by Dee Davis
"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."
"That'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. "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 vies 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 potas
sium 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 contusion was premortem 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."
"So the blow could have killed him?"
"I'd say so. He obviously lived long enough to breathe some smoke, but I don't think that's ultimately what killed him. My guess is he was out cold and probably dying well before the fire started."
"Maybe bis fall started a chain of events that started the fire," Madison said, testing a theory.
"Nope." Tracy shook her head for emphasis. "Point of origin was at least one hundred feet away. And according to this—" she waved the file through the air "—the ATF wouldn't completely rule out the idea that the fire had been intentional. That's why the insurance company was so thorough."
"But they never proved anything," Madison said, remembering the report.
"It's hard to prove arson. And even if you do verify there was an accelerant, unless there's a footprint, it's nearly impossible to tie it to someone specific." Gabriel spoke as if he had firsthand experience, and Madison found herself wondering whether he had investigated a fire, or started one. "So how the hell did the M.E. miss all this?"
"Not ineptitude, if that's what you're thinking." Tracy's expression turned fierce. "It's not like CSI on television, or even a place like this." She gestured at her office. "Most forensics labs are underpaid, understaffed, and seriously overworked. It's easy to miss things like this without the proper equipment. And top-of-the-line machinery is expensive and way out of the budget of the average forensics lab. Add to that a caseload that numbers in the hundreds and there simply isn't motivation to spend more time than absolutely necessary."
Gabriel held up his hand. "Sorry. Didn't mean to tread on anyone's toes. It's just that we're looking at three apparent murders, none of which were identified from autopsy."
"Well, you know now." Tracy crossed her arms, unaffected by Gabriel's outburst. "What you do with the information is up to you. My job is just to report the facts as I see them." She stood up, the gesture signaling the end of the meeting.
"And we appreciate all you've done." Madison rose, too, smiling. "Thanks to you we've got a good start. The next step is to look into the other deaths."
"The ones without autopsy." Tracy nodded. "Let me know if you decide to exhume them. Even with decomposition I can still find an amazing amount of evidence."
"You'll send a report." It was a statement not a question, Gabriel's mind already moving on to the next step.
Whatever that might be.
Nigel slipped into the team control room, checking quickly to make certain that it was empty. Everything was dark, the only light coming from the wall of windows. He glanced over at them, thinking that if things went south, what seemed an obvious perk could easily make the room a death trap. Better that they were below ground level, but Cullen wouldn't know that. And in all honesty he had to admit that considering his directive, the windows could prove an asset. But only if things got out of hand.
He made his way over to the computer bank, relieved to see that the system was on. He hadn't been able to tell if it was encrypted, and although he would most likely still have been able to gain access, this would be much simpler.
He sat down in front of a monitor, pulled out the keyboard, and with a few simple keystrokes had full access to Cullen Pulaski's computer systems. The file he needed was easy enough to find.
He pulled a disk from his pocket, inserted it into the computer, hit a key and waited while it hummed into action. Nine minutes later, disk back in his possession, he made his way to the door, the computer screen behind him flashing green—
Strike F1 to retry boot, no data found.
♥ Scanned by Coral ♥
CHAPTER SIX
Madison stood at the window of her apartment looking out at the Manhattan skyline. Lights glittered from windows across the way, the towering buildings full of residents settling down for the evening. In the distance she could see the shimmer of the East River, its crazy currents flowing in whatever direction it chose. First upriver, then down, fluctuating with the tides.
Despite the fact that the apartment had come from her father, she loved it. It was as much a home as she'd ever had, filled with the bits and pieces she'd collected over her nomadic life.
Her mother had been the original free spirit, and not even Philip Merrick's power and wealth had been enough to hold her captive. Less than five years after the wedding, Alexis Harper had simply taken her baby and walked out the door.
For the next six years Madison had traveled around the country with her itinerant mother, never alighting anywhere long enough to call it home When she'd reached school age, Philip had demanded his daughter, and in the usual way of things, gotten exactly what he'd wanted.
The challenge won, he'd immediately shunted her off to a myriad of nannies and private schools, the latter turning to boarding schools, with vacations wherever her father's latest venture had taken him.
She'd traveled the world, and been incredibly lonely. So much so that when she'd graduated from Vassar, she'd married the first man who asked, certain that at last she'd found a home. But hasty decisions are seldom good ones, and her marriage was not the exception.
Rick, it turned out, was nothing but a prick in gentleman's clothing. Only interested in her money, he couldn't understand her need for autonomy, and once it had become clear that she wasn't content to sit back and enjoy her father
's bank account, he'd started a one-man campaign to undermine her confidence. And it had almost worked.
Almost.
So, as predicted by both her mother and father, the marriage had ended in divorce less than a year after the nuptials. And Madison found herself once again adrift.
When her father had suggested the apartment in New York, her first instinct had been to refuse. After all, as a fledgling FBI agent, she spent most of her time at Quan-tico. In fact, she'd spent the better part of her adult years trying to establish a life separate from her father, to make her own way without benefit of his name—to prove to herself, in some misguided way, that she didn't need anybody.
The reverse, of course, was true, and Philip Merrick was not a man easily dissuaded. He wanted her nearby. So when her profiling work took her to the city for back-to-back cases, she was faced with the prospect of living with her father or living in a hotel, neither option alluring.
Never one to admit defeat, her father had seized the advantage and bought the apartment, offering it as a gift, presumably with no strings attached. A joke if ever there was one, as there were always strings where her father was involved, but he did love her in his own unique way, and so with some reservation, she'd moved in. And never looked back.
Her work kept her traveling, and the apartment had become a refuge, a place where the evil she lived with day in and day out could not penetrate. A safe house of her own making. And for that she'd be eternally grateful to her father.
There was peace here that she never found in other places. Not in her mother's sprawling home in New Mexico and certainly not in her father's penthouse on Central Park West. With a resolute smile at her reflection in the window, she reached for the cord and drew the drapes, shutting out the city, leaving only the soft warmth of lamplight.
She moved over to sit on the couch, reaching for her wineglass, relishing the peace and quiet of her apartment. Information about the case swirled inside her head, replacing all thoughts of the past.