by LS Sygnet
"You're looking at the chief medical examiner." She struck a Marilyn Monroe-esque pose. "How do I wear it?"
"I figured you'd be in Maryland forever."
"No chance of promotion," she said. "I got to leap from the lower middle rung all the way to the top by relocating out here. Never mind that I've delved into the ninth circle of hell."
"I wasn't aware there were nine of them."
"Probably more. I just have uncovered nine of them since I moved here six months ago. So this case warrants a federal intervention, eh?"
I noticed the ears around us perking with interest. "Walk with me," I said. My voice lowered to a scratch above a whisper. "It's not common knowledge yet."
"What isn't?"
"I'm not with the bureau anymore, Maya."
"Since when?"
"Monday morning."
"No shit?"
"How well versed were you on water cooler gossip before you left Maryland?"
"Please," Maya stepped through the front door of Foster's home. "I had more work to do out there than most. I didn't have time to play telephone with the drones. Why? Did I miss something good?"
"This probably isn't the best place to discuss it. In any case, here I am. George Hardy asked if I'd be willing to consult on a few cases from time to time. I didn't realize I'd be dragged to a crime scene straight off my flight."
"Billy gave me the run down on this one on the way over here." Maya crouched beside the corpse. "Everything photographed, Forsythe?"
"We're done with this room."
"Good." Maya started moving the truncated right limb. "She's barely in rigor. This is a fresh kill. Six maybe seven hours tops. Of course I'll have to do a lot of other things to pin it down to something more definite than that, but for now, I'd say we're looking at five, maybe six last night for time of death."
"And theories on cause?"
Maya looked up at me. "You're joking, right?"
"Not really."
"I can tell you she didn't die from exsanguination. I estimate blood loss at three liters tops. Unless she's got some super absorbent carpet padding under this shag, what you see is what you get. This blood seeped out postmortem due to gravity. So dismemberment wasn't the cause." Maya lifted the hem of the skirt as I had done nearly an hour ago.
"Billy?"
"Yeah boss."
"Help me with this." She repositioned one leg enough to provide a better view of the external genitalia. "Ouch."
"Trauma?"
"Looks like it," she said. "Though rape itself won't turn out to be the causation, it might've been a factor in the motivation for murder. She fights hard enough, he kills her."
She refocused her attention on the neck. "Clean cut. I'll have to examine the tissue under a scope to be certain but …"
"But what?"
Maya glanced up at me. "One blow severed the head. I see no evidence of a serrated blade so far. Spinal column and cord were cleanly dissected. I see no bone chipping. Huh." She grunted softly.
"What?"
"A butcher, a hunter, someone with skill took her head and hands. Check out the arms. We've got neatly sliced tendons between the carpals and radial-ulnar joints. Same type of cutting. Clean, decisive, very practiced."
"So on some creature, be it animal or human, our perp has dissected in this manner before?"
"Without a doubt," Maya said. "You'll have to figure out why he took her. Do we know who the victim is?"
My answer drowned out Forsythe's "No."
"Gwen Foster, age 34. I guess whoever George decides is investigating this case will have to run down the vitals on her."
"When was she found?" Maya rose and pulled off her gloves. "Billy, make sure you and Hector remove the section of carpeting and padding she's on. Cut a wide berth around the body. There could be fluid seepage underneath that extends beyond what we can see here." Refocused on me, she lifted her eyebrows. "Well?"
"Nine-thirty," I said.
Forsythe piped up again. "We didn't get the call until quarter to ten. CSD was on scene at ten-fifteen, gained access to the premises an hour ago."
Maya rolled her eyes. "The three amigos ride again, no doubt."
"I think there has been some debate over which division is investigating the case," I said.
Maya clasped her hands and lifted her face toward the ceiling. "Please let Briscoe and Conall investigate this one. I'll never sin again, God."
"You're not a fan of Central Division?"
"No," she said. "I've got about a trillion lab hours ahead of me on this one, Helen. Why don't you give me a call tomorrow and we'll make a date for a good old fashioned chat, catch up on everything we've missed over the past few years. Deal?"
I scribbled my new cell phone number on a scrap of paper. "Call me if you learn anything that might point to motive in the autopsy."
"Other than the fact that someone hated her enough to make off with the head and hands?" Her irreverence at crime scenes had become the stuff of legend in the greater Baltimore area. "Maybe we should send Rogers and Daltry out to frisk anyone carrying a bowling bag. That's about the right size for the contraband."
"Jesus," Forsythe muttered.
"They're not used to my coping mechanisms yet, Helen," she whispered loudly. "If we can figure out the cause of death, I'll call. Where are you staying?"
"Some hotel downtown. The Montcliff Hotel, I think."
Maya whistled low through her teeth. "Swanky. If it gets too pricey, let me know. I've got a guest room. It's not high society but the sheets are clean. At least I think they're clean."
Haverston beckoned from the front door. "We've got the passenger list from Northwest, Dr. Eriksson."
"Is he on it?"
He nodded. "Should I cut him loose?"
"Yeah, but ask him not to leave town," I said. Magic words, ones that Agent Mark Seleeby failed to invoke before I fled D.C. "Get an address and phone number where he can be reached, Haverston. When do you go off shift?" I followed him out the front door and into the yard.
"Seven thirty, doctor."
"Do you go back on at eleven tonight?"
He nodded. "But if you need extra hands on this, sarge already said you can use us for whatever you want."
"Sarge?"
"Our sergeant, Tim Carter." Haverston lowered his head. "He answers directly to Chief Weber."
"Another chief?"
"Weber is chief of police, ma'am."
"Call me Helen."
Haverston grinned. "All right. We'd be happy to help out in any way while this other thing gets settled between Lowe and Hardy."
"That's not a bad idea, Haverston. After you guys finish the canvass with the neighbors and confirm the dinner Conall and Orion claim they shared, do you think you guys could dig up a little information about Gwen Foster?"
"Is that the victim's name?"
"According to Orion. If we can verify home ownership, maybe track down her tax returns and find out who her employer is, see if she's got a spouse we should be talking to or kids … you know the drill." I watched Haverston's chest puff with pride. Not so much that he knew his job, but that someone else realized it and asked for help.
Was this part of the cancer in Darkwater Bay? Clues died on the vine while detectives squabbled over turf. Criminals didn't worry about being apprehended because of in-fighting in the department.
"Would you like me to call if we turn up anything hot in the meantime?"
I scribbled my cell number on another scrap of paper and handed it to him. "And until this territorial battle is settled one way or another, it might be best if we kept this between us."
"Taylor, Adams and Thieg too, right?"
"Absolutely. Let me know right away if you learn something that can't wait until morning. Otherwise, I'll track you down after I meet with Commissioner Hardy in the morning. I'd like to talk to Sergeant Carter too."
"I'll let him know." Haverston shot a hand signal to one of the officers. "We're cutting him loose. Rogers and Daltry are
already frothing at the mouth over it, but you're right. We need a stronger case against whoever was responsible for this before we close the book."
I watched Orion climb out of the back of the patrol car and hold up his wrists. He shook them, shoved his hands into his pockets and stomped toward a car parked on the street.
"Shouldn't we know where we can contact him before he leaves?"
Haverston chuckled. "Orion's home and business aren't a secret, doctor. He's right across the street from Central Division in La Pierre Tower. He's not going anywhere."
"How can you be so sure?"
Haverston shrugged. "He's as interested in what you're gonna do next as the rest of us are."
I couldn't argue that point, given the extremes I suspected Orion had gone to just to orchestrate a happenstance meeting in Washington on Monday.
An hour later, I collapsed into bed in my hotel room, never dreaming that my very presence had opened Pandora's Box in Darkwater Bay.
Chapter 9
They say that a guilty man sleeps after he's caught. It implies that prior to arrest, he is too anxious to rest. Some people are just heavy sleepers. Some of us are not. I haven't had a night of uninterrupted sleep since my father's arrest. At least, that was the case until I landed in Darkwater Bay.
I expected to toss and turn for a couple of hours, get up, shower off the travel grime and mental fog from the general level of stress in my life and meet with the law enforcement fat cats. A latte IV would probably be part of my morning. Maybe an Adderall or two. Not that I have any. I've been subsisting on caffeine and stress stimulants for over a week now.
Which is why in retrospect, I think I crashed so hard when I fell asleep Wednesday morning in Darkwater Bay. Something jostled me, hard as bone maybe. I struggled to open my eyes, to discover the source of the jarring motion. My brain whispered reassurances. I fell out of bed. It was merely a dream. Nothing I thought happened since midnight was real, and the flight gear touching earth had penetrated my deep sleep.
"Helen, wake up."
I swatted at the whispered words. Go away. Let me sleep. Don't you know how hard it is for me to get into this condition?
"Shit."
All right. I was sliding. Mmm … satin sheets.
But firm pressure under the joint sockets in my arms jolted me awake in an instant. Blackness surrounded me. "What the … ?"
"Quiet."
"Where the hell –?"
A hand clapped over my mouth. "Be. Quiet."
The darkness, the deep sleep, the uncertainty of where I was or who dragged me there pulled me deeper into disorientation. I started to struggle. A single arm banded around me like a vice.
"Helen, be still."
I was pressed against a hard body, and identifying the whispered voice was impossible. It occurred to me that we weren't standing. My feet weren't touching the floor. I stretched my toes downward. Nothing. Heavy breathing cascaded over my right shoulder, down my flimsy nightgown. All right. Wherever I am, he's behind me and he's holding me off the floor. He's very strong, and he's got to be tall.
The hand over my mouth gentled its grip. It wasn't much, but it offered enough slack to let me open my lips. I was poised to take a vicious bite when I heard another sound. Low voices murmured.
" … not here … "
" … get the laptop … "
I groaned. The grip on my mouth tightened.
" … hear that?"
Tension radiated from the body holding mine. A second later, blinding light flickered to life above my head.
"Nobody in the john. You think she's still out investigating her little crime scene?" the voice sneered.
"Shut the light off and let's get the fuck outta here before she comes back."
"You know what he said," our bathroom guest spoke. "He wants her, not her goddamned laptop computer."
The voices rang a bell in my head. Not so much the sounds, but the sneer was very familiar. My eyes widened. I'd heard that sneer before. One mystery solved. Sort of. The men from D.C., they were still looking for me. I hadn't really doubted it, but indulged in a little delusional wishful thinking. Helen isn't an uncommon name after all. Outdated, yes, but not unusual.
We waited, the grip on my mouth and the one at my belly not relaxed an inch this time. The air blowing over my shoulder turned toward my ear. "I think they're gone. Do not scream when I let go of your mouth."
His hand fell from my face and the arm banded around my middle.
"Orion."
"You didn't know?"
"What the hell are you doing in my hotel room?"
"Saving your life, I suspect. Were you aware that your shadows followed you all the way from Washington last night?"
"A couple of thugs followed me from D.C.? Now why do I find that so difficult to believe? Let go of me. They're gone."
His fingers rubbed my flesh through the silky nightgown. "Why are they following you? What did you do before you left Washington?"
"I'm going to say this one more time. Let. Me. Go."
Hands fell away. "Suit yourself."
I scrambled out of the deep whirlpool bathtub. Pretty quick thinking on Orion's part. Looking in the deep cavernous tub wasn't high on the list of hiding places to uncover for my new friends. I had little doubt who sent them.
Stumbling through the darkness, I nearly tripped before I found the light on the bathroom wall. Orion was sitting, staring at me with owl eyes when the light flickered on again. "You haven't answered my question."
"I believe I did," he said, but made no move to get out of the whirlpool. "They followed you out here, Doc."
"Don't call me –"
"Yeah, I heard you. I'm ignoring the request. Your turn. Why are you being followed by private investigators?"
"I have no idea."
"Let me make it a little more specific. Why are you being followed by two of the sleaziest private detectives in Darkwater Bay? Why would they be in Washington D.C., looking for you?"
My mouth fell open. "I thought you said they weren’t identified!"
"I lied," he said dryly. Orion hefted himself out of the whirlpool with the ease and agility of a lion. "They're from Darkwater Bay. Who else do you know out here, Doc?"
"I don't – I owe you nothing, Orion." My fuse burned away quickly. Who the hell was this guy? What made him think he had the right to break into my room and demand answers from me?
"Wrong," his eyes narrowed, hawk-like in a flash. I felt them devouring every inch of me, the room, hell, the whole universe. Air sucked out of my lungs. Two predatory strides later, and his hands strangled my biceps. "What the hell were you doing before you came to Darkwater Bay? Don't tell me it's a coincidence that two guys from this city show up out of the blue in Washington looking for you a matter of hours before you showed up in town. You know what this is about, Doc, and dammit, you're not leaving this room until you level with me."
"What's wrong, Orion? Is this professional jealousy? You've been bested by your sleazy competition?"
He shook me hard enough to rattle my teeth. "This is serious, goddammit! Or have you forgotten about my friend who got slaughtered last night?"
Words tumbled from my lips. "You think I had something to do with Gwen Foster's murder?"
Orion dropped his hands and spun around. He muttered a curse under his breath.
"I'm sorry, what was that?"
"I said of course I don't think you had anything to do with Gwen's death. I don't happen to believe in coincidences either."
"I fail to see the –"
"No, you wouldn't see it," he cut me off with another glare. "And even if you did know anything, which I suspect you do, you're not gonna tell me jack shit, are you?"
"I'm still asleep. That's got to be what's happening. This is one of those weird dreams where my subconscious dumps a ton of unrelated bullshit into one contiguous –"
"You're not dreaming, Doc."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. I never met Gw
en Foster. I know one person in Darkwater Bay, and know is pushing it."
"Tell me the name of that person."
Dread started strangling me again. I didn't have to remind myself that what little I knew of Orion started with lies. Our coincidental meeting was nothing of the sort. The only time my new friends showed up, ironically, Orion had been the man of the hour. How stupid did he think I really was?
"Doc."
"No way, Orion. I'm not telling you anything. Your alibi for last night might've checked out, and you could've been states away when Foster died, but that doesn't clear your name by a long shot. You don't believe in coincidences and neither do I. Beyond that, we've got nothing in common."
Soft laughter made my skin prickle. "We've got a hell of a lot more in common than you want to admit."
"Why were you spying on me in Washington? Why did you follow me tonight?"
He grinned and strode past me through the door. "I don't owe you any answers, Dr. Eriksson. And you're welcome, for saving your lovely ass a second time."
I dashed to the phone on the nightstand and dialed the number Haverston gave me a few hours earlier.
"Haverston."
"It's Helen Eriksson."
"Good morning, doctor. We haven't uncovered –"
"I'm not calling about the case," I said. "Someone broke into my hotel room and stole my computer. I was followed to Darkwater Bay by someone. I need your help."
"You're at the Montcliff, right?"
"Room eight-seventeen," I said.
"I'll be right there."
"You won't find anything here, officer. You may already know the answers to the questions I have."
"We should still process the crime scene."
"I want you to tell me everything you know about Johnny Orion."
"Orion? Is he the one who broke into your room?"
"No." Yes. "Haverston, Orion owns a private security company, correct?"
"Yeah, but –"
"Does he employ private investigators?"
"You want to hire Orion?"
"Please answer my question."
"Technically, no. Orion's business provides private security to businesses and wealthy folks in Nightingale and Beach Cliffs. The only person on his staff with a PI license is Orion himself. Why are you asking me about him? Did you learn something we should know about his alibi?"