by Jen J. Danna
Robert Mercer?
Trooper Mercer was another of the fallen. He’d died years ago during a high-speed chase, losing control of his patrol car on black ice and dying instantly when his car hit a bridge abutment, leaving behind a wife and four children.
It had been the death of Trooper Mercer that opened up a position in the unit. An opening she’d applied for and won.
This was the first connection to the Essex Detective Unit. She’d suspected all along that someone inside her own department might have something to do with these deliveries, but so far lacked proof of any kind. But now when proof finally surfaced, it was through a connection to a dead officer? That didn’t make sense.
She thought of the file locked in her desk drawer at work. She’d just recently picked up the closed case file for the criminal investigation that led to her father’s death. She’d been busy lately, but knew that her reticence to rehash her father’s death, to relive it over again in minute detail, was the real reason she’d not pursued this investigation. Clearly, it was time to remedy that. She packed up the files and jammed them back in the envelope. As of now, she was back on the case.
Reflexively, she reached into her pocket. She just wanted to hear the sound of Matt’s voice, for his warm tone and calm logic to steady her. Her fingers brushed the smooth surface of her cell phone before she froze.
You can’t call him. Not about this. Not now.
Her shoulders slumped and she sagged back against the couch. Matt gave his time freely whenever she needed him, always without question or complaint. Now, when he was finally dedicating an uninterrupted weekend to his own career, how could she call him? It was bad enough they had a case; if she told him about this latest delivery, there was no way she could keep him from coming home on the first available flight. He was an invaluable partner in their cases, but first and foremost he was a scientist with his own research. And this weekend, he was off the clock with respect to criminal investigations. For this weekend, she had to give him that time. And to do that, she would have to keep him in the dark about this particular issue.
She looked at the clock. Eight-thirty. Maybe having that nice long soak right now was exactly what the doctor ordered. It would not only wash off the dust of decades peppered with mortar grit, but would take long enough that by the time she called Matt, he’d be at dinner and she could just leave him a message. By the time he got back to his room, it would be far too late for him to come home. And if she left a message, she could be brief and he wouldn’t hear the stress in her voice.
She shifted uneasily on the couch, trying not to think about how angry he’d be when she finally came clean the next time they saw each other. But she pushed the thought away. She would give him the pleasure of a new case he’d love, and not ruin the rest of his weekend with her personal angst.
It was for his own good.
CHAPTER FOUR: FERMENTATION
* * *
Fermentation: the process by which yeast converts carbohydrates into alcohol, acids, and carbon dioxide.
Friday, 6:15 p.m.
San Francisco, California
Boston University’s Dr. Matt Lowell shut down his laptop and pushed back from the cramped desk. Wincing, he kneaded the knot of muscles in his lower back with the heel of one hand and glared accusingly at the hotel room bed. Only two more nights and then he’d be home and back in his own bed. Or Leigh’s.
As if on cue, his cell phone rang. Picking it up from the bedside table, he flipped it over. A slow grin spread at the sight of her name displayed on his screen. “Hey.”
There was a moment’s hesitation over the line. “Hey, yourself. I was afraid I was calling so late I’d miss you. Isn’t your dinner at six?”
“Six-thirty.”
“Lucky me, catching you just in time then. How did your presentation go?”
Shunning the bed-from-hell, Matt flopped back into the padded armchair next to the sliding glass balcony doors. “Pretty well, I think. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with the science crowd, but there seemed to be some real interest in the Old North. I’m sure there’ll be more discussion around it over dinner.”
“Even for West Coasters, it’s a well-known historic site. ‘One if by land, and two if by sea’ and all that. On top of that, I’m sure most people don’t know there are a thousand sets of nineteenth-century human remains tossed in a charnel house in a corner of the basement. I’ve lived in the area all my life and I didn’t know it.”
“It was a definite surprise to some. And while a lot of the conference revolves around new dating procedures and forensics, this was one of the only talks with a heavy historical theme. It was standing room only in the conference room and we had to cut off questions when we ran out of time before the next talk.” He rested his head against the high back of the chair, his gaze skimming over the room. What was it about hotel rooms that made them all look so generic? He’d never been to San Francisco before and yet he could swear he’d been in this exact room on several occasions. He closed his eyes to block out the suffocating mundaneness. “But enough about my day. Caught any new cases?”
“It’s funny you ask …”
Matt’s eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes. “You have something for us?”
“Believe it or not, yes.”
He surged to his feet, heading straight for the alcove where he’d stowed his suitcase. “Really? What’s the condition of the body? It will be hours before I can make it home. Can they hold the scene that long? Do you need me to send in Kiko and the guys now? I could trust her to run the basics so we don’t lose scene containment—” He froze with one hand on the handle of his bag at the sound of her laugh. “What’s so funny?”
“You.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “At ease, soldier. We have the scene secured and held for you. I know you’re not back until Sunday night but what’s a few more days when we have someone who probably died eighty years ago.”
Matt sat down heavily on the corner of the bed, all urgency leaching away. “Eighty years ago?”
“Well, it’s a rough estimate, but I might not be that far off. We’re looking at skeletal remains, so time since death may not be clear. But at first glance, this case is as cold as it gets. At least that part of it is.”
“Wait, back up. It’s a partial cold case?”
“That’s one way to put it.” Leigh quickly explained her day, starting with her newest fresh victim and ending up inside the speakeasy with a skeleton in the wall.
Matt listened with rapt fascination until she finished. “That’s amazing. All that time in a building still partly occupied and no one ever stumbled across it?”
“I looked into the provenance of the building and specifically that part of it. The back area was rented out with one of the front-facing stores for decades. They used it for storage. I called the son of the guy who leased it, and he said for as long as he could remember that space was wall-to-wall crates and boxes. He said you couldn’t see the walls, let alone a secret inset door. When his father retired, they sold the business and the space has been empty since then, so far as he knows. From what we found, it looks like the speakeasy got raided and shut down, and has been lost to time for the past eighty odd years.”
“Until you found it.”
“Looks like it. I insisted the remains be left untouched until you and the team could get in there. You’ll have to bring down the wall. Riley wanted to be helpful and take it down for you, but I wouldn’t let him. I told him you needed to be there, on scene, to supervise.”
“You sure you don’t want me to cancel the rest of the conference and come home early?”
“Don’t you have another talk to give tomorrow afternoon?”
“Sort of. It’s a panel discussion.”
“Then stay. Honestly, the remains aren’t going anywhere, and we have the place locked down and then some. For most bodies, we wouldn’t have this kind of freedom, but this time we do.”
&
nbsp; “I’ll let the team know.” He let himself fall backwards onto the bed to stare up at the ceiling. “I’ve missed you.”
The soft breath of her sigh traveled over the line. “I miss you too. More than you know.”
A thread of something mournful in her tone caught at him. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, just busy.”
His eyes narrowed; she’d hesitated a beat before answering. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
His gut told him she wasn’t being entirely truthful, but he couldn’t effectively push from more than twenty-five-hundred miles away. “If there is something, you know you can tell me, right?”
“I know.”
“Okay.” He glanced at his watch. “Damn, I have to get going.” He rocked back to a sitting position. “And because of the time change, by the time I get back tonight, you’ll be in bed already. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Deal.”
“I’ll let you know if I can shuffle my flights and get back early.” When she started to protest, he cut her off. “If I can, I will. You know the scene should be dealt with as soon as possible. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He hung up and reached for the fresh shirt he’d laid out for dinner. But his mind was already thousands of miles away, fixed on the possibilities of a new case.
CHAPTER FIVE: WINE BRICKS
* * *
Wine Bricks: a method to skirt the intent of the Eighteenth Amendment. Producing wine at home for personal consumption was not illegal during Prohibition. Wineries and vineyards dehydrated grape juice and compressed it into bricks. Buyers were reminded not to place the reconstituted juice in a cupboard for twenty days because it would ferment and turn into burgundy, sherry, claret, or some other type of wine.
Sunday, 8:44 a.m.
The Adytum Building
Lynn, Massachusetts
Matt rubbed his gritty eyes and peered up at the red brick building through the windshield of his SUV. “Leigh said the entrance is around back.” Craning his neck, he scanned the few cars up and down the street until he found hers. “There’s her car, so she must be here already.” He turned to Kiko Niigata, his senior grad student who rode shotgun. “You’re sure she said nine? We’re not late?”
“Trust me, she said nine.” Kiko studied him, one corner of her mouth tipped up as she tied her long black hair into a ponytail. In contrast to the delicate features inherited from her Japanese ancestors, she was no-nonsense American in voice, attitude, and athletic prowess. “You seem a little overeager. How much coffee have you had today?”
“Does last night count as today too, seeing as I haven’t been to bed yet? In any case I’ve lost count.” A snicker from behind had him turning to stare at the two men in the backseat. Paul Layne, tall and loose-limbed with short spiky blond hair and an irreverent manner, openly grinned. Beside Paul sat Juka Petrović, dark and solid, with only a thread of an accent from his early years growing up in Bosnia—when he actually talked, that is; Juka was an observer and preferred to let Paul rattle on. Juka solemnly stared at him with a straight face, only the twitching corners of his lips giving anything away. Matt leveled an index finger at Paul. “You try taking the red-eye with a shrieking toddler and see how you do. Coffee would be your best friend as well.”
“Coffee is always my best friend,” Paul quipped. “Screaming toddler notwithstanding.”
“Of course it is.” At this point, Matt would have sold his soul for just a fraction of Paul’s energy, even if it was chemically induced. “Let’s unload and take it all with us in one trip.”
They piled out of Matt’s SUV. Paul and Juka grabbed the heaviest of the backpacks and most of the tools, leaving Matt with a lighter load. They might cheerfully give him a hard time, but they were always there to carry more than their fair share if needed.
They circled around the back of the building, easily finding the brick archway from Leigh’s description. Matt led the way up the stairs, pausing briefly to look at the speakeasy grille at the entrance, and then pushed into the building.
Leigh was just coming out of a passageway on the far side of the room. Instead of the forgettable business suits and sensible shoes she usually wore on the job, she wore faded jeans that hugged her athletic body and a dark blue, long-sleeved T-shirt with the Massachusetts State Police logo. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a high ponytail that swung as she walked. Her face lit up at the sight of them. “You’re early.” She smiled for the group, but her green eyes locked on Matt.
“Matt’s had a little too much coffee. He’s lucky he didn’t get pulled over for speeding.” Paul hurried across the room and peered down the stairs. “This is awesome. Can we go down?”
“Sure. But be careful. The treads wrapped in crime scene tape are unstable and you have to step over them. Don’t go past the main room”—Paul disappeared from view and Leigh had to raise her voice—“and don’t touch anything!”
Kiko rolled her eyes at the empty doorway. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep him in line. Paul, wait up!” She and Juka followed Paul down into the basement.
Shaking her head at their usual antics, Leigh moved to follow them. Matt caught her hand, spinning her back toward him so she bumped up against his chest. His arms slipped around her, holding her in place.
She braced a hand against his shoulder. “Matt, we’re supposed to be working.”
“And we will be shortly. But I want thirty seconds to say hello first, seeing as I haven’t seen you in five days.” He lowered his head, brushing his lips over hers, feeling hers part in a smile under his before he dove in. Her hands slid up over his shoulders to link behind his neck as her body naturally curved against his. He forced himself to keep the kiss short, just enough to tide them over. Pulling away, he rested his forehead against hers. “Hi.”
Leigh chuckled. “Hi.” She brushed fingertips over his cheekbone. “You look exhausted. You didn’t have to take the red-eye. We could have held the scene until tomorrow. What time did you land?”
“Left at nine-forty last night, landed at Logan just after six this morning. And I didn’t want you to have to hold the scene any longer than necessary, when truthfully the last day of the conference was just breakfast, wrap-up, and networking. The only thing I really missed was last night’s gala dinner and that’s not a crisis.”
“Aside from the fact that you’re dead on your feet.”
“It’s not that bad. Nothing five or six coffees won’t cure.” When she rolled her eyes, he grinned at her. “And it’s worth it to see you a day early. But now it’s time to get to work.” He forced himself to let go and step back. He extended an arm toward the open doorway. “Ladies first. I didn’t hear any screams, so I assume everybody made it down in one piece.”
Leigh led the way down the steps and into the main bar area. All three grad students were standing in the middle of the dance floor, eyes wide and mouths agape.
“This is seriously cool,” Paul said. “It’s like a real mobster’s speakeasy.”
“This isn’t like a real mobster’s speakeasy,” Kiko corrected. “It’s the real deal.”
Matt wandered through the room, carefully skirting tipped chairs and chunks of crumbled plaster. He stopped at the blackjack table. “It’s amazing to think the last hands to hold these cards are long dead.”
Kiko crouched down beside the woman’s shoe in the corner. “And think of how the world has changed since then. Fashion, feminism, politics …”
“A World War,” said Juka.
“Technology,” said Paul. “All the scientific breakthroughs of the last eighty years: penicillin, the polio vaccine, microprocessors, and landing on the moon. It’s a different world.”
“I think it’s safe to say the people who lived in this world”—Matt swung an arm wide—“would hardly recognize the one we live in now.” He turned to Leigh. “You said the remains were in a back room?”
“This way.” She led them into the room behind the bar. Piles of cr
ates were now stacked neatly against both side walls. “When we discovered the place, this room looked like a bomb had gone off. Crates and glass bottles everywhere. We had Crime Scene Services take photos first to preserve the original appearance for the historians, but once they were done, we boxed the bottles and stacked everything out of the way so you’d have room to work.” She stopped in front of the small hole in the back wall. “This is as far as we got. Once we knew what we were looking at, we stopped and held the scene as is.”
“Thanks.” Matt dropped his backpack to the floor and searched through the contents. He finally pulled out a flashlight and stepped up to the tomb. Fishing an arm through the gap and flipping on the light, he pressed his forehead against the rim of bricks. There was a long moment of silence as he examined what he could see of the remains. “Single victim, fully skeletonized. Minimal clothing remnants, but leather belt and shoes are present. There’s some kind of powder residue around the body. No obvious signs of trauma at first glance. Body positioning though …” His voice trailed off.
“What?” Leigh asked.
Matt’s gaze shot to his students before sliding back to Leigh. “I’m not sure your vic was dead when the wall went up.” The horror in her eyes was the same he felt in his gut. “I should be able to prove it either way, so let’s hold that thought for now.” He turned back to study the wall, and then wiggled one of the exposed bricks at the opening. “We’re going to have to be careful bringing the wall down. When you made the initial break in the wall, some of the bricks had to go through, but we can’t risk any more falling without possibly damaging the bones. We need to loosen the mortar and then use crowbars to pull everything toward us, moving the debris out of the way as we go. Kiko, you’re small and flexible. If we get this hole just slightly wider and give you a boost up, can you squeeze your head and shoulders in there and get a full set of inside shots before we go any further?”