Twenty

Friday, 6:17 a.m.

By the time a wan gray dawn began to smear itself across the sky, Jenna had been at the crime scene for over two hours. She was wearing her thick brown quilted parka and her Ugg boots, but she was still feeling the cold, and she shuffled her feet as she waited for Dan to bring her a cup of hot coffee.

As it grew lighter, the halogen lamps around the parking lot were switched off, one by one, and the crime scene looked less like a movie set and more like the back yard of a South Street slaughterhouse. The remains of the hospital orderly were still strewn across the asphalt, but the forensic team had finished photographing them and marking the location of whatever entrails they could identify.

Dan came out of the rear entrance of the hospital carrying three cups of coffee. He was wearing a droopy khaki anorak and baggy black sweat pants, and his eyes were puffy from lack of sleep.

‘Ed!’ called Jenna. ‘Coffee’s up!’

Ed Freiburg came over, tugging off his latex gloves. ‘What?’ he said. ‘No donuts?’

Dan handed him and Jenna a cup of coffee each and then rummaged in the pocket of his anorak and produced a paper bag. ‘You think I’d forget donuts? That’s the first thing they teach you at detective school. Buy coffee. Then buy donuts. When you’ve finished drinking the coffee and eating the donuts, then – and only then – examine the evidence and interview witnesses.’

Jenna popped the lid off her cappuccino and sucked at the froth. ‘This is the exact same scenario as the last three fatalities, yes?’

Ed sniffed, and nodded. ‘Pretty much. He was struck at a steeper angle than the others, but I don’t think there’s any doubt. I’d say that the back of his shoulders took all of the initial impact. His head flew forward, into the angle between the two buildings, where it was fielded by one of the bicycle racks. The rest of his body was compressed into the ground with such force that he literally exploded.’

‘What about his heart? Did you find that yet?’

‘Not yet. But it’s still too early to say for sure. The other vics were hit at such a shallow angle that their internal organs were all strung out in a long line. This guy was squished. You know, like hitting a tomato with your fist.

He looked up at the surrounding buildings. ‘I’d say that whatever did this, it came down almost vertical from a considerable height. It would have had to, to build up so much momentum.’

‘So – any preliminary opinions?’ asked Jenna. ‘Another one of your homely angels, maybe?’

‘Not saying it was, not saying it wasn’t. But it weighed a heck of a lot, and it must have been traveling at close to terminal velocity. Two things for sure, though. A, it was alive, and b, it could fly. If it had been an inanimate object, like a grand piano, or a statue, it would still be here. And if it couldn’t fly, it would have been killed or seriously injured on impact, and it would also still be here.’ He bit into his donut. ‘Yecch, cinnamon. I really hate cinnamon.’

‘It’s been proven that cinnamon is good for the memory,’ said Jenna. ‘It also relieves arthritis.’

‘I still hate it. I’d rather forget everything I ever knew and have agonizing pains in my knees. Did you interview the witness yet?’

Jenna checked her wristwatch. ‘I’m going to try in a couple of minutes. He was in too much shock when I first tried to talk to him.’

‘Yeah, well, not surprised,’ said Ed, looking across at the bloody torso that was lying on top of its folded legs as if it were praying to get its head back. ‘How are you going to brief the media?’

‘Don’t know yet. That’s up to Captain Wilson. So far we’ve told them that the two guys who were killed on top of the Nectarine Tower were probably hit by a helicopter, and that James Hallam Junior was more than likely struck by a speeding semi. This guy – I have no idea. But “grand piano falling from the sky” – that isn’t a bad suggestion. Squished by a Steinway.’

*

Once they had finished their coffees, Jenna and Dan pushed their way through the revolving doors into the hospital reception area. One of the hospital administrators was waiting for them – a large, flustered woman in a tight powder-blue suit. She had a wildly fraying bun of dyed red hair and bright crimson lipstick that looked as if she had applied it in the dark.

‘This is so awful,’ she said. ‘Do you know how it happened yet? It wasn’t negligence by the hospital, was it?’

‘No, you don’t have to worry about that,’ said Jenna. ‘Nobody’s going to be suing you for reckless endangerment. How’s our witness? Is he ready to answer a few questions yet?’

‘I think so. I’ll take you along to the recovery room. If you’ll just come with me, please.’

She bustled over to the elevators. Jenna looked at Dan and raised her eyebrows and then they both followed her. As they went up to the fifth floor, the woman lowered her voice and said, ‘So … do you know how poor Eduardo was killed?’

‘We’re working on it,’ said Jenna. ‘We have to wait for the ME’s report before we can say anything officially.’

‘You can’t even give me a hint?’

‘I’m afraid not. And we’d rather you left the media to us. There are some details that we don’t want to be made public just yet awhile.’

‘Really? Such as?’

Jenna puckered her mouth and said nothing.

‘Oh, of course!’ said the woman, pretending to pull a zipper across her lips. ‘Mum’s the word!’

She led them into a private room where the surviving hospital orderly was resting on a bed – shoeless, but fully dressed in bright blue scrubs. He was Hispanic, about forty years old, but already balding, even though he had a heavy black moustache and stubble.

‘Hi there,’ said Jenna, producing her shield. ‘Detective Pullet, Ninth Division. This is Detective Rubik. Do you mind if we ask you some questions about your friend Eduardo?’

The orderly looked back at her listlessly. ‘I don’t see what happen,’ he said, hoarsely. ‘It is too dark. It is too quick.’

‘What were you and Eduardo doing, out in the parking lot?’

‘Nothing. Just for fresh air.’

‘We found fresh cigarette butts on the ground. Were they yours?’

‘We are not permitted to smoke in hospital vicinity.’

‘I won’t tell anybody if you don’t. Were they yours, those cigarette butts?’

,’ he admitted. ‘We go only for one cigarette. We finish them, and we are ready to go back inside. Eduardo is telling me he have fight that morning with his wife. She hit him with a skillet, on his head. And just as he say this, I hear screaming sound, ow-ow-ow-ow-ow, and then bang!

‘Bang?’

‘Something is drop on top of Eduardo, and he blow up like bomb. Just blow up, bang, and blood is spray everywhere, and his head fly away.’

‘Did you see what this something was, that dropped on top of him?’

The orderly shook his head. ‘I don’t know. It is very big. Enorme. Como una tienda negra grande.’

‘Like a big black tent,’ Dan translated.

‘Sí,’ said the orderly. ‘Like when a big tent fall down and you are bury inside. I hear screaming sound, ow-ow-ow-ow-ow, and also sound like thunder. I feel wind, too. Woof, and then woof, and then woof, and then it is gone, and Eduardo—’

He tried to carry on, but his eyes filled with tears and his lips quivered with grief.

Jenna took hold of his hand and squeezed it. ‘Tell me, that screaming sound, that wasn’t Eduardo screaming?’

The orderly shook his head.

‘So a big black tent came screaming down and hit Eduardo so hard that he blew up like a bomb?’

The orderly nodded.

Jenna stood up. ‘Thank you for your help,’ she said. ‘You don’t mind if I maybe talk to you again when you’re feeling a little better?’

‘Of course,’ said the orderly. He wiped the tears from his eyes with his hairy forearm.

Jenna and Dan went down to reception, where the hospital administrator was still waiting for them. As soon as they stepped out of the elevator, she came hurrying up to them, her little fists clenched.

‘I thought you ought to know that there was a security alert just before this tragic incident,’ she told them. ‘I can’t tell you if it was relevant or not, but you never know, do you? Jessica always says that the devil’s in the details.’

‘Jessica?’

‘You know. Jessica Fletcher, in Murder, She Wrote.

‘Oh, OK,’ said Jenna. ‘Good old Jessica. So – anyhow, what exactly was the nature of this security alert?’

‘One of the patients in the burns unit complained that there was an unwelcome visitor in his room. This was at eleven forty yesterday evening. We sent two of our security guards to check, but when they got there, there was no sign of anybody except the patient himself. He tried to persuade the security guards that he must have been having a nightmare, but they were very dubious about that, because he’s a very intelligent man, very rational. They think that there might have been an unwelcome visitor in his room, but for some unknown reason the patient changed his mind and decided not to report it.’

‘And what do you think? You watch a lot of Murder, She Wrote.

The woman blinked rapidly. ‘I really don’t know. But if there was an unwelcome visitor in this patient’s room, why was he unwelcome? And how did he get in – because there is no record of any visitors for this particular patient in the visitors’ log. More to the point, how did he get out, because nobody saw him.’

‘You should have been a PI,’ Jenna told her. ‘Can you tell me the patient’s name, please? I think it might be a good idea if we go talk to him.’

‘Professor Nathan Underhill. He’s in ten-twenty-two.’

Underhill? Why do I have the feeling that I’ve heard of him?’

‘He’s a zoologist. Quite famous, as a matter of fact.’

‘All right, then. Let’s see what this quite famous zoologist has to say for himself.’

*

Nathan was already dressed and sitting in his armchair drinking black tea when Jenna and Dan knocked on his door.

‘Professor Underhill?’ said Jenna. ‘We’re police detectives Do you think we could have a moment of your time?’

‘Police detectives?’ Nathan asked her. He put down his cup and stood up. ‘Does this have anything to do with what happened last night? I heard that somebody got themselves killed, down in the parking lot.’

‘That’s right. Somebody got themselves killed. To tell you the truth, somebody got themselves very killed.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it. What happened?’

‘Well, that’s what my partner and I are looking into. One of the hospital administrators tells us that you called for security, round about the same time this fatality took place.’

‘I – ah – yes. I did. But I don’t see the relevance.’

‘We’re just trying to build up a picture of everything that occurred last night. It helps us to place where everybody was, and if anybody was likely to have witnessed anything meaningful.’

Nathan would have done anything to be able to tell this detective that he had seen a living gargoyle diving off the roof of the building opposite, and that its creator had been here, right here in this room, making threats against him. But she would simply think that he was delusional, and worse than that, it could put his family in danger. Theodor Zauber had staged this grisly performance to show Nathan that he was completely ruthless, and that he would allow nobody to deter him from getting what he wanted.

Apart from that, even if he explained to her what had happened, how was she going to find Theodor Zauber – a man who was capable of walking past the noses of two security guards without them seeing him?

Nathan said, ‘I was asleep. I thought that there was an intruder in my room, but I guess I must have been dreaming. My doctor has had me on morphine for the past twenty-four hours, and the dream was so totally vivid that I believed it was real. That’s why I called security.’

‘Did you call security before you woke up, or after?’

‘Well – after, of course.’

‘But when you woke up you must have realized that there was nobody there.’

‘No – it was dark and I was still convinced that there was somebody here. They could have been hiding behind the drapes, or under the bed.’

‘Under the bed?’

Nathan shrugged. ‘Isn’t that where boogeymen always hide – under the bed?’

Jenna wasn’t amused. ‘Was it anybody in particular, or just some unknown intruder?’

‘It was dark.’

‘But you felt threatened?’

‘Wouldn’t you feel threatened, if you thought that there was somebody in your bedroom in the middle of the night?’

‘I don’t know. I think it would depend entirely on who it was. If it was George Clooney, maybe not.’

Jenna went to the window and peered down into the parking lot, ten stories below.

‘You didn’t see or hear anything unusual?’

Nathan said nothing. Withholding information from the police was difficult enough, but he found it almost impossible to tell an outright lie.

‘No screams?’ asked Jenna. ‘No thumping noises? Nobody shouting out for help? After all, the window’s open.’

Still Nathan said nothing. Jenna came up close to him and stared at him intently.

‘What is it?’ she said. ‘What are you not telling me?’

He turned his face away. ‘I’m sorry,’ he told her. ‘I can’t help you.’

‘I have a feeling that you can, but for some very obscure reason you just don’t want to.’

Dan’s cell warbled. He flipped it open and said, ‘Rubik.’ Then, ‘OK. Sure. OK. We’ll be down there directly.’ He closed his cell and said, ‘Captain Wilson’s arrived. He’s going to make some kind of statement to the media, and he wants us to brief him first.’

Jenna pulled a face. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘We’ll leave it like that for now, Professor Underhill. But a man was brutally killed here last night, and it wasn’t an accident, and I intend to find out how it happened, and who was responsible. Or what.’