A slow smile crept across Harley's face. “I am your captain,” he purred. “As of this morning, Captain Latchford is on indefinite leave of a medical nature. He might not last the day. I've been given the forensics department as part of an overall reshuffle.”
“The Chief would never allow it.”
Harley chuckled. “The Chief spends his time at City Hall or on the golf course. By all means try to go through me to him and see how quickly you end up suspended. This isn't the first time you and I have clashed over this subject, Miss Rosser. This particular investigation is far above your pay grade. You have been told before. Keep your nose out. You and your pokey little town Sheriff will leave well enough alone. Despite your aspirations, you are an analyst, not a cop. Rest assured that the only reason you aren't being marched out of here right now is the fact you were not the person responsible for breaking the tape.”
Mike Caruso had remained silent during this exchange, watching her. Clare refused to acknowledge the man, though she could feel the avarice in his glance. Whether it was her personally, or the proximity to the authority wielded by his superior, she could not tell. “Where are you going with this, Captain? No rules have been broken. There was nothing to convince me that I wasn't allowed in. I broke no tape. I followed correct protocol to the letter and was accompanied by an armed member of the local department. Surely the fault must lie not with me but with those you are seeking to protect behind this façade. Perhaps, if they had done their jobs properly, instead of rushing off to the next crime scene, this might have been avoided. Why don't you tell me what's got you so paranoid?”
Clare felt a warm glow from within. She was focused. Alert. She realized that for the first time in years, probably since joining the department, the fire had returned.
Harley held out his hand for Caruso's report. When Caruso handed it over he placed it with a couple more of the federally sealed files in the evidence box and pushed it in Caruso's direction. “Take this down to records.”
“Yes, boss.” Deprived of his sport, Caruso directed a sour look at Clare as he retrieved the box. This was not over from his point of view.
Clare couldn't care less. They had ample opportunity to get a shot in at her and had not done so. This intrigued her, put her in a position of power. Harley waited until the scowling Caruso had exited the room before closing the door and turning to her. He perched on the desk in front of her, looking at her for a moment. “You're lying to me.”
“Prove it.”
Harley lurched forward, his hands on the arms of her chair causing it to shove back several centimetres with the force of the contact. The squeal of metal on the tiles beneath made her wince. His face was only a fraction away from hers. She could smell the coffee and cigarettes, feel the heat as he exhaled. “There's a distinct difference between what you know and what you think you know, Miss Rosser. You should be careful.”
Clare stood, forcing Harley to back up. Her legs threatened to wobble but she refused to show Harley any weakness. The threat was real. “If you want to get rid of me, get on with it. Otherwise I have a job to do.”
“Watch yourself,” Harley warned. Clare ignored him as she opened the door and slammed it behind her. As she walked down the hallway, oblivious to the stares of people passing her by, Clare came to one conclusion. He doesn't know I've seen the bodies.
Chapter Twelve
What else had Daniel been trying to tell her in the morgue? Clare mulled over this at her desk in the gloom of the dimly lit lab. She certainly didn't want to advertise that she was here. It was after eleven, the evening having passed in a whirlwind of jacket analysis overlain by Daniel's rugged face watching her across the floor of the Lucky Dog. Potential stains had been swabbed, stray hairs analyzed. Clare liked working in the dark. It was refreshingly cool, a comfort quite unlike the invasive heat of the Lucky Dog. It also meant that she had less chance of catching her own reflection in the glass. She didn't have to look in the mirror to see she was losing weight. Could it be cancer? Clare dismissed the notion as paranoia. Finding her parents' killer was too important to succumb to either the thought or the illness.
She turned back to the results of the mass spectrometer. The formula 'C11H17NO3' flashed up in the results column. The chemical composition of mescaline.
“Weird,” she muttered to the empty lab.
“This whole damned quest of yours is weird.”
Clare looked up from the report as the door to the lab closed, oiled hinges silent as the grave. Tina Svinsky poked her head above the dull-gray filing cabinet protecting Clare from immediate prying eyes.
“Did you get anything?” Clare tried without much success to hide the anticipation in her voice.
The diminutive blonde glanced back out the doorway then approached on soft feet. “I could lose my badge for this.”
“I promise, just five minutes.”
Tina gave one more fearful look to the doorway. “This means that much to you?”
“Yes, it does. Tina, it's my parents.” Clare stood up from her leather-cushioned high stool. “Look, if it will make you feel any better, I'll lock the door. Okay?”
“Who's gonna notice? It's the middle of the night.”
Clare snapped the lock shut, watching the hallway for a moment. A janitor was polishing the floor off down the hallway but other than that they were alone. Certainly, no Captain. “Harley can go spin for all I care. That guy has been a pain in my ass ever since I joined the department.”
Tina grinned. “And you in his for far longer, showing him up like that.”
“He's a sloppy cop, a wannabe politician, more of a cowboy. He doesn't deserve to be in command, nor do any of his drinking buddies.” Clare felt that Tina was stalling. Holding out her hand, she said, “Come on. You went to all this trouble appropriating the information. Let's have a look at it.”
“Don't you want to know how I got it?”
“No.” With the desperate look of a cornered rat, Tina produced a brown paper folder. “Once you go down this road, you had better produce something pretty goddamned spectacular to keep our asses out of jail. You understand what it means to break Federal Law?”
Clare took the proffered document, holding it between forefingers and thumbs as if to merely touch it would seal her fate. “I will suffer contempt of court and gain the reputation of low-level traitor, a probable jail sentence. Oh, and I would lose my job.”
“That would be the start of it.” Tina's voice lowered to a whisper. “Word has it that on more than one occasion, Harley has been crossed. Those who fell afoul of him were transferred out of the department to sheriff's offices in the middle of nowhere. They're never heard from again.”
An amused smile touched the edges of Clare's lips. “Ostracized because the offices are so remote?”
Tina's face grew deadly serious. “No. The offices are perfectly contactable. The officers were transferred but never reached their destination. They never made it.”
“You can see how I feel it's a grand conspiracy,” Clare urged.
“Well, what are you holding there if not a grand conspiracy? The original file was sealed by powers much higher than you or I. They did not want the world to know what happened to your parents. This information gets found in your possession, they will bury you so deep it will be like you never existed. You'll be their first suspect.”
Clare flexed the file and Tina placed one hand over her own. “Just think about this. No turning back.”
Clare frowned at the document. Temptation had been left far behind. This was compulsion. She had to know what had happened or more could perish. “No turning back,” she said with determination and ripped the seal.
The file was Clare's Pandora's Box. Now the information was loose. Her heart began to race as the enormity of what she had just done settled about her shoulders.
Tina walked round behind her, leaning against the wall.
The wallet contained a thorough report on her parents' life history. “Everything is here. Th
is isn't just about my parents' death. Tina, they have Jeff and me in here too, information about our family from before we were born. They've been watching us.”
“Odd. That's far more than needed for a crime scene report. What does it say about the deaths?”
Clare flicked through the pages, turning them over and placing them in a neat pile as she read. The front page of the copy was dated only a couple of weeks after her parents' death. Harley had been playing with her mind. Did he want her to go after the report? It was too late now. She had taken the bait.
“Here we go. The pathology report states that judging by the condition of blood vessels and especially the greater vessels and heart, Ched and Patricia Rosser died from hypervolemia.” Clare looked up. “That's fluid overload in the body causing heart failure. Yet, there is all this information about the bodies being dry, nearly desiccated.” The pages slid apart, revealing two photos. Clare's entire body tightened, her face flushing as her heart went into overdrive. “Oh dear God. Look.”
Clare pushed the report to Tina, photographs containing two dried and twisted bodies spilling out.”
“Jesus, Clare, I'm sorry. I just scanned the file. If I'd known those were in there I'd have warned you.”
Her eyes welled up. “I saw the bodies in the morgue earlier and I thought it would all look the same. But it doesn't. It can't be when the faces are those of your own parents. Look at their faces. I mean really look at them. Twisted, mouths wide. They suffered before the end.” She wiped a tear away from her cheek. “They're on the brink of mummification. Yet the report suggests they were filled up with liquid to the point their hearts gave out. The traces of salt in the bodies confirmed this. It's crazy. Even drinking litres upon litres of water would still cause the body to flush most of what isn't needed away.”
“So, you are thinking that either the pathology report is incorrect, or that what… something drained them?”
Clare nodded. “That's exactly what I am thinking. What if they were filled up until their hearts burst and then drained? Why Harley felt the need to sit on this is beyond me. Whatever sociopath dreams up such a complicated method of murder is some sort of genius or not human.”
“Not human, indeed,” Tina snorted a laugh. “This isn't an alien conspiracy, Clare. There has to be a rational explanation for all this.”
“I didn't see anything rational about a collection of bodies in the morgue that looked exactly like this. But I'll bet if we test those victims, they have the same trace in their blood as this.” Clare pushed a piece of the report that had come loose toward Tina. The same combination of elements flashed on her computer screen.
“Mescaline…” Tina's voice was full of wonder, and not a little confusion.
“Exactly. I think someone drugged my parents and did this to them. Look at this. There's a series of small scars punctuating the upper arms. I'll bet if we go downstairs and take a look, we will find the same scarring. There's a serial killer out there, and he's been around this area before. He killed my parents, and now he's back. And this gets even stranger.”
Tina looked perplexed. “How can this get any stranger?”
“This sample is one I took from near the crime scene yesterday.” Clare indicted the computer screen.
“So that makes you think it's the same perp?”
“Yes and no. This is a comparison microscope. Take a look at the two samples. The left sample is what I took from the scene. The right is a sample of my own blood.”
Tina leaned forward, looking into the binocular apparatus. “Okay, I see your blood cells on the right, but the left is clear.”
“What you don't see is blood plasma, but with next to nothing in it. No cells, leukocytes, platelets. Also blood plasma alone is usually a straw yellow color but as you can see this is completely clear.”
“Like something has removed all the good from it,” Tina surmised.
“That's right. Normally, it would have dissolved nutrients, glucose, amino acids, enzymes, and hormones. I ran an arterial blood gas test on this sample. You know what I found? Waste products like high carbon dioxide and lactic acid. This looks like a plasma expander except it's tainted by natural cell detritus. I found a similar sample at Alden labs, on the jacket. Tina. I think the janitor is involved, possibly directly responsible.” Clare went to take a swig from her water bottle, the liquid within barely seeming to moisten her parched tongue. “You understand the dilemma here, of course.”
“Damned right I do. Clare, I made a copy of that file for you. Let me destroy the pages now you've read them. Anything you're intending to use the information for won't stick. If you take this public we go to jail. If you have any grand plan, you're gonna have to go so left field they don't see it coming. Nobody has blood with no blood cells in it.”
Clare frowned. “Don't forget to add in the fact that we have a stolen police document in our possession and the author of the report would probably prefer to kill me than talk to me. Harley has something to hide, and he's baiting me with it. He's always telling me to keep my nose out, to stick to what I'm good at. I don't think he has the faintest idea what I'm good at.” Clare realized she sounded scared. She was. This job was becoming a hazard. At least if she'd made detective she'd have had a gun. “You know, it was a bit too personal today. I swear if Mike Caruso hadn't been in the room, Harley would've punched me.”
“He's not the author of the report.”
Clare stopped gathering up the loose paper and photos. “He's not?”
“Not if this signature is to be believed. The crime scene report is signed Detective Jarret Logan, a Worcester detective working with the Feds. Harley is only mentioned as one of the investigating officers.”
The name wasn't familiar. One of the men in her kitchen all those years ago? “I've never heard of him.”
“Me neither. Can I borrow your computer?
Clare closed her analysis and stepped aside. Tina took the helm and logged into the system. “Logan…Logan…Lovell, Lorimer. Here we go. Jarret Logan. He transferred to Bernardston from Worcester, early October…Jesus. He transferred within weeks of your parents' murder.”
Clare leaned in, frowning. “How convenient is that? What's he listed as doing since then?”
“Well, that's the oddity. There's no record of him at all beyond the transfer. No 401k, nothing. Even if he'd taken a desk job and sat enjoying coffee and donuts for the last decade there would be some sort of entry. Instead there's a whole load of big fat zip. We've been automated for twenty years. Records are too good now for that.”
“Now maybe, but the network wasn't the same all over the state. It might be paper only out in the farthest reaches.”
Tina turned in the seat. “What are you thinking, Clare? I know that tone of voice.”
Clare sipped on a new bottle of water. “Harley doesn't want me poking my nose into this business here. The person named on this report isn't here. He's upstate.”
“Clare, there's been no contact with Bernardston for years according to the system. I couldn't even tell you whose jurisdiction they're under or if there's even a department.”
“Exactly. So whose to stop me taking a few days personal leave and going traveling?”
Tina stood. “I hate to break it to you, but you aren't exactly in the best of health. The constant weariness you suffer, this obsessive drinking. Clare, I don't think…”
“I don't want to hear it.” Inside, Clare knew Tina was right. The sooner she knew what was up, the sooner she could put it to bed.
“I'm just saying I don't think you should go driving into the wilderness alone, hun. Who knows where you'll end up and in what state?”
Clare took a deep breath. “I can manage. I need to go. I need to find this out for myself. You need to get this file back, broken seal or not.”
Tina looked down to the file, the cracked seal very obvious. “I'll see what I can do with this. But remember, we broke the seal on a Federal document, one you didn't have access to. So
mebody will notice, and when that happens… well you had better be in another state, better on a different planet for the trouble that will come.”
“I'll be discreet. I promise. I want to know why Federal Seal protected those men in my house. Someone down here is killing people. This Logan could be the only person able to point the finger.”
“There are enough crazies in this world, Clare. You don't know why he's there. If you're determined to do this, for God's sake get a gun. At least have the capability to protect yourself. This Logan might be able to finger Harley, but he might also be out of the picture for a very valid reason. What if he was the one doing the killing?”
“Then I'll find a way to make sure he doesn't do it ever again. I've seen enough twisted bodies in the last day to understand this killer is out there, active again, and has to be stopped. The photos of my parents only give me more resolve.”
Tina handed her a small phone. “It's a burner and is untraceable. Keep this on you. I want to have some way of contacting you.”
Clare regarded the phone in her hand. “I wonder how soon you'll need to.”
“Hopefully never, hun. Keep your eyes peeled. It's a wild world out there.”
Chapter Thirteen
An all-nighter, that's my excuse. Trying to catch up on what I missed Friday. Make it look good, convincing. Clare fretted, knowing that she needed to be in early and present her best possible face. Yet she was fighting her ongoing fatigue and had to let Helen know she was taking leave. She was a planner. Rational. Logical. Yet here she was, about to drive off into the middle of the state, through woodlands and backwoods, armed with only a name on a sheet. A hunch. Life was becoming unexpected in the most bizarre of ways.
Too tired to drive home, Clare had curled up under her desk using her backpack as a pillow. So now she was not only dirty from the rock bar, yesterday's clothes, and a diesel-infused joyride with Tina, but she lacked deodorant and smelled strangely fruity for it. Her back ached and her side was numb from the unforgiving floor Clare at least was able to clean herself up to a degree in the restrooms.
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