The Corpse Wore Stilettos

by MJ O'Neill

  I rubbed my temples. I wasn’t able to get out a further response before I saw alarm fill his eyes. He was at my side in an instant and took my hand in his, bringing my arm up where he could look at it. Heat rushed to my cheeks. My pulse quickened.

  “Around seventy-five thousand people a year survive gun injuries,” I managed to get out, looking at him.

  “You’re bleeding.” He held up my arm and turned it where I could see it. Blood soaked through my sweater. He pushed my sleeve down, took some tissues from the table, and blotted my arm gently in an effort to clean it up.

  “Ow! That hurts.” I’d barely felt the small cut, but it hurt so much when touched.

  He maneuvered me to a small kitchen area on the side of the war room, washed off my arm, and smoothed a Band-Aid over it.

  “It’s just a scratch,” I said, pulling my arm back with a little more force than I had wanted.

  “Do I make you nervous, Kat?” he asked, his finger lightly running down my arm.

  My anti-man radar blared loudly. “Let’s review. Since I’ve met you, I’ve lost a corpse, lost my job, been followed by thugs, my friend’s place has been demolished, I’ve been shot at repeatedly, and now, through zero fault of my own, I’ve apparently pissed off some very bad men. Yes, I’d say you make me nervous.”

  “Do I need to seal it with a kiss?” He looked up at me.

  “That won’t be necessary. I didn’t even notice I was cut until you pushed on it.” I shoved him out of the way to give us some space, hoping he hadn’t noticed that I was flushed. I was glad that he trusted me enough to let me see his war room, and he might have been nicer than I thought before I came there, but we were still at an impasse. Without him, I had no way to prove that I wasn’t involved in the body theft. If he didn’t change his story, I would end up homeless, my complete collection of Jimmy Choos pilfered for a pittance. “So you still won’t corroborate my story?”

  “Nope,” he said and leaned against the counter. He apparently hadn’t even thought twice about it. Smug jerk. I would forget what I’d said about him being nice. “I can’t afford police involvement right now, and I’m quite happy with you being sidelined.” He grabbed a bottle of water from the refreshments on the table, handed one to me, and opened the other.

  “Is that right?” I asked, opening mine while considering his words. I wasn’t any happier than Burns was about some madman following me and involving me in body snatching, but this was still making my life more of a mess than it already was. That wouldn’t do. “Then, I guess I’m left without many choices,” I said, digging through my purse for my phone. “Do you know if Detective Driscol works today? He seemed to know quite a bit about you, so I assume you’re old friends.” I pretended to ponder the question while searching. “Never mind. I’m sure the main police operator will know.” I pulled out the phone.

  “I already told you, involving the police is a dangerous move for you.”

  “Oh, I already have people shooting at me. Even if the cops don’t believe me about your involvement, I’m sure they’d be very interested in your little war room here. Based on how Detective Driscol reacted to your name when I gave you as my alibi, I think they would at least feel obligated to jam you up some. I doubt he’s on Snapchat, but I’m sure even his phone can receive pictures of this war room of yours. Then, while they’re busy dealing with you, I’ll start looking for my missing body and clear this mess up. How safe do you think I’m going to be if I end up living on the streets?”

  He scowled. I pretended to push a number and held the phone to my ear.

  He set the water down on the counter without saying anything, staring. Probably calculating.

  I took a picture of Burns. “Yes,” I said to the pretend police officer, “can you please tell me how to get some evidence to Detective Driscol? I’ll wait.” I held my phone and pretended to wait, trying to look like I wasn’t really a nervous wreck, and asked him, “Do you think the men shooting at me would be interested in your murder board too?”

  Burns stood up and ran his hands through his hair. “Fine. Stop.”

  I hung up the phone, doing a happy dance on the inside. “Then you’ll corroborate my story?”

  He took a moment and appeared to be thinking. “No. But I have a proposition for you.”

  “A proposition?” After putting my phone away and picking up the water, I took another drink, eyeing him over the top of the bottle.

  “Relax, it’s not that kind of proposition.” He smirked.

  As if I would think that.

  “Someone in that morgue is connected to this mess. I’m sure of it,” Burns said.

  “To the murders?” I asked.

  “Maybe. Maybe they’re only involved in the cover-up, but they can lead me to who’s responsible. But I can’t get to those people the same way you can, and as much as I appreciate him, I don’t think I can trust DC to do it on his own. You get me information on your peers plus whatever information there is on the missing body from the morgue, everything from the crime scene to initial forensics and anything else they had on Joy. In return, I’ll find a way to take care of the hearing next week. And no cops.”

  “So Joy was her name?”

  “Maybe. A girl named Joy was working with Gillian on the killings before Gillian’s attack, and now Joy’s missing. As far as we can tell, there’s only been one Joy working the corners in the city, and the body of the dead girl that came in doesn’t meet her description. That means my girl is still out there,” Burns said.

  “Do you think maybe Joy is just a name she gave your reporter friend?”

  “Could be. She didn’t really have a reason to, though. Gillian was helping her. None of the other prostitutes were high-profile. The police didn’t spend much time looking into the deaths, and the trail on Gillian was cold almost the minute she was killed. There’s not a lot to go on. When the body came in, I thought we might finally get a lead. Now I’m worried that this means he’s starting his killing spree again.”

  “Do you think that’s why he took her, to cover up another serial killing?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “He gives me the willies,” I said.

  “Who?”

  “The man who took the body. He showed up at DC’s today too.”

  “He gives you the willies?”

  “Yeah, the willies,” I said. “You know, the heebie-jeebies. He has this psycho look, not that I’ve been around a lot of psychos, but if I had, I imagine that’s what they’d look like. Why would they dump her to start with if they didn’t want her found?”

  “That’s why I need access to the forensics your boss did at the scene, to figure out what they’re hiding. Right now, we have nothing else to go on,” Burns said.

  “There are people shooting at me.”

  “You’re in luck, then, that you happen to know a highly trained group of security operatives. I can assure you that you and your family will be safer with me than the cops. Plus, we might just figure out who falsely accused you of stealing the body.”

  “Okay, it’s a deal.” I screwed the lid back on my water bottle and stretched out my hand. “I go all secret double agent on my morgue colleagues in exchange for you fixing my hearing so I’m not suspended.” For the first time in twenty-four hours, I felt like something had finally gone my way.

  “Good.” He took my hand and shook once but didn’t let it go. “But otherwise, will you please stay out of things?”

  “Because of my shoes?”

  He smiled and let my hand go. “In the Army, everybody has a skill, and everybody follows orders. You seem good at collecting information. So collect and let me run the mission and chase the bad guys.”

  “So I follow orders?”

  “You’re quick. Must be that Harvard education.” He tugged my scarf and smiled playfully. “Do you have a plan for how you’re going to get the information?”

  “There’s only one good way to get that man
y people to open up.” I held the closed bottle to my lips and began making a mental list of everything that would be needed.

  “Therapy?”

  “No, silly. We’re throwing a party!”

  A commotion in the war room drew us back. DC, Neutron, and Flynn were arguing.

  “Tom Cruise did not put a hit out on you and the Skirt,” Flynn said as Burns and I reentered the conference room. Neutron pressed some buttons on a tablet computer, and a giant image of Tom Cruise flashed on the large television screen in front of the room.

  “Well, that’s who he looked like. I can’t help it if your program can’t accurately capture the nuances of various white people. Burns, tell him it’s not my fault his program is dumb.” DC crossed his arms. I could have sworn I saw him push his bottom lip out in a pout.

  “Maybe Kat will have better luck later.” Burns placed his hand in the small of my back and led me toward Neutron then tilted his head close to mine. “You’ve already met everyone, I believe. Neutron runs comms and electronics.” He gestured with his free hand. “And you met Flynn last night. He runs ops.”

  Flynn grunted hello.

  “Is Flynn his first name or his last?” I asked.

  “It’s just Flynn, like Madonna but not as hot,” Burns said, causing Neutron to laugh and Flynn to look annoyed.

  DC got up from the chair and walked over to us. He looked from me to Burns then back to me. “Well, don’t you two seem chummy.”

  Burns’s hands went into his pockets. The cold spot he left in the small of my back made me shiver.

  “We are not chummy,” I insisted.

  “You look pretty damn chummy to me. Wouldn’t you agree, Neutron?” Flynn asked.

  “I think he’s got you there.” Neutron adjusted his glasses as if trying to get a better look at us.

  “What happened to you wanting to claw his eyeballs out?” DC searched my eyes for some clue of my Zen transformation.

  “And I thought we agreed we couldn’t trust the mob princess.” Flynn kept his eyes on Burns.

  “For the record”—Neutron raised his hand from his seat at the computer—“I didn’t think that.”

  “Put your damn hand down. We’re not in grade school,” Flynn said.

  “We’ve made an arrangement of sorts,” Burns said as he leaned against the long table across from us.

  “You made a deal with the pageant princess?” His mouth agape, Flynn looked at Burns.

  “Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like what we’ve agreed to?” DC looked at me out of his left eye, something he did frequently when he was suspicious.

  “It’s a great deal. You get to do what you do best—be your lovely social self.” I smiled.

  “Uh-huh.” DC waited as if expecting me to finish.

  “Look, all we have to do is get Burns information about the people who work in the morgue. No big deal.” I shrugged and turned to go look at the morgue attendee board.

  “We’re going to supply information? You and me?” DC uncrossed his arms and pointed at us.

  “Yes, in exchange for getting me out of my hearing. I think it’s a wonderful trade.”

  “If by ‘wonderful’ you mean ‘it won’t work because they all see me as out of their league and no one likes you,’ then yes, I think it’s an excellent trade.” DC joined me by the picture board.

  “Now, don’t be a Debbie Downer. I have it all figured out.” I looped my arm through his. “We’re going to throw a party.” I turned us around to face them. “Ingenisys and McPhee Security are going to sponsor a morgue makeover. You know, giving back to the community right here instead of overseas, especially in light of the recent security trouble.”

  DC laughed while Flynn groaned. “And just how do you think you’re going to get permission for that, Ms. FBI’s Most Wanted?” DC asked.

  “Let me worry about that,” I said, mentally running through a list of connections I still might be able to call on to make that happen.

  “Burns, we are not.” Flynn held out his arms as if he were pleading for his life.

  Neutron stood up. “I love decorating.”

  “She means real wallpaper, not the virtual kind,” Flynn said. “Not that it matters, because there’s no way we’re doing this.”

  “The morgue could use a face-lift.” DC gazed toward the ceiling. I could tell the idea was growing on him. “Especially with all that crime scene tape.”

  “Exactly. We’ll paint and accessorize and make a new employee break room area. I’d kill for a coffee bar.” I could see it all in my head. It would look beautiful when we were done. And then maybe people would like me more.

  “I think it’s a great idea, but how exactly are you going to get old man Hawthorne to go along with it?” Neutron asked.

  “Leave Dr. Hawthorne to me. I’ll tell him I’m donating it to make up for all the trouble. Besides”—I put on my best coy expression—“I’m brilliant at convincing old men to see things my way.”

  “I don’t think that’s really in question.” Flynn crossed his arms in a huff. “But I don’t see how any of this helps us at all.”

  “Kat and DC have a connection on the inside. The party will be a good excuse to get closer to each of the employees we aren’t sure about.” Burns pointed at the pictures on the board. “She’s also going to get us access to the forensics that Dr. Hawthorne took from the murder scene so that we can try to figure out where the girl was killed.” He took the lid off the water he’d brought back with him and started to drink.

  “And with Burns as your boyfriend, the McPhee Security team will be with us every step of the way.” DC opened his arms wide as he said it, as if announcing a new product for a commercial.

  Burns spit out his water.

  “Priss and Burns are not involved!” Flynn said. He might have turned a bit green.

  “I’m off men,” I added.

  “Did you fools see my clothes? We have people shooting up my momma’s house, some psycho Russian stole a body of a dead girl, and one of those misfits over there”—DC marched to the wall and pointed at the pictures on the board—“got us involved in this, blaming our poor Kat.” He turned to me and gestured sympathetically. “You think I’m going back in there alone, you’ve got another think coming.”

  “It does make sense,” I said.

  Burns wiped the water from his chin with the back of his hand.

  “Nothing about any of this makes sense,” Flynn huffed.

  I didn’t think it was possible for Flynn to pout even more, but somehow he managed it.

  “I think it sounds like great fun,” Neutron said.

  Everyone looked at Burns, clearly waiting for a response, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he drank more water, this time swallowing. Finally, he screwed the cap back on the empty bottle. “Then I guess it’s settled.” He set the bottle on the table and stood up. “I have to go. I have a meeting. I’ll be in touch. I’m glad we could come to an agreement,” he said as he turned to leave, taking my hand to shake it. Not a real handshake, but a male-female handshake, where he sandwiched my hand between his two.

  I was sure the only point of the exercise was to make me uncomfortable, which it did. Burns McPhee was dangerous on a lot of fronts.

  Chapter 7

  Anytime a group of people banded together, they invariably mimicked ecosystems in nature. Although different systems met people’s needs in different ways, they all required certain systemic elements. For example, every environment tended to have predators that kept the smaller, more rapidly reproducing populations in check, such as lions on the savanna and sharks in the oceans. Likewise, groups such as sororities, old age homes, and morgues all had people who took on systemic roles. There was the leader, the cheerleader, the martyr, and of course, the historian, someone who brokered in information, knew all of the group’s secrets, and often knew plenty about the competition.

  In the case of the morgue, the historian was smarmy and a bit on the pudgy side.
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  With Burns convinced and the party plan established, my next move was to put the plan into motion. That meant making contact with someone who could get the information wheels turning, even if that someone was slimy and irritating. DC called the morgue and got the schedule for the day. Marshall wasn’t working. That left one option for meeting with him, Marshall’s makeshift office—Marley’s Pub. At that point, DC had claimed he had to go check on his cats. In reality, I had about as much chance of getting DC to go with me to Marley’s as he had of getting my grand to one of his “meetings.” We agreed we’d catch up later.

  I parked in the lot at Marley’s and considered my approach. Undoubtedly, Marshall would want something. I steeled my nerves, trying to convince myself that whatever he wanted, within reason, would be worth getting Burns to corroborate my story.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of my cell phone. “Hello.”

  “Good morning, Katherine.”

  The accent on the other end of the phone sounded thick and Russian, like something out of a bad James Bond movie. The more he talked, the more my neck hair stood on end. “Hello. Who is this?” I knew who it was. The edge in his voice matched his evil stare, but I needed to stall to gather my thoughts.

  “I think you know who this is, Katherine. You’ve made things complicated for me.”

  “I’m sorry? I don’t quite understand.”

  “What should have been a very simple recovery operation has now turned into a large police investigation, impeding my effort. It’s made things worse for me with my employer, and this is your fault.”

  “You stole my body.”

  “Your body?” he yelled, clearly agitated. Heavy breathing blew through the phone for several seconds before his voice returned to a monotone. “This is your fault, you and the women like you. But it’s okay. I think we have a special connection, Katherine. I’m sure we can come to a mutual arrangement to make up for your rather bad behavior.”

  “What kind of arrangement?”

  “I’ll be in touch soon, dear. And stay away from the police. I would hate for anything bad to happen to that beautiful—”