McAllister Justice Series Box Set Volume Two

by Reily Garrett

  “Looking forward to seeing your interactions tonight.” Royden countered after dropping into the passenger seat.

  “Careful, I’ll tell Abby the girls on Westshire and Hampton were tickled pink to see you… again.”

  “Hey! She knows I don’t flirt—or anything else.”

  “Who do you think she’s gonna believe, a southern city boy or her own brother.”

  “Man, that’s harsh. Okay, okay.”

  Around the less desirable commercial properties, a pre-storm breeze tossed evidence of lower real-estate values down the street. Papers, plastic cups, and broken glass littered the sidewalks and flattened against crumbling buildings. “This looks as good a place to start as any.” It was the last place Billy wanted to spend his evening, yet he pulled to the curb toward the end of the block.

  “Remember, we just want information on who Gena’s last John might’ve been. We don’t want them thinking we’re from vice. Here, take your soda. It’ll keep you from fisting one hand.” Royden popped the latch to his door and stepped out.

  Three women stood talking in animated conversation in front of a derelict hotel with crumbling brick and a twisted fire escape on the south side. The brunette facing Billy and Royden nodded to the detectives on their approach. “Hey, Wanda, Phyllis, see what we got here? Two cops looking to score.” The speaker wore spandex shorts and cropped top, her long hair sifting across her face at the breeze’s whim.

  “Evening, ladies,” Royden’s pronounced drawl earned a second glance from all three.

  “Hello, handsome. I’m Wanda. This is Phyllis.” She gestured to the redhead beside her.

  “Well, I do love a southern accent on a prize piece of man flesh. You’re Detective Patterson.” Glancing at Billy, Phyllis picked up the conversation. “You. I know you’re not a southern boy, and you shouldn’t be here. You’re a McAllister.” Closing the distance entailed a stalking grace worthy of a panther. In a matter of seconds, she’d pull out her claws.

  “Phyllis! What are you doing? He’s a cop.”

  “He’s a McAllister. Billy McAllister. Look at his eyes. You put my man in a neck collar. The way I see it, I owe you.”

  The other two women sauntered forward, intent on Billy, crowding him until he took a step back. A look at his partner revealed enjoyment at a ringside seat with no intention of helping.

  “Okay, ladies. Back up.” It wasn’t the scenario Billy planned. “He got caught up in my investigation, but you know I’m not from vice.”

  “You know him?” Royden’s shock morphed into a rich belly laugh. “Oh my God. This is wonderful. Ladies, please, tell me how. Hope you don’t mind, partner, but I’m gonna stop over to Remie’s before going home tonight, maybe with a light tweak in the story.”

  “Shit. C’mon Royden. We’re partners. Remie doesn’t need to hear that kind of crap.” To put some distance between them, Billy held up his hand to stop his stalkers’ pursuit. “Take it easy, girls—we’re just looking for information to help one of your own.” Taking a sip of his soda allowed a brief respite.

  “May I have your attention for just a second, ladies?” Royden chuckled before continuing. “Billy here is harmless. We’re looking to stop a murderer. Besides, Billy might end up being my brother-in-law. Can’t have him hurt, now can we?”

  Soda spewed in a most ungracious plume to incorporate the half-bared chest of Billy’s closest stalker. The gut reaction accomplished what words could not. All three women retreated a step.

  “Fuck. Damn it, Royden.”

  “Which is it gonna be, partner? A talk with Remie or peaceful dates with Abby?”

  “God damn it. All right. You win, by blackmail.” The grumbled surrender didn’t sit well, not at all.

  Billy gave credit when earned. Royden stepped forward to handle the situation with finesse and a smirk whenever his gaze strayed to his partner.

  “Girls, we’re not trying to hinder your business. We just want to see you live through it.” Royden softened his tone, allaying their fears and garnering their respect at the same time. “No doubt you’ve heard of the recent murders…”

  As expected, fear replaced animosity, uncertainty edged out confidence. Serial killers were rare, but the girls took threats seriously. Each relented yet had no knowledge of Wendy or Gena. Territorial, they protected each other and their real estate with zeal.

  Successive talks with others led to the same conclusion, with no connection to Gena or Wendy. Last call meant quieter streets after lingering, fuzzy-headed patrons stumbled away in dejected confusion.

  Billy prided himself on his puzzle-solving ability, yet warped fragments of dead-end leads rivaled any liquor’s haze and the evening’s hustle and bustle. “Let’s head home. I’m beat.”

  “Yeah, but we had to try. At least I feel better about there being no connection between the college kids and these girls. The killer has no reason to stalk them.”

  The ride home entailed a strange peace, lacking the previous animosity which rattled his soul. As much as he wanted to quiz Royden about his intentions with Abby, there’d be time another day. Abby was a woman in her own right and could take care of herself. The fact they were searching for a stalker proved his little sister could do a lot worse than taking up with a cop. It wasn’t Billy’s place to decide with whom she consorted. He wasn’t certain whether the concession was a nod to his association with Remie or his partner’s persistence.

  After dropping Royden off and sliding into the space beside Remie’s SUV, he contemplated the changes in his life. Remarks about losing his starch held validation. It wasn’t just the exchange of casual attire over suits, or that he didn’t complain about little things like canine confetti adorning his clothes.

  In tilting his head back and regarding the black void above him, he recognized the change branded in his DNA. Remie. He wanted what his brothers enjoyed, someone to come home to in the evening, enjoy a quiet sunset, and snuggle late on a Saturday morning. He wanted it all.

  He’d tried sluffing the instigation for change on his recent near-death experience but knew better. Whirlwind Remie blowing into his life realigned his way of thinking. Maybe past experience was the catalyst and current circumstances provided the path. Either way, he approved of the man emerging from the ashes of days gone by.

  Soft downstairs lighting leaked around the drawn curtains as he climbed the porch steps. Matt opened the door before he could knock.

  Damien and Buckeye greeted him with tail wags and gentle nudges. “Hey, all quiet here?” Entry granted him the ability to inhale the soft scent associated with the pathologist. He’d thought it a subtle perfume but soon realized it was the combination of all aromas in her house. As a man who’d been with many women, he learned to appreciate subtle nuances of each one. Remie occupied a class unto herself, a walking contradiction that called to him on a subconscious level.

  “Yeah, we’re good. But I’d advise against letting her work with anything mechanical.” Matt chuckled as he handed over the TV’s remote, the two halves duck taped together. “It just needed new batteries. Any news?”

  “Damn. She’s tough on equipment.” Billy knelt to give both dogs a proper greeting. “None of the girls we spoke with knew Gena or Wendy. They had no reason to lie and every reason to cooperate. The kids must’ve worked strictly from the college.”

  “Well, I guess that’s something.” Matt sighed before continuing. “Unfortunately, nothing explains the match for the nail scrapings from the professor. Farabee’s alibi checked out.” Matt’s gaze slipped toward the kitchen where Remie poured a glass of tea. “One more piece of good news. They found your DNA on Wendy’s clothes.” Matt held up his hands before Billy could speak. “We know its bullshit. We’ve accounted for your whereabouts. It’s just one more thing driving the captain crazy.”

  “This prick is having a field day, leading us around by the short hairs. Why? What does he stand to gain?”

  Matt shook his head. “Remie figures in this, somehow, bu
t damned if I know how. If it’s Farabee’s doing, he wouldn’t leave evidence. Ari was out of town the night Remie was attacked. As far as the professor’s murder, we’ve checked street cams and haven’t seen any familiar people or vehicles pop up on video feeds.”

  “What does the killer gain by using Remie as a pawn? If that same prick drugged the professor—anyone could have done it, man or woman. One way or another, the choice of each victim keeps circling around Remie.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Thanks for meeting me before your shift, Jonathan. I wanted to take a look at the professor before you released her body.” Loyal assistants were worth their weight in gold.

  “No problem. We all know damn well you had nothing to do with her death, regardless of what anyone planted in her office.”

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate hearing that, but I’ve got to figure this out. Soon.”

  Remie studied the chart before setting it aside. They had missed something. It was the only contingency that made sense. “I’m sure someone wants me to examine her body. Why else would they leave my card in her desk? The problem is, I’ve no idea what I’m expected to find.”

  Finding it can make the difference in lives saved.

  Billy’s warning to be quick as well as thorough rang in her ears. Crossing ethical boundaries had never entered her thoughts before a vicious killer involved her in his convoluted murder game. The manufacture of physical evidence confirmed the killer’s need to prove his intellectual superiority as well as taunt what he considered the common folk.

  McAllisters’ prompting her to examine the third victim exhibited a level of trust one couldn’t buy. She expected to find significant results in labs performed. One small detail could lead to another, Billy’s analogy of the illusive threads that when pulled, would unravel the complicated web linking her to each of the murders.

  With a hand from her assistant, Remie studied the professor’s body, naked, exposed, with no dignity and no one to speak for her. Opacified corneas masked the once blue irises, now sightless and accusing in death.

  Years had passed since Remie sat in biology class, dreaming of heading east for medical school and fascinated by the teacher’s enthusiasm regarding mankind’s existence on the brink of incredible discoveries. She’d cited studies of the regenerative medical team at Wake Forest Institute in North Carolina on the cutting edge of unimaginable progress. Even the Russians now manufactured a functioning thyroid gland for mice.

  “Oh my God. I know.” Remie gasped her recognition, the breakthrough clubbing her between the eyes. She hadn’t needed to touch the body. “Jonathan, I know!”

  “Know what?”

  “Jonathan. Look. At. Her. Chest!”

  “Yeah, she has two breasts. There’re surgical scars from a childhood accident. It’s noted in her medical record.” Jonathan picked up the patient’s chart and pointed to the description of the incident. “She fell off a roof and landed on a pile of raised brick pavers. It collapsed part of her lung. See?”

  “No. Her breasts are intact!”

  “Yes. Normal mammogram as of last spring. Look here.” Jonathan shuffled through the medical record until finding the appropriate report.

  “That record’s been falsified.”

  “I doubt it. Why would anyone hedge a record like that? Makes no sense.”

  “Because I took her class in college. I didn’t know her well, but I did know she’d taken time off to have a mastectomy, left side. It was about the same time my mom first noticed her lump.”

  Jonathan bent to examine the cadaver’s left breast. “But, this looks perfect. I sure as hell didn’t find silicone implants. We check for that.”

  “No. She had a—a replacement. Oh my God. She had a replacement. No wonder she went on and on about future medical advances saving thousands of lives.”

  “Oh shit. I’ve never heard of replacing an entire breast. I know they do tattooed-type nipples, ears, and anything consisting mainly of cartilage. Damn, I didn’t think they could reconstruct a vascular system. Son of a bitch.”

  “It’s not FDA approved yet. At least not on humans. The last I read, regenerated tissue didn’t stand up well to time, it’s not as structurally stable as necessary. They also had difficulty bioprinting more delicate structures like the vasculature needed for more complex organs.”

  “If they can replicate tissue, why not the more sophisticated organs?” Jonathon set the file on a nearby table.

  “Because cells can’t survive with a blood supply greater than 200 microns away. That’s the maximum distance.”

  “How old do you suppose the reproduction is? When would it have been done?”

  “Don’t know, but this is freaking creepy.”

  “How many practitioners do you suppose there are that could perform this surgery?”

  “To have the equipment, facilities, and the skill? Not many. We’re looking for a team working together, one being the surgeon.” Remie’s heart thumped to an increasingly staccato rhythm. “I heard a lecture a few years ago about using PCL, polycaprolactone, as a scaffold in tissue engineering applications. I think it’s a better material in maintaining mechanical stability. Surface erosion allows for controlled release of the additives while the host tissue adapts and integrates. Someone has made giant steps forward in the process.”

  “You know who?”

  “I know of several possibilities. Let’s put it that way. Take a tissue sample, Jonathan. No, take three. Make sure you label one with a false name and store it elsewhere. Don’t tell anyone how or where it’s stored, not even me.”

  “Normally, I’d call that very paranoid, but we’re looking at unethical doctors now. Doctors that probably have access to this facility.”

  “Yep. I’m thinking so.”

  “We’ve entered the fucking Twilight Zone, Doc.”

  “Looks like it.”

  Remie reeled from the findings. She’d never been a conspiracy theorist and held little patience for those who huddled among themselves and worried about how the government or their assignations would destroy the masses. Then someone inducted her into a conspiracy before a cop rescued her, a man who believed in the same things she did and would fight for his convictions.

  The discovery had far-reaching repercussions. It seemed unlikely anyone could locate the professor’s physical file dating back so many decades to the childhood accident in order to verify the scars, even if such records still existed. Since a surgeon performed the reconstructive operation off the record, there’d be no files on that, either.

  “Jonathan, you’ve read her file. Does it indicate anywhere that she had an abnormal mammo or ultrasound?”

  “No. I’ve gone through the records very carefully. If she did have a problem, those files have been altered or deleted.”

  There could be dozens of patients who had benefitted from like operations but would never admit to any such procedure. She now understood how Billy felt when outlining his recent experience. In returning to her office, she contemplated how and to whom she could reach out to for help.

  The office door was open, and bright light flooded the interior.

  “Thought you’d be in early. Find anything interesting?” The chief medical officer poked his head around the monitor on his desk and waited for her answer.

  The fact he hadn’t squelched her investigation bolstered her spirits, but to confide in him might jeopardize his life. If he asked questions of the wrong people, he could end up on a slab. Whether or not Jonathan would keep their secrets from his mentor remained unknown. He’d spent three years working in their office.

  “Not sure just yet. Need to do some research.” Unless she could narrow down the variables, she wouldn’t know which way to turn. Instinct ruled the clusterfuck involved big money, which meant powerful people or corporations would back the experimental processes and cover up anything pointing in their direction.

  The sudden whoosh of air from the outer door opening brought t
he sounds of Matt McAllister speaking with the armed guard. She turned to see him stride into her office.

  “Hi, Dr. Tallin.” Turning to her boss, he added, “Good morning. You’re up bright and early.”

  “Got to be if you don’t want to miss all the excitement.” The doctor stood and offered Matt a handshake. “Missed you Friday at the charity auction.”

  “Yeah, ah, sorry. Something came up.”

  The older man waved away the apology. “I understand the line of work you’re in, young man. These things happen.” A speculative glance at Remie hinted at an opinion he wouldn’t voice. “I’ve been around a long time, seen everything from the invention of color TV to mechanical hearts. You know—you live long enough—you develop a sixth sense about people, their motives, character, and what makes them tick. It’s rare, but on occasion you have to close your eyes and trust your gut.”

  “Understood, sir.” Matt held his hand out to Remie while addressing the chief medical officer. “I need to borrow your pathologist for a bit if you don’t mind. It’s official business.”

  “You don’t have to explain. I had a right interesting conversation with a federal officer two months ago. He told me to keep my eyes open for anything suspicious and new, that if I did come across said circumstances, I could either trust a McAllister or call him.” He shook his head before continuing, “I didn’t know him from Adam, but I do know you. I’ll trust you to take care of my employee and make sure she’s returned unharmed.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  Remie grabbed her purse and let Matt tug her out the door. When she started to speak, he merely shook his head.

  To the receptionist in the front lobby, it appeared Remie was taking off for the day with her boyfriend. The fact Matt remained straight-faced until they reached his car sent up all kinds of alarms.