“Would you mind, doctor?” I asked politely, indicating the lower triangular flap of skin that she had folded back to hide the whole of the abdomen. With disapproval in every line, she lifted it for me to inspect. I saw what I was looking for almost at once, nodded and stepped back.
“He was shot,” I said, drawing blank stares from the three of them. Not for my verdict but the fact I’d been able to reach it.
Twenty-four
“You can see the front entry wound - here,” I said, keeping my voice cool and level, pointing to the dead man’s chest. “I’d say the round clipped the bottom edge of his lung. Without taking a look at his back I wouldn’t like to guess on it being a through-and-through but it wasn’t a large calibre if I’m any judge - maybe a thirty-eight or a nine mil. The wound was possibly not bad enough to be immediately fatal, but without immediate medical attention I doubt he would have lasted long.”
And he didn’t last long because - looking at his face - the earthquake got him before he had a chance to bleed out or suffocate to death.
For a second nobody moved and then Dr Bertrand gave me a stiff little nod, as if it grieved her to have to do it.
Commander Peck cleared his throat. “We are looking at homicide here and I shall be launching a full investigation.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Joe Marcus said. “If the quake hadn’t hit, he might have survived.”
“With a bullet through his lung?” Peck scoffed.
“Why not?” I asked. “I managed just that a year or so ago. I have the scars to prove it.”
Peck gave me a strange look as if he was pretty sure I was joking but he couldn’t be sure. “Either way, you don’t shoot a man in the chest without intending to kill him, regardless of what actually finishes him off.”
I couldn’t refute the logic of that. “Do we know who he is yet?”
Marcus lifted one shoulder. “Maybe,” he said. “The woman he was found with is a French tourist, Gabrielle Dubois. According to immigration she entered the country last weekend, travelling with a man called Enzo Lefevre, her fiance.”
“That was quick,” I said.
Marcus ducked his head in Peck’s direction. “The commander remembered her name from looking at her ID,” he said without inflection. “From there it was easy enough to check out her passport record.”
I nodded, turning over this new information. If Peck had originally taken the woman’s wallet to conceal her identity, why give it up voluntarily now? After all, it would have been entirely believable for him to say he didn’t take a good enough look at the ID to recall the details.
“You seemed to think she’d been reported missing. Was that why you were looking for her?” I asked him.
He lifted a casual shoulder. “I thought I recognised her but I was mistaken.” His face was expressionless, giving nothing away. Probably best never to get into a poker game with the police commander.
“So … why drag us off the streets for this?” I asked Marcus, getting the perplexity into my voice without having to work too hard. “Couldn’t it have waited until we got back later anyway?”
His face ticked in irritation. “Because there’s a threat here you need to be aware of, Charlie,” he said. “Somebody shot this guy right before the earthquake hit. We don’t know why, and we haven’t yet recovered a body clutching a gun. Plus there were no survivors other than the store owner on that street, so it looks like our gunman got away.”
“He could well be the man you say broke in here last night,” Peck said. “Although I have inspected all the points of entry and can only assume this man was highly professional, or that he had access.”
It was an echo of my own earlier thoughts, and although he left that one dangling nobody wanted to make a grab for it.
“So, why steal their identification?” I asked instead. “What does that achieve?”
“Perhaps the robber was known to them.” Peck made a vague flapping motion with his hand. “Perhaps he fears that if we were able to identify these people we might also make some connection to him?”
Marcus’s stare lasted a second or two longer than it needed to, and spoke volumes as to what he thought of that idea.
“Or perhaps,” I echoed the commander with a straight face, “Mr Rojas might be able to fill in some blanks.”
Peck straightened to show the mild jibe had not passed unnoticed. “I will be questioning Rojas in due course. I trust that you will leave this in my hands.” He gave a stilted bow of his head to Dr Bertrand and Joe Marcus but ignored me completely as he headed for the main door out of the mortuary.
“You know, Charlie,” Marcus said as we watched the commander disappear. “I get the feeling he really doesn’t like you.”
“Oh-dear-what-a-pity-never-mind,” I said cheerfully. “So, when do we go and see Mr Rojas?”
Just for a second Marcus’s severe face cracked into a smile. “Any time you’re ready.”
“I’ll just go and let Hope know what’s happening,” I said. “I’ll meet you by the helo in five.”
But Hope was not in the mess hall as I expected. I jogged across the parade square to the NCOs’ quarters we’d been assigned, aware that if I went more than half a minute past the five I’d promised Marcus, he was likely to take off without me.
That was the reason I forgot my manners and just shoved open the door to Hope’s room already calling her name.
And my voice died in my throat.
Hope was sitting cross-legged on her bed. Her head jerked up when I burst in and her mouth formed a soundless oh. Spread on a shirt in front of her was a pile of stones. Some of them were pebbles, of the type that I’d seen Lemon delivering to her so solemnly when we were out in the field.
But the others were far too small to have been picked up by a dog’s mouth, however delicate. They glittered against the fabric, cut and graded and polished - the precious stones I’d seen scattered outside Santiago Rojas’s jewellery store.
Hope tensed, her eyes darted wildly. They even flicked to where Lemon lay stretched out on a blanket with her favourite chew toy next to her. The yellow Lab had lurched from her side onto her belly when I made my entrance, letting out a couple of loud sneezes as she was woken from sleep. She lifted her head, recognised me and flopped back down again with a loud grumbling sigh.
Hope’s flight reflex folded in on itself and collapsed, taking her composure with it. For a moment I thought she might cry.
I stood there frozen with one hand still on the doorknob until I heard footsteps and voices approaching. I stepped inside quickly and closed the door.
“What’s going on, Hope?” I asked, keeping my voice calm and quiet. I’d seen how Lemon leapt to her handler’s defence when it was clear the girl was being threatened and I had no desire to be on the receiving end of those teeth.
Hope bounced off the bed, tangling her bare feet in the blankets and stumbling straight into my arms in her haste.
“Please,” she said, staring up at me. “Please, Charlie, don’t tell anyone!”
“Hope …” My voice trailed away helplessly. I shook my head, said tiredly, “Just tell me what the hell is going on, will you?”
That seemed to get to her more than harsh words would have done. She wrenched herself away and slumped down on the edge of the bed with her head bowed. Lemon rolled partly onto her back and gazed up at her with two legs waving and her tongue hanging out. Hope rubbed the side of the dog’s belly with one foot.
“You picked these up on the street, didn’t you?” I went on when she didn’t speak. Let Joe Marcus go without me if he damn well pleased. As far as I was concerned this took precedence. Still, I didn’t have all night. “Hope?”
“Yes,” she said, lifting her head and showing me more than a hint of defiance. “They’re just lying there, for fuck’s sake. Anybody could help themselves. You think they’ll be any left by the time that jeweller gets clearance to go back?”
“That doesn’t mean they’re yours to take,�
�� I said neutrally.
“Why not?” she cried. “I’ve seen everyone take things, even the cops. Even the birds!” She let her head drop again so her next words emerged as a mumble: “S’not like I was gonna keep them.”
I opened my mouth to make a “yeah, right” kind of comment, but then I remembered again the way she’d put the woman’s wallet back after she’d lifted it from Commander Peck and I stopped myself from coming out with anything too cynical.
“Who knows about this?” I asked instead.
“Nobody!” she assured me. If she kept bobbing her head up and down like this she was going to put her neck out. “Nobody else knows about it, and nobody else is doing it. It’s just me, all right?”
I took in her mulish expression and realised there was no point arguing with her. Not right now. I checked my watch. “Look, Hope, I’m going back to see the jewellery store owner - ”
“Oh, please don’t tell him! I’ll put them all back, I swear!”
I let my breath out. “I wasn’t going to tell him,” I said. “I simply meant I haven’t time to talk about this now, but we are going to talk about it - later, when I get back, yes?”
Another mumble, less distinct this time. I took it for a yes anyway.
“Good,” I said. I reached for the door handle again, paused as a final thought struck me. “Did Kyle Stephens know you were helping yourself to bits and pieces?”
Hope didn’t answer that one, but from the sudden flare of loathing and fear that crossed her face, I didn’t need her to.
Twenty-five
I was, I realised as Joe Marcus and I headed back towards the hospital with Riley in the Bell, getting far too used to travelling everywhere by helicopter. Being grounded was going to seem very restrictive after all this.
What I needed was to get out on a fast bike on an open road and blow the cobwebs out of my head. I still hadn’t replaced my Buell Firebolt after it was written-off by a bunch of kidnappers. Sean’s own bike remained under a cover in the parking garage below our building. I thought longingly of the Honda FireBlade I’d left behind in the UK, sitting equally dormant in the back of my parents’ garage. Maybe I’d get over there this year and take it out for a blast - if the tyres weren’t flat-spotted with standing and the fuel left in the tank hadn’t gone off.
Or maybe not.
Unable to side-track myself any longer, I dragged my mind back to Hope Tyler. I knew I was putting off examining what I’d seen and heard, and what it might mean. Hope was a confirmed thief, no two ways about it. She was too quick with her fingers to be anything else and it would seem that she’d trained Lemon to aid and abet. I wondered what the RSPCA or PETA would have to say about that.
Still, if Hope had been helping herself from other disaster sites, would that really be enough to cause the rumours Mrs Hamilton had heard all the way back in New York? Hope struck me as a collector of pretty things rather than a serious player, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t tried to offload some of her booty in search of yet more pretty things. Wouldn’t take much carelessness there for her activities to come to light.
Kyle Stephens had known what was going on - that much was clear from her reaction. When had he found out, and what had he been intending to do about it? I got the impression from Mrs Hamilton that what she really wanted was not confirmation or denial of the thefts, but for the problem to be simply made to go away. She had asked Stephens to take care of it for her.
Instead he’d got himself killed.
I was still tumbling those thoughts over and round when Riley set the Bell down on the pad outside the hospital and the engines spun down.
“I never trust a woman when she goes quiet,” Joe Marcus said as we hopped down onto the baked concrete. “What’s on your mind, Charlie?”
“Life, death, the universe and everything,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Any clues?”
“Given some thought to all of it over the years.”
“And?”
He shook his head. “Never did come to any conclusions worth a damn.”
We found Santiago Rojas looking both better and worse.
Better because he was out of his hospital bed and sitting in a low chair by the window. Worse because the bruising had blossomed across his face, turning his skin every colour of pain. He shifted awkwardly when we entered, making as if to rise. Marcus waved him back into his seat.
I introduced them. Rojas clasped Marcus’s hand warmly, his eyes becoming moist. “So, you are one of the people responsible for getting me out of there alive,” he said, his voice husky. “For that, sir, I am forever in your debt.”
“It’s kinda the whole point of what we do,” Joe Marcus said without any hint of embarrassment. I guessed he’d received a lot of similar thanks in his time.
“I would like to give you something,” Rojas went on. “A small gift, from my store. Something of value - ”
“That won’t be necessary,” Marcus said quickly, and I couldn’t help wondering what he might have said if I hadn’t been with him. “If you feel you’d like to make a contribution to one of the disaster relief funds, well that would be more than enough.”
“Ah, of course,” Rojas said quickly, not wanting to cause offence. His eyes went from one of us to the other expectantly.
“We wondered if you’d had any more recollections of what happened - just before the earthquake?” I said.
He frowned. “I do not understand why it is so important for you to know this,” he said. “There must be so many dead and injured.”
“You remember the couple I told you about? They were found just outside your store - the woman with the ruby engagement ring?”
“Ah, you found the ring. So it is her?” He nodded sadly. “I am so sorry they did not survive. She was so beautiful. And she seemed so happy.”
“Her name was Gabrielle Dubois,” Marcus said. “What can you tell us about the man who was with her?”
“Her fiance?” Rojas gave a confined shrug, as much as his injuries would allow. “He was a man of … sophistication. A man of the world, I think you would say. Older than she, but good looking, of course, to have snared such a beautiful lady.”
“Mr Rojas, our doctor has just carried out an autopsy on this man - we believe his name is Enzo Lefevre. He was shot in the chest shortly before the earthquake struck,” Marcus said gravely. “Would you happen to recall anything about that?”
His level tone and gaze would have been enough to make a nun confess, but Rojas just stared with his mouth slightly agape.
“Shot?” he repeated. “Holy Mother of God …” His focus went into middle distance as if trying to latch onto a fragment of memory. Eventually he murmured, “So, that was it.”
“That was what?” Marcus demanded.
Rojas pulled his attention back onto us with an effort. “I’ve been having … strange dreams,” he said hesitantly. “Of violence, of someone crying out, of a loud noise and fear and falling. I thought … I thought it was all to do with the earthquake, with being buried, but now …”
“Now?” Marcus prompted.
He was not the subtlest of interrogators but his technique seemed to work because a moment later Rojas said, more firmly, “Now I believe that, just before the earth opened up and swallowed me … I believe I was robbed.”
Twenty-six
“I remember the couple coming into the store,” Rojas said. “They said they had just become engaged - that he had asked her only that morning, and she had said yes. She was still blushing, so pretty.”
“Just that morning?” I queried and he nodded.
I was sure Peck had said Gabrielle Dubois was listed as travelling with her fiance on the flight details. Perhaps it was just easier that way. In the past I’d wondered how I should introduce Sean. He was too old to be called “boyfriend”, too practical be described as “lover”, but the all-encompassing “partner” sounded so soulless.
It was all a bit of a moot point now …
“How l
ong were they in the store?” Joe Marcus asked.
“Oh, almost an hour. She tried on a great many beautiful rings before she settled on the marquise-cut ruby. It was an exquisite stone. And the size, it was perfect for her. She said it was a sign that she was meant to have it.”
His eyes began to fill again. Marcus said, “Take your time, Mr Rojas.”
I plucked a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside cabinet and passed them across. Rojas took them with a nod of thanks.
“The doctors tell me it is the … relief of my rescue still coming out,” he explained and we didn’t call him a liar.
“Do you remember anything about the robbery itself?” Marcus asked after a few moments. I raised an eyebrow at him. What part of “take your time” did this fit into?
But Rojas was nodding. “Yes … yes, I think so. I have a remote lock on the door. I would have had to press it to let the couple out. I think that was when the man pushed his way inside. He pushed them back inside, also. He wore black, and a mask. And he had a gun. He forced me to open my gem safe. He threatened the lady … what could I do?”
“I’m sure you did everything you could,” Marcus murmured.
“He was expecting more stones. I was waiting for a shipment, but it was delayed. I tried to explain but he was very angry. Eventually he took what he could, including the cash in the register, and just when I thought he might finally leave, he saw the woman’s ring - the ruby. And he wanted it.”
“And Monsieur Lefevre didn’t want to let go of it,” Marcus guessed.
Rojas nodded helplessly, his English breaking up in his distress. “He shoot him in the chest and he go. And then the building start to shake and I … I don’t remember much after that.”
He sagged back into his chair as if the retelling of the tale had physically exhausted him. I sat quiet for a moment, lining his story up with the holes in our own timeline. It would all seem to fit except for the unknown intruder who’d broken in to steal the couple’s identities - and from a secure building in the middle of an army base at that.
Zoe Sharp - [Charlie Fox] Page 11