Resurrection: A Harvey Nolan Thriller, Book Zero
Page 4
A voice shouted from within the woman’s house. “Honey, who are you talking to?”
“It’s no one.” The neighbor yelled back into her house. She glanced back at Katie. “I think I better be heading back.”
“Pleasure.”
Katie treaded back to the front of the house. Agent Womack was still on his cell. “I need a GPS location on a cell immediately. Number 617-555-0181. I repeat 617–”
Detective Womack ended the call. “She was not contactable. I’m tracking her cell, we should have a location very soon.” He said. “Found anything?”
“Not really.” Katie said. “Womack. When did Golan’s housekeeper died?”
Womack was still fidgeting with his cellphone. “9 days ago.” He said. “She collapsed at the Golan’s in the morning, she was alone. Was only brought to the hospital 4 hours later where she was pronounced dead. A post mortem examination was called.”
“Would I be able to see the body if she is at the mortuary?”
Womack looked up at Katie with an eyebrow raised. “You suspect something?”
“I just want to make sure.”
He received a text on his cell. “About time. They found her location. Tell you what, I’ll go after Tracy Golan, and you take care of the mort. Think you can handle it alone?”
Katie stared at Womack in a deadpanned manner. She was sick of him treating her like a child. “No problem.”
“Look for Dr. Stamper, he’s in-charged. And I suggest you do not consume any food before you go, if it is your first time.”
Chapter 9
THE ENGINE VIBRATES vigorously. It always acts like that whenever the car is idle with the engine still running. Perhaps it is high time for a new ride. This piece of crap belongs in a scrapyard. It is a miracle it is still functional. I arrived at my destination 10 minutes ago. I don’t know what is keeping me from exiting the car. Good. That means I do not have a valid reason to not exit the car. The argument works both ways. I twist the key and kill the engine. The sudden silence on the inside of the car makes me feel a little lonely. I open the door and push it outwards.
I stroll toward the water. The waves gushes frantically from unpredictable directions. There is no one along the bank besides me and my vehicle. I squat but the water level was far too low for me to touch it. I stand up again, feeling a little disappointed. The sun is setting. The sky separated into two colors – baby blue on top and orange red at the bottom. The clouds reflected the orange high against the blue backdrop. I have never stopped to enjoy the Boston sky. Pity this is perhaps one of the last few chances I will get to. I am leaving this god forsaken place. Too many sad memories to have a good night’s sleep. Maybe I’ll go down south where the weather’s warmer and the food’s greasier. Maybe I’ll do that.
I take out the package I tugged between the sweater and my body and unwrap the brown paper bag. The sound of the paper echoes along the bank. I reach into the bag and my fingers touch the familiar grip. I hold it firmly and pull it out, abandoning the paper bag on the ground. I take one last look at the gun. It served its purpose and now it must retire, I tell myself. The shiny metal stares back at me, as if begging not to be discarded. Do not relinquish this part of you. The gun has become part of me. It is me.
I sigh hard as I look toward the horizon, the baby blue was deepening in shade, the orange lightening. I do not hesitate the second time. I do not stop to think.
The gun hits the water.
Chapter 10
HARVEY STOPPED HIS car alongside the road, right in front of The Garage. He stared at the grey car parked in front of him. 6479 TS. There was no doubt, this was Terry’s car. He looked across the street where a small dark inconspicuous bar with neon beer brand lights sat half hidden behind a white Cannistraro van. A single green word, ‘WHITNEYS’, with a white number 37 pasted on the tinted glass door. He took a deep breath and rested his head on the head rest of his seat, it had been a long day after all. He spotted a patch of blood stain on the right side of his jeans. He cursed inaudibly. It was his favorite pair of jeans. The blood looked like it totally dried up – he was going to have a hard time removing it.
Harvey alighted his vehicle and strolled toward Whitney’s. Just when he was about to step into the bar, he suddenly realized that he was about to confront a potential murderer that was probably armed, all on his own. He took a step back. The passerby he almost walked into made his displeasure known. “Tsk.” Harvey muttered an apology.
What’s the worst that can happen?
He finally disregarded his cowardice, or cautiousness, and pushed the tinted glass door. The establishment was rather empty, it was still too early to drink. Only two tables were occupied and the one at the far end sat two persons, one of which Harvey recognized immediately. The other was a brunette which large attractive round eyes, with some other parts that were pretty large as well. Harvey approached the table.
“Terry.”
Gallagher was in baggy jeans that laid low on his hips and his trademark nerdy spectacles. His long sleeve t-shirt came up a little short round his mid-section. The lanky man looked up. “Harvey? What u doing here man?”
Harvey studied the medical student who was sitting in front of him – he had an air of nonchalance that was supported by his messy bed hair, high cheekbones and lanky built. No wonder the girls dig him.
Harvey sat down at the table. “Don’t mind if I join you.” He did not wait for a reply. “It’s Golan.”
Terry’s expression changed from that of shock to annoyance. “What does that cranky old dude want now?” he asked. “I thought he was done with me.”
Harvey stared straight into Terry Gallagher’s eyes. He couldn’t tell if he was fooling him or not. “Have you not heard about it?”
“What about?”
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“Quit nagging Harvey. Shoot.” Said Terry as he brought his beer bottle up to his lips.
“He’s been shot.”
Terry spurted half a mouthful of beer onto the table. “What?! What did you say?!”
“Shot.” Harvey repeated. “Through his chest.”
“Holy shit! You are kidding right?!”
Harvey pointed at the pointed to the patch of blood stain on his jeans. Terry shifted his body to take a closer look. The large eyes brunette too, extended her neck out of curiosity.
“Damn!” Terry exclaimed as he stared widely at Harvey. “You shot him?”
Harvey rolled his eyes inwardly. “And that makes perfect sense right? Shooting him and here I am telling you about it. Of course not!” Harvey raised his tone a little. “I was trying to stop the bleeding.”
“Damn man.”
“Damn indeed.” Added Harvey.
Terry gazed intently at Harvey’s face. “You look like crap, you should get a beer or something.”
“I don’t drink.”
Terry snorted and turned his attention to the bar. “Bartender, can I get a Bud Light over here? Put it on my tab.”
He then switched to looking at the brunette. “Babe, do you mind if you go play some darts for a while?” The girl nodded as she leaned in for a kiss. The bartender then appeared behind Harvey and placed the beer bottle on the table.
“Drink. It will help.” Terry said as he took a swig from his own bottle. “So, how can I help you?”
“I thought it was you.” Harvey sighed and confessed. “But now, I just don’t know that anymore.”
Terry reclined into his seat, his face reflected his cool demeanor. “I may look like I don’t think much before doing anything but I sure am not willing to throw my life away just because I detest some cranky old fart.”
Harvey nodded in response. He took a sip from the beer bottle in front of him. The bitter taste disgusted him.
“What was that about anyway, Golan failing you?” Harvey asked. “I thought you guys were working pretty well together. I expected him to give you no less than a B, to be honest.
What is it you all were up to?”
Terry finished his beer in a single gulp and ordered another. He did not speak until he had a new bottle in his hand. “We were looking to come up with a vaccine for the Marburg virus, a project funded by a huge pharmaceutical company in conjunction with Harvard. It was Golan’s project all along, I was just lucky to be part of it. I was more of a lab assistant to be honest, I couldn’t have been much help otherwise.”
The sound of the door opening interrupted Terry as he turned to look toward the door. Two men just entered the bar.
“We were progressing well. However, somewhere along the line, we got stuck. Golan came up with a theoretical model for a problem he couldn’t solve. He was staring at it for 3 days straight, and so I thought why not I give it a try? I mean, I’m smart enough, I know I am, that’s why Golan picked me in the first place.”
The two men who had just entered laughed as they shared a joke with the bartender.
“I did a couple of side experiments on my own.” Terry continued. “And within 4 days, I solved it. Me, solving something Professor Golan couldn’t. Needless to say, Golan was impressed. I was elated. For the first time I felt that my ingenuity was finally put to good use.”
“Was it tested? The vaccine?” asked Harvey.
“No. It would probably many years of testing and red tape before it would be approved for animal testing. And then many more years before human. Golan loathed it. He said he would not live to see it.”
Harvey considered everything Terry said. “And I’m somehow guessing, this is the part of the story where everything went downhill?”
“Spot on, Harv.” Terry replied. “On the morning of the eighth day after my successful concoction, I stepped into the lab to have Golan threw the results log at me. He threw the damn logbook at me, can you believe it?”
Terry stared at his beer bottle. “As it turned out, my concoction was a dud. It only showed theoretical success because there was an error in one of the calculations I made. I have never seen him so angry before. He threw me out of the lab. And they as say, the rest is history.”
Harvey pondered deep about the whole event, something just wasn’t right. The 7 days after Terry’s pseudo success stuck out like a sore thumb. What happened? He suddenly felt extremely exhausted.
Harvey stood up. “Terry, I’m going to have to tell the FBI about this. They will probably drop by to talk to you.”
Terry Gallagher reacted better than Harvey expected him to. He merely shrugged his shoulders. “Go ahead. I’ll repeat what I just told you.”
Harvey nodded as he turned toward the direction of the front door and exhaled. He took a quick backward glance at Terry. “Thanks for the drink. You stay out of trouble for now.”
“Same to you, Harv. Same to you.”
Chapter 11
KATIE WRAPPED HER fingers around the metal handle of the swinging door and pushed with the weight of her body. It was heavy. The door swung back to its originally closed position as soon as she stepped into the dark corridor and released the handle. The only light that she could see was from the window of a lit room at the far end of the hallway. She gravitated toward it like a moth attracted to a flame. She knocked on a door beside the blind covered window.
“Come in.”
She twisted the door knob and pushed.
“You must be Agent Moulin. I’ve been expecting you.”
“Dr. Stamper?”
The man in the white laboratory coat stood, abandoning his computer as he strolled toward another door on the opposite side of the main one and opened it. “C’mon in.” He waved.
Katie followed his footsteps and entered the adjoining room. She found herself standing in a fluorescent lit industrious room with a huge stainless steel storage facility on an entire side that had multiple square coldroom doors in three neat rows and numerous columns. She felt a chill crept up on her. Four equally sanitized looking stainless steel surgical tables occupied the middle of the area with individual lowered LED panel lights that focused on their surfaces. On one of the tables was an unmoving white hair man who was fully nude waist up with a single white sheet offering him some decency.
“Don’t mind him, he just came in this morning.” Dr. Stamper said. “We haven’t gotten the chance to open him up yet.”
Katie swallowed her saliva loudly. She was glad she took Womack’s advice.
“B3, B4, B5. There we go, Maria Garcia.” Stamper said. Adjusting his glasses as he peeked at the small white cardboard label slotted in a holder in front of a metallic door. He twisted the handle of the door downwards and swung it open. A frosty mist escaped the depository. He pulled out a sliding panel that held a black body bag which he decisively unzipped.
“It’s her alright.” He turned his back on the corpse as he fished his phone out and dialed. “I need some hands here. Level 3. ‘Kay thanks bye.”
He slipped his cell back into his lab coat and glanced over to Katie. “Is this your first time?”
Katie nodded.
“Excited?!” said Stamper in a highly inappropriate manner.
“I wouldn’t exactly describe it that way.” Replied Katie, looking funnily at the forensic pathologist.
“Yes of course. What am I talking about?” Stamper said. Katie could tell from the way he spoke that he was probably a social misfit.
A deafening silence filled the room.
“They are much easier to get along with, you know?”
“What’s that?” asked Katie.
“The corpses. They make better companions than people out there. The live ones.” Added Stamper as he averted Katie’s attempt at making eye contact.
“You mean as opposed to someone like me.”
“Yeah something like that.” Stamper brushed off. “They don’t expect much and they never complain. It is always so peaceful and quiet around here.”
Katie shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and definitely uncomfortable with the odd conversation. Luckily, a younger man in a similar white coat appeared at the door at that instant. “Dr. Stamper, you wanted some help?”
“Oh yes, Jackson. Let’s put Miss Garcia on table 2.” Said Stamper.
They dragged the sliding panel farther out and lifted the body bag from it, transferring it on to an elongated waist level steel trolley. They then pushed the trolley toward the table in the middle where they unzipped the entire body bag and moved the body onto the surface. Jackson reached for a folded white sheet on a counter nearby and covered Maria, neck down.
“You can go now.” Stamper said as he waved Jackson off without expressing any gratitude.
Katie took a deep breath as she stepped forward and approached the female corpse, pulling on the rubber gloves that Stamper handed her. She stared at the face of the slightly plump Mexican woman whose eyes were shut tight. She looked so peaceful. The strange thought entered her mind. She reached out and unveiled the span of the dead body as she closed in, studying every inch of its surface starting from her head.
“Preliminary conclusion by physician’s declaration at the hospital was sudden cardiac death, which I concur.”
Katie continued downwards, reaching the shoulders and chest.
“Other organ functions are at peak condition relative to somebody her age.”
Katie lifted the body slightly.
“No physical surface injuries, no broken bones, no internal trauma. Pretty straightforward I’d say.”
She reached for her right forearm. “What are these puncture wounds?”
“Deceased had diabetes prior. She probably gave herself regular insulin shots. I wouldn’t think too deep into that.” Replied Stamper as he looked up from the report he was holding.
“And these, on her Achilles tendon?”
“Probably hurt herself. Nothing life-threatening. I wouldn’t put her as a drug user. Her blood was clean, besides the strain of Melioidosis which we attributed to the heart failure.”
Katie frowned at the tiny puncture wounds near the heel. “When was the post mortem examination done?”
“3 days from declaration of death. Blood results came in 2 days later.”
“Means she’s been here for 4 days. Why hasn’t she been collected by her family?”
Stamper gazed at Katie, as if she had asked something unusual. “We couldn’t contact her next-of-kin, he didn’t answer his cell.”
“He–?”
“Her husband.”
“She was married? Her husband’s in America?”
“He’s American. Short Hispanic chap, dropped by once. Very unmemorable face.” Stamper commented. “We get that fairly often. It’s usually the homeless or low-income folks who can’t afford a proper burial.”
“So they just leave them here?” Katie’s eyes widened.
Stamper nodded.
“I think I’ve seen enough.” Said Katie as she covered the body with the white sheet. “Could you send me the full report of the autopsy?”
“Certainly.” Said Stamper as he closed the report folder he was holding.
Katie pulled off the gloves and tossed them in the bin as she nipped toward the entrance of the room. “One last thing, if her husband turns up, let me know.”
Chapter 12
BERTRAM MOORE SETTLED on a corner table, sitting in the small cafeteria chair that did not provide much of his large frame comfort nor adequate support. He however sighed in comfort as he finally had a chance to rest his legs. His feet were aching and his hamstrings tight and annoyingly agonizing. He extended them in a failed attempt to ease the cramp. It was quite a comical sight. It looked as if Santa Claus was too old to deliver presents anymore.