figure out what wasn’t being said. “Is there something I should know?”
I chewed on my fingernail and glowered at the floor while Rico twitched in his chair like a freaking freshy.
“Has Leo’s location been compromised?” Cap asked.
Rico waved his hand. “No. Of course not.”
“Then what the hell’s the problem?” Cap turned to me, “Is there anything, anything at all you need to say Nighthawk? If so, now’s the time.”
“No, Cap. I got nothing.”
“Then, if you two are finished dancing, let’s get back to our discussion on possible moles.”
Someone knocked at Cap’s door and without waiting for an answer, barged in. That squirrelly janitor, Ottis. He walked straight to the wastebasket, as if no one else was in the room, and started to pick it up, but Cap stopped him.
“Not now, Ottis. We’re in the middle of something here. Come back later. And when you do, wait for me to answer your knock before you enter.”
Ottis tilted his head and studied us like we were a new species of insect, then nodded and left.
Weston leaned forward. “What about him? My money’s on that little weasel. He never talks. He’s always around, almost invisible, rummaging through garbage cans like a little ferret. He could have grabbed the keys to the walk-up.”
“And he was here, in the precinct, the night Miriam was murdered,” Rico said. “Clawson told me so.”
“Ottis?” Cap said. “Not likely, but maybe. Anybody else?” He looked at Rico.
“I don’t know, Cap. It could be anyone with access to both the precinct and the firing range. That’s a big pool of suspects.”
My phone rang, interrupting our little circle jerk. It was Ilse.
“Cap I need to take this,” I said, walking out into the hall.
“Hey, girl, give me good news.” I listened to what she had to say, at least the part I could understand between her sobs, and then had to hold back a few of my own.
After she hung up, I leaned against the wall to collect my thoughts. After pulling myself together, I walked back into Cap’s office. His mood hadn’t improved.
“Nice of you to rejoin us, Nighthawk. Did your Swedish contact ever get back to you with the results of his tissue samples from the European biter? Or is he out ice-fishing somewhere?”
Goddam. I hated this job.
“Sandy’s been missing since the night he took the samples. The lab sent a security guard to check on him yesterday. His back door had been kicked in and his home had been ransacked. The police have started working the case. His associate, Dr. Christian, stepped in to run the tests.”
Cap glared at me. “You didn’t think I needed to know that, Nighthawk? You need to keep—”
“Keep you posted, right?” I felt the vein in my temple pulsing. “That was Sandy’s secretary, Ilse, on the phone just now. They found Sandy stabbed and turned deadhead. No bite marks and no injection sites. They had to put him down this morning. Dr. Christian performed the tissue sample tests for us since Sandy was…since Sandy wasn’t there. He found a new, previously unidentified DNA sequence in the virus. He doesn’t know its origin, but he’s working on it. What he can say is that the virus didn’t organically mutate. It was manipulated. The presence of the unidentified DNA strand confirms that. How’s that for a timely update?”
I grabbed the edge of his desk and the picture of his wife fell over.
Cap lightened his tone. “I’m sorry, Nighthawk. I know you were friends.”
“I don’t need sympathy,” I said, holding back tears. “I need to find out who’s behind all this.”
Rico motioned toward my chair. “Then sit back down and let’s start with what we know. Miriam was stabbed, injected with the Z-virus, and despite not having the marker, turned anyway. BOLO Guy killed both Miriam and the mob boss, Joey Fingerello, then somehow turned into a biter and had to be put down. We still don’t know BOLO Guy’s real name, who he worked for, or why he murdered Miriam and Joey. Nighthawk raised Joey Fingerello, who told us he was in town to lean on Miriam, so she’d give up Leo’s location, but she was already dead before he got to her. And last, but not least, we found out the Z-virus has been manipulated by…who the hell knows.”
Weston rubbed his eyes. “Somebody give me a play book.”
“It’s not that hard, we just need to ask the right questions,” Rico said. “Who has the ability to manipulate the Z-virus? Nighthawk, you said yourself that there are only a handful of people who know this shit. Who are they?”
I sat back down, tilted my head, and stared at the ceiling. “Well, there’s Dr. Kimmel at the CDC, and with Sandy gone, maybe Dr. Christian at the European CDPC. There’s Dr. Sato in Japan, and Ariel Sanchez in Brazil. And all of these scientists have research assistants who might be capable of introducing a new strand of DNA to the virus. But the source of the DNA sequence is unknown. That means that they’d have to engineer the DNA first.”
Cap snorted. “Well, somebody sure as hell knows what they’re doing, or this wouldn’t be happening.”
“What about other corpse whisperers?” Rico asked. “You told me once that they’re not all as…moral as you. Who’s on that list?”
I felt my face flush. “It’s not like we have a Facebook group, De Palma. The good ones don’t wear white hats and the bad ones don’t wear black. Some of them might even switch hit on occasion, depending on the circumstances. Now that we know the virus is being manipulated, I’ll start reaching out. Maybe I can narrow down the list.”
Rico’s phone rang, providing a welcome interruption. By asking me specifics about which corpse whisperer could be involved, he was pulling me down a path I wasn’t prepared to travel. In more ways than one.
“De Palma,” Rico said and eased out of his chair to leave the room. But he didn’t get far. “He did? When?” Seconds passed while he listened. “How bad is it?” Finally, he shook his head. “Damn it. We’ll be right there.”
He hung up and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. “That was Ortega from the safe house. Leo had another seizure.” He slid his phone into his pocket. “We need to get over there, Cap.”
Cap turned his eyes to me. “If this is the end, you let me know, pronto.”
“Got it,” I said, scrambling out the door.
I rode with Rico, lights, sirens, the whole production. Once we turned onto Jora Lane, I called Ilse. Even knowing how hard she took Sandy’s death, I was hoping to find her at the lab. She answered on the second ring.
I exhaled long and hard, unaware that I’d been holding my breath. “Hi Ilse, how’re you doing?”
I prayed she wouldn’t tell me the truth. Not because I didn’t care, but because I didn’t have time to chat. I held my tongue, and let her go on a bit, before breaking in.
“Ilse, I’m so sorry, but there’s another reason why I called. Leo’s had another attack. Can Dr. Christian offer any suggestions? Tell me what I need to look for?”
She placed me on hold and put Dr. Christian on the line. “Hello, Ms. Nighthawk, is Leo still seizing now, or has the attack passed?”
“Let me check, Doc.”
Rico pulled up in front of the safe house, and I bounded up the front steps, two at a time.
After bursting through the door, I took one look at Leo and skidded to a halt. “Oh, Jesus, Doc. He’s lying on the living room floor, twitching, with his eyes rolled back in his head. This is way worse than his last one.”
Dr. Christian sounded detached, even clinical, like a seasoned ER physician. “Give him an extra two mils. Put it directly into his heart, not his leg. We want it to pump through his system as quickly as possible.”
Rico grabbed one of Leo’s syringes and tossed it to me. I primed the needle to work out any air bubbles, and then jabbed it into Leo’s heart. He bucked once—hard, like a rodeo bull—then fell completely still.
“Leo,” I said, tapping his face. “Leo? Wake up.”
He didn’t move.
“Leo! Come on, Leo.” I gave him an all-out slap up the side of his head.
“What the… What the fuck?” he moaned. “Stop beating the shit out of me, will ya?”
He rolled onto his side, coughing up a lung.
“Damn, that shit hurts when you stab it into my chest. Somebody get me a glass of water, huh?”
“Dr. Christian, thank you so much,” I said, breathing like I’d run a marathon. “Any other instructions?”
“Happy to help, Nighthawk. Keep him calm today. Sadly, this being his second episode, the meds may be losing their efficacy. Watch for increased tremors, sporadic slurring of his speech, and God forbid, another seizure. I’m here if you need me.”
I hung up the phone and swallowed hard, dreading the day there would be no stopping the inevitable.
Since our shift at the house was due to begin anyway, we sent Powell and Ortega home, and settled in for a quiet afternoon with Leo. He dozed on and off, beneath a blanket on the couch, snoring loud enough to drive Rico and me into the kitchen.
It was quiet without Leo’s non-stop verbal diarrhea. Rico checked his phone for messages, and I pulled up the Internet to catch some news. Later that afternoon, we ordered a pizza with everything but anchovies from Ricardo’s.
Out of the blue, Rico said to me, “So, now that it’s just us, maybe you can tell me what you held back in Cap’s office. You know these renegade corpse whisperers. You have to, at least some of them. There has to be a name that shoots to the top of the Most Likely to Fuck Up the World list. Who is it?”
Little Allie cajoled me. Tell him. Just tell him. The problem was, that although I had my suspicions, there was no way for me to know for sure. And I didn’t want to stir up that nightmare of a hornet’s nest, unless it became absolutely necessary.
While I silently debated coming clean, Toby sprinted up the front steps with our pie. Rico jumped for the door, so Toby wouldn’t wake Leo ringing the bell. But the smell of incoming pizza roused Leo from his nap anyway.
He sat up, stretched, and lay his head on the back of the couch with a groan.
Toby handed the pizza to Rico. “Not feeling good today, Uncle David?”
Leo didn’t answer.
“Uncle David,” I said, patting him on the head. “Toby asked if you weren’t feeling well today.”
Leo’s eyes flew open. “Oh, hiya, kid. Yeah, I’m feeling pretty rough today. Must’ve been that Kimchi I had last night. Thanks for asking.”
Toby smiled. “I know it’s none of my business, but have you guys noticed the black Lexus parked up the street today? I’ve made a couple of deliveries this way already, and it’s been sitting about fifty feet up the block all afternoon. But the minute I pulled into this driveway, it took off. It could be nothing, but I thought you’d want to know.”
Rico glanced at me, I looked him, and Leo stared at us both.
“Maybe you’ll stop delivering pizzas and make detective someday,” I said with a grin. “You didn’t happen to catch the plate number, did you?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.” He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. “What’s it worth to you?”
Rico yanked a twenty out of his wallet and gave it to Toby, along with a high-five. “Way to go, kid. Keep your eyes open. There’s more where that came from.”
“Really?” Toby deadpanned. “Couldn’t prove it from your tips. But, I digress. Here you go, dude.”
He flipped Rico the plate number, then turned to Leo with a wink.
“You feel better soon, Uncle David. Ciao.”
Toby got back into his beater with the Ricardo’s pizza banner strapped on top, and rumbled down Jora Lane.
Rico went into the kitchen, got some plates and napkins, and tossed them to us on the couch.
“Go ahead, eat while it’s hot,” he said. “I’ll be right in. I want to run this plate number first.”
I turned on the TV since Leo was awake, and sat next to him on the couch. We each grabbed a slice and turned our eyes to the screen, just in time to catch a tantalizing promo for the Channel 10 evening news with Jade Chen.
“Meatbag melee at the M.E.’s office. Find out what our local cadaver diver, Allie Nighthawk, has been up to today and hear the latest damage estimate caused by Hurricane Allie. Details at six.”
“God, I hate that bitch.”
Leo flinched as I threw my water bottle at the TV. Magically, it hit the power knob and Jade’s botoxed mug disappeared as the screen went black.
“That chick needs a riding crop,” Leo said. “She rides your ass like Eddie Arcaro.”
“Shut up, Leo.”
Hand to God, people. It sucks being me sometimes.