They flashed their badges and the woman reached for the phone. Brett smiled and said they would show themselves in. Then they walked past her down the hallway and into the doctor’s office.
Treme looked thoroughly displeased by the interruption. He stood and glared at them for a moment, then sat back down suddenly as if his legs had given way. He looked like a beaten man.
“You signed a death certificate for a living man,” Brett informed him. “Who was then stolen from a mortuary and went on to commit murder.”
Dr. Treme went white. He was suddenly angry as he leaned over his desk. “Do you know how many lives I’ve saved? I wasn’t the only one there! The nurses saw that he was dead, his family saw that he was dead. By all medical standards, the man was dead!”
“And you know nothing else about cause of death?” Brett demanded.
“What?”
“His heart didn’t kill him—poison did. Someone most likely gave him puffer fish toxin. The Haitian zombie toxin,” Diego said quietly.
Treme sank back into his chair. He lifted his hands helplessly. “With his heart, I didn’t know if Nicholson would make it or not. I told his family that. Don’t you understand? There was no reason to test for poison or anything else. The man was dying when he came in, and then he died. Anyone could have gone in there before that point. He was in a hospital, not a prison. Don’t you men see what this is going to do to me? I’m good at what I do, but my practice could be ruined if this gets out. As it is, I’ll have to face the board. All my life…all the good I’ve done…gone. It’s a disaster.”
Brett looked at Diego. Dr. Treme was guilty of accepting what seemed obvious without thorough testing. But neither of them thought he was responsible for what had happened or had even been aware of it. This visit had only confirmed that earlier impression.
“It was a disaster for another man, too, Doctor,” he said quietly. “And that man is dead.” He and Diego turned to leave, ignoring the receptionist and her threat to call security on their way out.
“We need to get someone looking into the hospital and everyone who treated Nicholson while he was there, every visitor,” Brett said.
“Agreed,” Diego said. “I’ll call Matt and put him on it.”
“Good idea,” Brett said as Diego took out his phone.
Their next stop was the mortuary.
Geneva Diaz looked as pleased to see them as if they were the CDC walking in to announce that bubonic plague had arrived.
“What?” she demanded, standing at the door and blocking the entry. “You’ve already ruined our business. Neither my husband nor Mr. Douglas is here. I suggest you contact our attorneys.”
“We could do that,” Brett told her, shrugging. “But if I speak with your attorneys, I’ll have to ask them why you let someone else into this place. And it was you, Mrs. Diaz. We know it.”
Her face instantly gave her away, though she denied the accusation, stuttering, “I—I’m not guilty of…of killing anyone or stealing a corpse or…”
She fell silent.
“How about you talk to us? Do it now and we can make things go as easily as possible for you,” Diego said.
“I don’t want to die,” she whispered, looking around as if someone could have slipped into the mortuary to attack her.
“If you’re that afraid, you really need to talk to us so we can protect you,” Brett said.
Her shoulders fell. Her perfect-hostess demeanor seemed to fall along with them.
“My husband doesn’t know, and neither does Jonathan Douglas,” she said. She looked out at the street and then ushered them in. “My office,” she said, and added, “Please.”
Her office was soothingly decorated, which made sense. After all, it was where people came when they were heartbroken by the loss of a loved one. There were tissue boxes on both corners of the desk; the chairs were beige and plush and comfortable.
Diego and Brett both sat while she walked around behind her desk.
“It was my nephew,” she said, not quite meeting their eyes. “My sister’s son. I swear to you, my husband is insisting he’s innocent because he is. And to be honest…I didn’t know what had happened, what had been done, until you came to us.” She was quiet for a few seconds. “Until we knew that Mr. Nicholson wasn’t in his grave.”
“Could you give us some more details, please? Starting with your nephew’s name?” Brett asked.
She sighed, still not meeting their eyes. “I knew that Pedro—Pedro Campesino—was in trouble. He started with drugs in college. Cocaine, an expensive habit. If I’d realized earlier…” She paused, shaking her head. “He’s in rehab now. He came to me when he was at his worst because he had no choice. My sister… She’s a single mother. Pedro’s father was in the army and was killed in Afghanistan. There was no way she could give him the money he needed, so I was his last resort. He owed so much money to the dealers. So much. I was trying to figure out a way to get it when…” At last she looked up at them. “When the man came to me.”
“What man? Does he have a name?” Brett asked.
“I’m sure he has one,” she said drily. “But he didn’t share it with me. I thought he’d come in about a funeral at first. I didn’t know until we were in this office that he was after something…wrong. He told me that he needed to make a copy of my key. He said he’d use it once, that it would have nothing to do with anything that would put me or my family in jeopardy and that if I just let him have my key, he’d see that Pedro was never bothered again. If not, Pedro…Pedro would be killed. So…I let him have my key. I had no choice. I didn’t know—I swear, I didn’t know—why he wanted it or what he was going to do. I didn’t know someone would be killed. Am I going to go to jail for this? No matter what happens to me, you have to know that my husband and Mr. Douglas are innocent.”
“Mrs. Diaz, I believe you. And I believe that your intentions were good,” Brett said. “Your nephew is lucky to have you. But now we need your help, and I promise we’ll do our best to keep you out of real trouble. We need to figure out who this man is. I’d like you to work with a police sketch artist, and right now I also need you to give me your best description of this man.”
She shuddered suddenly. “I don’t know. He was the kind of man who I think can kill me far more easily than you could ever protect me,” she said flatly.
“But if we can arrest him, you’re safe, aren’t you? Do you really want to live in fear for the rest of your life? What about your nephew?” Diego asked her.
She lowered her head. “Middle-aged, Hispanic. I’m not sure from where, though. His accent wasn’t Cuban, but I’m not sure what it was. Dark hair, dark eyes. Medium height and build. That could be at least half the men in Miami, right?”
There was a knock on the door. Geneva Diaz froze. Brett smiled at her. “It’s okay, be casual.”
“Yes?” she said.
The door opened and Carl Sage, the mortician, stuck his head in. He looked annoyed and was about to speak when he saw the agents and stiffened.
“Excuse me. I didn’t know you were busy,” he said to Geneva.
“What is it, Carl?” she asked.
He looked acutely uncomfortable, then finally spoke. “There’s…a body. I have no instructions, no information regarding this man.”
Geneva frowned. “I wasn’t expecting a delivery.”
“It’s not a delivery. I walked in, and he was on the table.”
Brett pushed past him and hurried back to the employees-only area, then burst into the embalming room.
The man on the table appeared to be in his forties, medium height and a medium build. His looks suggested he was Hispanic.
Diego, Geneva and Carl had followed Brett.
Geneva let out a scream.
He turned to look at her, certain that he was about
to learn that this was the man who had approached her—the man who had demanded her key.
He was also, Brett was certain from the pictures he had seen, Jose Acervo, the man who had hired Pierre and Antoine, and been responsible for Antoine’s death. Twice.
Jose Acervo, a known associate of Anthony Barillo—and not the man Brett had seen with Barillo.
“Mrs. Diaz,” Brett said, about to ask, though he was certain of the answer.
He didn’t get a chance to voice the question, because Geneva Diaz slumped to the floor.
Diego instantly hunkered down by her and looked up at Brett. “No pun intended, but it appears that Mrs. Diaz has fainted dead away.”
* * *
Lara wasn’t sure why she felt as confident of her own safety as she did. Of course, by midmorning the place was bustling. It was Saturday, which meant it was a great day for parents to spend time in the sun with their children.
Every swim and encounter was booked. Adrianna’s theory was that they were especially busy because Sunday would be totally devoted to the military and Just Say Thanks.
Whatever the reason for the crowds, Lara wasn’t the least bit concerned about walking around the place. She decided “safety in numbers” was a reality, not just a cliché.
She was able to put yesterday’s threat out of her mind because she was certain that whatever cowardly creep had put that doll on her desk couldn’t possibly have anything to do with Sea Life, other than having bought a ticket. Yes, whoever he was, he’d found his way to her office, but it wasn’t that difficult. The building was clearly marked as being for employees only, and her name was on her office door.
As she walked around the facility, she was pleased with the way everything for the following day seemed to be falling into place. Several reporters would be on hand, they’d received a nice response from the local community and every one of their military guests had been slotted into the schedule for their experience of choice.
With everything going so well, she decided to take a walk down to the educational building and have a chat with Dr. Amory about what she’d seen at lunch the other day.
When she arrived, classes were underway. Cathy and Myles were talking to a room full of people of all ages, from grandparents to toddlers.
Myles waved to her but continued speaking as she smiled and walked by.
Nelson Amory left the public programs to his staff so he could focus on his research. He was undeniably brilliant, so it was undoubtedly a much better use of his time.
He looked up the minute she walked into his office and flushed. Was he feeling guilty? Or had she only imagined his momentary look of unease?
He smiled and said, “Hello. What can I help you with today, Miss Media? Looking for news for your next press release?”
“Oh, no, I’m not here to grill you,” she said. She pulled up a chair and sat down in front of his desk. “Honestly? I came here because I’m worried.”
“Worried?” he asked quickly.
She nodded gravely.
Could he have been the one to put the savaged doll on her desk?
“About what?” he prompted her.
“You were at lunch with some heavy hitters the other day.”
He shook his head. “Yes, some of our top sponsors. Why should that worry you? I don’t owe you an explanation, Lara. You’re the new kid on the block here, you know.”
She nodded. “I do know. And you’ve all been wonderful to me. I just wanted to ask you to tell Grady if you’re considering leaving. To give him time to find someone else.”
He looked down, as if his papers were more important than her presence. Then he said quietly, “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving.”
Lara leaned forward. “Did one of them offer you a job?” She spoke lightly, but she was serious, and she was sure he knew it.
He leaned back. “Taggerly,” he admitted. “He wants to develop a protocol for testing a new category of drugs.”
“But your specialty is marine mammals. How would you…?”
He nodded. “In my past, I did a lot of necropsies on marine life. Not just mammals. Sharks. I was with a company that did all kinds of work on sharks. They rarely get sick, and cancer is especially rare. Ely thinks—and I tend to agree with him—that research into the shark immune system will transform medicine.”
“But you were with Blackwood and Martinez, too,” Lara reminded him.
He nodded. “Taggerly is encouraging the others to invest in this new line of research with him. I guess he figured he’d wow us all at once—them with predictions of huge profits and me with the huge salary he offered—and we’d all fall into line.”
“But you really didn’t accept?” Lara asked.
He stared at her, irritated. “If I’d accepted, I’d have turned in my resignation already.”
“Was the salary really that huge?” she asked.
“My God, you’re nosy. Must be from hanging around with the FBI all day,” he muttered.
He looked at her squarely. “I have to admit, I was tempted. But I’ve had jobs in that kind of research before. I’ve analyzed enzymes, cells, brains, blood systems… I’ve tried to measure the effects of naturally occurring chemicals, how certain animals live so long, why others die so young. Truth is, I like it here. I like Grady. I love the dolphins and all our other animals. But the dolphins most of all. Their intelligence is virtually unmatched in the animal kingdom, and yet they still love interacting with people. Look at how much Cocoa loves to work with you! It’s fascinating. So yes, I turned down the job. And I never said anything to anyone here because I turned it down. I’m here, and I’m staying here. Poor but happy, instead of rich but miserable.”
Lara smiled at him. “That’s great,” she said.
“Poor is great?”
“As long as it comes with happy,” she said. She stood, hesitated, then said, “And by the way, I’m sorry for being so nosy about the salary.”
“It’s all right. I’ll be nosy myself soon enough. As I said, I’ve been fascinated with Cocoa’s determination to win your approval.”
“Is that what she’s doing? Trying to win my approval?”
“Yes.”
“I thought she was just trying to be friends.”
He grinned. “Same thing, I guess. But dolphins are like people in a way. When they like someone, they want to please that person. Cocoa’s determined to please you. I think it’s important, and something to be studied. As is her ability to find and bring you things in the water other than objects you’ve specifically asked her to locate.”
“Body parts,” Lara said.
He nodded gravely. “Body parts,” he repeated, and shivered. “Let’s hope the cops get this guy—and quickly.”
“Amen,” she murmured.
She thanked him and headed out of the office. No, she couldn’t believe that he had left a butchered doll on her desk. Look how honest he’d been with her.
Then again, was she truly capable of knowing?
She left the building via the classroom. She waved to Myles and Cathy, then felt them watching her as she kept walking.
Of course. She’d interrupted their class. And she’d gone to see Dr. Amory. Maybe they were wondering what she’d talked to him about.
And maybe she was just being paranoid.
No, she wasn’t.
Someone had warned her to keep out of the water. To stay out of the Miami zombie case.
As she walked back to her office, she caught various bits of conversation coming from the crowd.
No, they hadn’t abandoned Sea Life in horror.
But they were talking about body parts in the water.
And zombies.
* * *
This time, when the questions flew, when the medical exa
miner arrived, when crime scene techs flooded the place, Brett had no trouble believing that Geneva Diaz had absolutely no idea how a corpse had ended up in their embalming room—the corpse of the man who’d had her key.
When Jonathan Douglas and Richard Diaz arrived, both of them now eager to help with any investigation, Geneva cried and confessed what she’d done to both men. Oddly, the truth seemed to make things easier for everyone at the mortuary.
Phil Kinny told them that he would know more details postautopsy, but he was quite certain that Jose Acervo was truly dead.
He wouldn’t be coming back to life to usher anyone else into heaven or, in his case, hell.
“I’m guessing that cause of death will turn out to be stabbing,” Kinny told them after his initial on-site examination of the remains. “You can see that he was stabbed several times. I won’t know the order of the wounds until autopsy, but they were to the heart, stomach, kidneys, spleen and liver.”
Kinny looked at them from the far side of the body. “Come see me tomorrow. It’s Sunday, when even the Lord said we should rest, but this case is too important to wait. Come in and I’ll show you what I’ve got on the bodies of Antoine Deveau, Randy Nicholson, Miguel Gomez and your Mr. Acervo here.”
“We’ll be there,” Brett promised him.
The body was removed, but the crime scene techs stayed on.
Richard Diaz was clearly worried for his wife; he was dismayed that she had done what she had, but he felt that the failure was his, as well. “She should have come to me. She should have felt that she could tell me anything,” he said over and over.
Brett and Diego offered the Diazes protective custody until the case was solved, but Richard preferred to handle things himself, planning a trip that would take them out of the area for the immediate future.
Since Douglas and the rest of the staff had no direct connection to the crime, they would be provided with police patrols and an officer on mortuary premises for at least the next several weeks.
Jill managed to get Brett alone for a few minutes. “What happens if you don’t find whoever is doing all this? What if it goes on for months…years? Just how long will the police protect us?”
Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 5 Page 52