“Maybe. If there’s something to protect us from.” Kingston fiddled with the earpiece on his glasses, a ploy he often used when playing for time. “It’s within the realm of possibility, you know, that Bing actually died from a heart attack. The police certainly seem to believe that.”
“Bing was in perfect health and you know it,” Cullen snapped.
“Look, whether you’re right or wrong, Cullen, the point is that we’re dealing with a delicate situation here. Bingham’s death, whatever the reason, is going to cause problems in negotiations. He had connections that we can’t just reproduce at the snap of a finger.” Jeremy ran a nervous hand across his graying hair, smoothing it into place. “And I, for one, can’t help but worry that even the rumor of it being something other than a tragic accident has the power to squelch the negotiations altogether.”
“That’s why I called in Gabriel Roarke. The man’s a spook. If anyone can stay under the radar, he can.” Cullen waited as the other two men digested the information.
“What about Madison? She’s FBI. That’s certain to raise some eyebrows.” Jeremy gulped the juice, almost choking, a sure sign he was worried.
“She’s also Cullen’s goddaughter, which means her presence here is already accepted.” Kingston surprised Cullen with the defense, but he’d take his allies any way he could get them. “That’s part of the reason I wanted her on the team.”
“You were in on this?” Jeremy’s anger made his face blotchy.
“I discussed it with Cullen, yes.” Kingston shrugged.
“But you just asked him if it was necessary.” Jeremy’s expression grew skeptical.
“I’m still not convinced it is. But Cullen was going to take action with or without us, and so I figured I might as well have some say in the matter.”
“I see.” Jeremy sat down across from the desk, still clutching his cup. “So it’s two against one.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that.” Kingston’s tone turned defensive, and he fingered his eyeglasses again.
“Look, gentlemen, we’re all in this together. We’ve invested time, money and a hell of a lot of sweat into making this agreement a reality. And I’m not about to let anyone or anything get in our way. This task force is insurance. A way to appease the Chinese and at the same time hopefully get to the bottom of what may very well turn out to be nothing.” Cullen didn’t believe the last bit, but that didn’t stop him from trying to reassure them.
He needed their cooperation, and he needed their continued financial backing. But he also needed the task force. The truth was he had a hell of a lot more than they realized riding on the accord. And Bing’s death had been a major setback.
Hopefully, with everyone’s attention focused on the idea of terrorist intervention, other more pressing things would be overlooked. There was simply too much at stake to risk an ill-advised confidence.
Jeremy Bosner and Kingston Sinclair were barracudas. And if they smelled blood, he wanted to be absolutely certain it wasn’t his.
Chapter Five
“I think the first thing to do is pull together what we know.” Madison stood in front of a white board, her cool facade apparently running straight to the core. Gabe wondered what it would be like to pull her hair from its ponytail and loosen the buttons on her white blouse. Madison Harper could use a little rumpling.
He discarded the thought almost before it was finished. The last thing he needed was to involve himself in anything that even resembled a relationship. If he needed release, there were other ways. Right now he needed to concentrate on the task at hand.
“Of the six deaths, how many were from medical causes?” Nigel was studying the names written on the board—dead men who had to be coaxed into telling tales.
“Only two.” Madison answered without checking her notes. “Aston and Smith. Both heart attacks.”
“Which statistically isn’t out of the norm.” This from Harrison who was, as usual, typing on his computer. “What’s more interesting is the positioning. Aston was the first to die, and Smith the last.”
“With four accidents in between.” Payton had retreated to a corner, protecting his space.
“An electrocution, smoke inhalation, a car wreck and an apparent drowning.” Harrison stopped typing to look up at the board.
“Apparent?” Nigel asked.
“He fell. Hit his head and landed in the bathtub with the water running. Without an autopsy there’s no way to know if he died from the fall or the water.”
“So why wasn’t there an autopsy?”
Harrison shrugged. “Happened in a remote part of Colorado. Way up in the mountains. Doubt they’ve got the manpower to deal with something like that. Easier to rule it an accident. And at least on the surface, it certainly looks like it was.”
“You’ve got the police report?” Gabe asked.
“It’s right here.” Madison left the white board and reached for a file, handing it to Gabe. “The only one of the four we have an autopsy report for is Robert Barnes.”
The insistent ringing of a cell phone broke the conversation, and everybody scrambled to find their phone. “Mine,” Madison said, flipping it open, moving to the far side of the room so that she could hear.
Gabe turned back to the group. “Robert Barnes was the man who died in the fire.” He scanned the file, trying to remember the details. “A warehouse, right?”
Harrison nodded. “His own. The autopsy said he died of smoke inhalation.”
“Was there an arson investigation?” Payton had moved to stand by the window.
“Yeah.” Harrison answered. “For insurance purposes. There was talk of arson, but nothing conclusive. The most likely person to have torched the place was Barnes, and since he died in the fire—”
“They were quick to close the case.” Gabe finished for him. “Who was the beneficiary?”
“The bulk of his estate went to charity.” Harrison searched his computer screen. “With the odd bequest to staff and friends.”
“I take it there was no family?” Gabe asked.
“A couple of ex-wives. No children.” Harrison shrugged. “Certainly no one with motive to kill the guy, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“In order to have a conspiracy,” Nigel’s voice had turned cynical, “you have to have something to go on. And other than their business connections, I don’t see a bloody thing.”
“How about proof of murder?” Madison closed her cell phone with a decided snap, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “That was Tracy Braxton. She got the tox screen back, and guess what she found?”
“I assume you’re going to tell us?” Gabe snapped, impatience making him speak more harshly than he’d intended.
Her mouth tightened into an angry line, and he wished his words back. Harrison reached over to touch her arm and she relaxed. “She found traces of potassium chloride.”
“Son of a bitch,” Payton swore. “Instant heart attack. Any idea where it came from?”
“That’s the best part.” Madison was smiling again. “Tracy examined the body and found an injection site. His right hip. The original M.E. missed it.”
“I’d say it’s a pretty sure bet that Smith didn’t inject himself,” Nigel said. “The question, of course, is who did?”
“And why.” Payton had moved closer, taking a seat next to Harrison, his interest obviously piqued.
“Whatever the answer, it looks like Cullen was right,” Harrison said, already working on the implications.
“Hang on a minute.” Gabe held up a hand. “Not to ruin anyone’s fun here. But one death doesn’t make it a conspiracy. For all we know someone totally unrelated to the accord could have had it in for Smith. A guy like that is bound to have enemies.”
“Except that there was another heart attack.” Nigel’s eyes were narrowed in thought, his expression grim. “If it turns out that Aston had potassium chloride in his system, then we’ve got the makings of something bigger.”
“Th
at’s a big if,” Payton said. “And even if it were to prove true, there’s still the other four. None of them had heart attacks.”
“He wouldn’t want to use the same method every time.” Madison’s brows were drawn together in a frown as she studied the board. “By using different methods, the odds are better that the crimes would go undetected.”
“So if Aston’s heart attack was deliberate, wouldn’t that blow your theory?” Gabe asked, trying to contain his cynicism.
“Not necessarily. If he killed five people and got away with all of them, then repeating the methodology is less risky. If it suited his purposes, under these circumstances, I could see using it again.” Her gaze met Gabe’s, her eyes daring him to disagree.
“I repeat—all of this remains speculation until we know for certain what happened to Frederick Aston.” Gabe hadn’t wanted there to be any truth in Cullen’s theory. But faced with the reality of Smith’s murder, he felt a surge of curiosity. And an overriding need to find the truth.
“You said there was an autopsy, right?” Payton, as usual, provided the voice of reason.
Madison nodded. “And they kept tissue samples. The lab in D.C. shipped them to Tracy last night.”
“There’s obviously nothing in the initial report.” Nigel leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest.
“No. But there wouldn’t be unless someone specifically looked for it. And unlike Bingham Smith, Frederick Aston had a history of heart problems.” Madison shrugged. “So there wouldn’t have been any reason to suspect foul play.”
“So we wait.” Payton didn’t sound at all thrilled by the prospect.
“Why don’t you and Nigel start digging into Bingham’s past? Let’s see who his enemies were. Harrison, you look into the other deaths—maybe there are similarities we’re missing.”
“And what do you want me to do?” Madison asked, gray eyes shooting sparks.
“I’m thinking maybe we ought to pay a visit to Tracy Braxton. Nothing like getting the news firsthand.”
* * *
Braxton Labs was located in what had originally been a meatpacking plant. The outside edifice of crumbling brick belied the remodeled chic of the laboratories inside. State-of-the-art equipment and cutting-edge personnel had made the company one of the top private forensics labs in the country.
Madison sat in the reception area watching Gabriel chat up Tracy’s assistant. The woman was practically cooing, her smile just this side of simpering. Gabriel seemed to enjoy the game, his answering smile warm and sexy. Playing it for all it was worth.
Certainly a far cry from the cab ride they’d just shared. They’d barely managed to stay civil on the drive over, tension permeating the back seat. Not exactly chemistry conducive to working together. She sighed, wondering what Cullen had been thinking when he had chosen them to head up his team.
On a professional level it made sense, but Cullen knew them both, and it seemed to her that he should have realized they’d never be able to work comfortably together. Still, she wasn’t one to back off of a challenge, and if Gabriel Roarke thought that she’d just fold up her tent and go home, he had another think coming.
“Couldn’t wait, huh?” Tracy walked into the office, her white lab coat a contrast to her dark braided hair. With her high cheekbones and flawless ebony skin, Tracy looked more like a Victoria’s Secret model than a pathologist.
“Considering we now have an open murder case, it seemed prudent.” Madison stood up. “This is Gabriel Roarke.” She motioned toward the man. “He’s part of the team Cullen set up.”
Tracy frowned. “Sounds like the two of you will have your plates full.”
“And then some,” Gabriel said, shaking Tracy’s hand. “Special Agent Harper speaks highly of your work.”
“It’s all about getting the dead to talk. Nine times out of ten, with a little prodding, they spill their guts.”
“Morgue humor?” Gabriel’s eyebrow rose, the corner of his mouth curving upward.
“Sorry,” Tracy said, “occupational hazard. Why don’t you guys come on in.” She gestured toward her office door and they followed her inside. The room was beautifully appointed, blues and greens lending a calming touch—a far cry from the pictures spread out on her desk. “Serial killer.” She shook her head. “Ten vics so far.”
Madison was immediately interested. “Where?”
“Nebraska, of all places. Has a penchant for old ladies. Sick bastard.”
Madison frowned. “I read about the case. Guy’s got a real momma complex.”
“Ladies, if we could get back to the business at hand.” Gabriel’s deep voice held a hint of rebuke and Madison resisted the urge to shoot him the finger. The man was a real pain in the ass.
“Sit.” Tracy indicated the chairs in front of her desk, then sat down behind it, pushing the photographs out of the way. “I not only got the sections, I had a chance to look at them. I’ll need to see the tox report of verification, but I’d say the odds are good that Mr. Aston ran into the same needle Bingham Smith did.”
“You found potassium chloride.” It was a statement, not a question, Gabriel’s tone grim.
“Signs of it. As I said, we’ll need to wait for the complete report to confirm it. In the meantime, I studied the photographs of the body, as well. Even had a couple of them blown up.” She picked up an envelope and removed two photos. “Of course without seeing the body, I can’t be certain, but I’d say these are puncture marks.”
Gabriel took the pictures from her and examined each in turn, then handed them to Madison. “So we have the same cause of death and possibly the same M.O.”
The photos each showed an exposed patch of skin punctuated with a small round red mark. “This won’t stand as conclusive evidence.” Madison’s gaze encompassed them both.
“Doesn’t have to. If the tox report confirms the presence of potassium chloride, that’ll be enough. In the meantime, the possibility of needle marks suggests the beginning of a pattern.”
“Except that Aston died in his home, not in a public place. Makes access a lot more difficult.” Madison continued to study the photos, trying to assimilate the facts. “Could mean the killer knew Aston.”
“Or that the man was injected on his way home.” Gabriel, too, was puzzling it out.
“Potassium chloride works pretty fast if the dose is lethal,” Tracy said. “He’d have had to be pretty close to have made it inside.”
“Where exactly was he found? Does your report say?” Madison chewed on the side of her lip, waiting.
Tracy rifled through the file. “Says here he was found in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs.”
“So someone could have been at the front door,” Gabriel said.
“I suppose it’s possible.” Tracy shrugged. “If the photos are right, the first injection site was his upper arm. The second his thigh.”
“But according to this—” Madison was scanning the report “—there was no sign of a struggle. And if some guy tried to lunge at me with a needle, I guarantee you, I’d be fighting back.”
“Point taken.” Gabriel shot her a look that was impossible to interpret. “What about the other autopsy?” His question was for Tracy. “Any chance there was potassium chloride involved there?”
“No.” Tracy shook her head. “Because of the fire, Robert Barnes’s autopsy was much more thorough. They did a complete tox screen and there was no potassium chloride present. Besides, he didn’t die of a heart attack.”
“So there’s no relationship.” Madison tried but couldn’t keep the frustration out of her voice.
“Not with regard to injection, but I did find a couple of things that, as far as I’m concerned, makes his death look a bit more suspicious. In the original autopsy report the M.E. noted a contusion at the back of Barnes’s head. The conclusion was that he hit it falling after he succumbed to the smoke. But I’m not convinced of that. According to the photographs in the file, it looks to me like the contu
sion was perimortem rather than post.”
“So he fell before he died,” Gabriel repeated, his impatience evident.
“It’s more than that. It’s the placement of the body at the scene.” She pulled out another picture. “The way he’s lying doesn’t track with the angle of the wound. If he struck his head when he fell, it would be on the opposite side.” She traced the arc of his fall on the photograph underscoring her words.
“Could he have rolled over?” Madison asked.
“Anything’s possible, but I don’t think so. The positioning of the body is too unnatural.” Again she pointed at the photograph. “See the way the leg is twisted. If he’d been conscious that would have hurt like hell.”
“And he’d have moved again.” Madison stared at the picture, wishing it could talk.
“Exactly.” Tracy nodded. “But unfortunately all of this is nothing more than an educated guess. Another expert might disagree completely.”
“But you’re our expert.” Gabriel said as he considered the photographs. “So what can you tell from the shape of the wound?”
“Blunt force trauma,” Tracy said. “Something small and heavy. A hammer, maybe. If I could have seen the actual wound I could probably have told you definitively.”
“That’s still not enough to prove foul play.” Madison hated to be the naysayer, but it was important that they be certain. At least as much as possible in light of the fact that the man was dead and in the ground.
“There’s a little more.” Tracy sat back in her chair, still holding the file. “The chemical residue in his lungs led investigators to determine cause of death as asphyxiation, but when you look at the sections under the microscope the magnitude isn’t what you’d expect.”
“Meaning what?” Gabriel asked.
“Well, considering the size of the fire and Mr. Barnes’s proximity to it, I’d say he stopped breathing well before it got close enough to actually kill him. Again, without seeing the actual body I can’t say for certain. But I’m betting Barnes died before the fire ever really got going.”
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